Rasputin
A person can be split in as many ways as there are powers to split them. When the day of reckoning arrives and everyone goes rushing to claim every man and woman’s soul for their own agendas, who’s to say that they’ll all be precise? Won’t there emerge a race of these creatures, torn between factions and goals and hierarchies, caught between spheres?
When the rest of civilization is raptured off in military recruitment and indentured servitude, that’s all that’ll remain. Beasts, trudging through the undergrowth and dying of their own personal flavors of madness. And when they finally die, they’ll be glad of it, thankful casualties of a conflict they never grasped.
Ottoman Purges
God, what a bloody planet. Is this really what you care about, Houses? Was the City really built for these murderous apes? Doesn’t anyone have anything better to do than squabble around after primitives?
Apparently not. And you can pretend all you like that you’re higher than this lesser species, but in truth you and it are locked together for eternity. Your histories are too close, and they’re welded together. You’ve been tainted.
Welcome to the universe, academicians. Now that it’s in your skin and seeping through your blood, can you ever hope to find peace?
Intercreationals
The War is a conflict fought over one universe. No matter who wins it, that universe will eventually end, and new ones will come into being. There are already other universes populating existence, many of which are simply avoided.
It’s not fair to call this egocentrism, but it is a great lack of perspective. In fact, it’s the lie that keeps the story told, that everything will continue changing and moving smoothly without fear of being destroyed suddenly by the outside world.
If all time is practically synonymous for the Homeworld, it could be out there. If the universe goes, every moment could just go black. Every family photo, shoot-out or dream could simply crash to a halt retroactively.
There are some things so terrifying that no one dwells on them.
Audience of the Ruling House
“They’re lying, you know,” said Cousin Peter as he walked the streets of the red-skied Empire, “About not being able to time travel to places.
“What do you mean?” asked Little Brother Roman.
“There aren’t any rules to time travel. Not really. There are just the ones people make up for themselves. If you wanted to, you could go back to any time you want, and mess with anything you like.”
“That’s crank. If we can go anywhere, then why are some locations forbidden?”
“Simple: some things are just no fun if you see them up close.”
Westminster
Architecture bursts into existence, brought forth by perceptions and meanings. It’s a result of the people who first entered it, a large number of subtle emphases which you could only notice if you created a second Empire and saw the differences.
Not all of the Empire even necessarily matches to the real London. Good replicas are difficult by necessity, and also terribly boring. Personalized time-empires are going to be all the rage, towards the end of human history. It’s just another way of extending your self to your surroundings and picking through them for insights. And because of it, it’s a wonderful way to kill an afternoon.