The Rubbish Realm

Interlude 2b (messy)

As ascribed by Bennington, an eyewitness
"The Emperor... we cannot stop him." The great Basilius uttered the worst news the planet had ever seen, his wizened face displaying deep sadness, deep woe over the ruins caused by the harshest ruler that had ever existed. But, after a moment of terrible silence, he lifted his blazing pink eyes to meet their gaze again. "That is, not as we are. Sacrifices must be made. Alistaire?"
A younger man walked into the room, scroll in hand. "Alexistor and Etherealorister. Good and evil. For nothing can be made without its counterpart, and nothing can be made without sacrifice."
Everyone shared a look. They all knew people would die either way, and they were ready to give themselves up for the cause.
"We will need five of you, and..." He stopped, before beginning again, much quieter. "after we are done, there will be five less of us." Sacrifice.
Many hands raised, volunteers. They were all one, and all willing to sacrifice for the others.
"Five different affinities, the strongest there are, of the five basic emotions - fear, anger, surprise, compassion, and sadness."
Those of the other affinities lowered their hands.
"Very well..." He choked back tears. "Those whose eyes shine the brightest shall be chosen."
And thus five were chosen, five of the seven council members, all but Basilius and the stealth affinity, whom nobody could have even told if he had raised his hand. He never came to the meetings anyway.
"I will oversee the process... and I will likely not survive either."
And thus they did it, as will be foretold another time. For our time here is done.

A later entry
The time was 8:27, on the dot, when everything changed. It didn't look very important, looking in on it, but nobody could have forseen the impact that it would leave behind. Five wizards in a dusty room, two standard bracelets that they had bought for a couple of pounds each (they still used the British standard) on the table, and the fate of the universe in their hands. The tome opened by itself in front of them, its weak binding flipping to a random page in the section marked "Candles". One of the aged seers stared at it sadly, flipping the pages to, aptly, page 827. Then he muttered, breaking the pure silence. "How quaint."
How quaint it is that such a phrase like 'How quaint' should be one of the most consequential phrases ever spoken, the one unnecessary phrase in a world-shaking cataclysm. For after that throwaway, perfectly normal interjection, muttered over the sound of hearts beating and deep breaths, came what I am telling you about - the creation of the most dangerous artifact in the world, and its counterpart.
The price was not small. All five of the wizards casting the spell in silent unison perished to give birth to the artifacts, but there was one, a child, outside who saw them. One who realized what could be done with them. And he knew he would be the one to do it. You might know him as Etherealorister, the ruler of the twelve seas.