Beyond the detritus of the warp-ship graveyards, against the dizzying backdrop of the cosmos, the god child Qualito floats forwards and bowls a gas giant.

The rest of us godlings hang back in a huddle and watch the shot play out. Vapours hang behind the missile in effervescent trails. The gaseous projectile arcs through space and begins to spiral. It comes to rest in a stable orbit, barely a million miles from the target star.
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