The aftermath of the universe's biggest and most dramatic heist was a strange, tense, and very quiet ride home. The temporary, and deeply untrustworthy, alliance between the three fleets was officially over.
The Syllogist, the giant, pointy space-rock, was furious. It had been outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and made to look like a fool. A stream of pure, cold, and very logical rage, which mostly consisted of it sending a long and very detailed report on how Malakor's actions were a violation of at least seventeen different inter-god-conclave-rules, was the last thing they heard before its fleet vanished back into hyperspace. It was the cosmic equivalent of a very angry manager vowing to write a strongly worded letter to corporate.
