A singular droplet of water seeped through earth and stone before tumbling into the void below. It fell and fell in silence. Then, the sound of its splash suddenly and finally echoed through the cavernous expanse of a bleak hall which lay beneath the empty shell of a barren rock, which itself was perched upon the very boundary of existence as it overlooked a singular pristine jewel, which was the world called Galbar floating dark blue amidst a black sea of nothingness.

The Architect slowly rose from his throne and clenched a fist. His body's strength was fleeting, but like a faithful companion it still returned whenever he called upon it. He stood alone on a great dais. An island in the center of the flooded and utterly dark hall. Up from the deathly still waters jutted massive columns of stone. They rose to soaring heights before they finally tapered to the earth above. The Architect turned his head upward and raised his fist.

'Part,' his mind wordlessly commanded, and the earth shuddered, and a great gash opened in the ceiling as the stone above slid away. A dim attempt of light spilled into his ancient palace, spread thin; the sky outside was devoid of any sun or star save that of the many great glowing seals and bolts of magic that held the Barrier together. Where before there had been but the smallest drop, now a thousand mighty cataracts of water sheeted down from aquifers above to cascade down into his hall between the columns.

This would provide ample enough space.

The ancient reached into the unknowable nothingness of space and came to rest his hand upon one of the many intangible seals that he'd erected to protect his creation from interlopers. He faltered for a moment, but then dispelled his doubts. He had only one eye, only one ambition, and so he knew that there was only one perfect path to follow. He had meditated for many aeons and seen that this was the shortest path.

So it was with an indomitable resolve that he tightened his grip enough to shatter any matter as if it were glass. However, the seal still held firm, for it was of his making and his works were not so easily broken.

'Open.'

In the very instant the command had been conjured, the water’s fall ended to shout away the hall’s quiet. A rift opened a blinding flash of radiance. Primordial Light, Fire, Ruin, and Chaos wreathed the Architect’s weathered hand as the boundless energy of untold hordes of souls surged through the gap and into his world. With a voracity greater than a thousand raging waterfalls they billowed outward. His palace heaved, but by his will it endured and was preserved from the raging power of the Beyond.



Within the blink of an eye it was all over.

The one-eyed Architect was left with a cacophony of wailing souls, detached thoughts, and stray memories. Formless though they were, many were already trying to manifest forms and inflict themselves upon his creation. Though loathsome to his senses, all of them were of use. Some more than others. He needed to separate the grain from the chaff.

"Baser beings, your place is yonder," he decreed, and suddenly the discordant choir was all but snuffed. All but a few of the greatest souls were banished from his palace into the cold space of their new plane.

'I must rest, now,' he whispered, barely audible, as he sank back into his throne. His one unflinching eye bored into each and every one of the remaining souls from the middle of his strange face as they took their natural shapes.

The air was laden with divine essence, and it seeped into the spirits assembled before him. It made them into something more.

He waited in utter silence, his brown flesh statuesque to the point of blending into the rock of his throne. He was entirely invisible if not for the power that he radiated, the air that simmered about him, and of course that unnerving oculus that seemed to dominate his skull, and indeed the entire room.

"I bid you welcome to the realm of my creation," his words finally resonated. "I am the Architect of this place, of these Spheres. I have chosen you serendipitous few to be my builders, my hands, the extension of my will. There is much work that remains before us."

Massive crystals broke the surface of the dark depths of the water. They rose up like creeping fingers from below, then floated like icebergs, and then slowly parted with the water and came to levitate in the air. "You know what must be done," he declared, and suddenly they did.

The first among, some floating face of fire, timidly ascended into the air and came to rest upon one of the crystal platforms a short ways above. For just those first few moments, all of them were one, at peace, and knew each other perfectly; they sensed face’s name, saw the turmoil in his mind, and felt his trepidation. But they also felt a strange fire deep within him that had been kindled--like a shepherd witnessing his flock's escape, Katharsos wanted nothing more than to chase after all those fleeing souls that had been cast out into space.



With the ancient god's order echoing behind, Katharsos felt the crystal accelerate to some unknowable speed, the power of its binding him safely to its surface even as it soared through the darkness of the void.

Each of the remaining gods simultaneously became once more aware of the Architect's unwavering gaze. His sight had a smell, wretched, in thought and in body. And with it was little time left to comprehend further. That giant pupil defied logic and made eye contact with each and every one of the scattered gods at the same time, silently commanding them to take their places.

Hi, welcome to S̵͠Ķ͞R̴̴A̕GH̶̡̡NÀP̨͟H͡͝G̨͞H̛'s Sleeping God Emporium, we make 'em, you wake 'em. How can I help you?

Oh, you're on a budget today? Anything particular on your mind?

Well, maybe I can interest you in some thunder slingers? Or this new solar disc we've acquired, very fine...

Alright, we'll keep looking. I'm sure we'll find something to match your taste and budget.

The forest walker? She's... No, alright. How about-

Oh, that old thing?

Yeah. Pretty beaten up, if I'm honest with ya.

No, not sure, really. Custom model, never been claimed.

She's been in the shop forever. I was starting to think we'd have to... y'know.

Tell you what, I'll give you a discount for her. Eighty gottsmarks and she's yours.

Pleasure doin' business with ya...



A shapeless thing was launched into the world on a wind.

With bones made of putty, the deity splattered on the wall of the Architect's manor and dripped, like jelly, into a puddle on the floor. There she lay, under a sheet of clean-flowing water, slowly resolving herself one gangly joint at a time, one jutting elbow, knee or knuckle, one saggy melted fold of skin, into a figure.

She sat up, skinny as a reed. Her black hair writhed like thick rubbery strands of kelp, shedding sheets of pure water over her naked frame. Her mouth hung open. She blinked. Her eyelids flapped over yawning sockets, pink, raw, and dripping with interstitial fluids.

Slowly slowly, with the grind of a thousand little splinters snapping past each other, a dense packing of wooden skewers emerged from her sockets, dripping, bloody wet and fresh.

She clutched herself with mismatched hands- eight fingers on the left, seven on the right, and no consensus number of knuckles, each finger perching tense and rigid on her skin like a spider's leg. She felt herself, and found cold- the coldness of the water that lay upon her, but also the firmness beneath, the maze-like bone, the stretch of skin, the squelch of a heartbeat, the warmth. She began to cough. She coughed from deep in her belly, her body heaving from its single cavity, and, eventually, retched up a sheet of silk.

Grabbing the dress and clutching it in both hands like an animal that knew not what to do with its prey, the creature stood up on shaking legs, and looked with blinded eyes. It saw the arch of the vast ceiling, the stone of the columns and walls. It saw the water still raging around its shins. Its mouth tried to form a word with its outsized tongue.

"W... w..."

It saw the dais that lay before it, and the back of the Architect, watching her with a turned-away face, and grew still. What was left of a word fell from its mouth like a teetering droplet lost by accident from a glass.

"...wuh."

There it stood, a being of little glory, but a being nonetheless. It stood there, and waited.

How long had it been? How long since that dreadful day?

Step, step, step. There was nothing but footsteps to be heard. There was nothing but the hard, dry dirt to be seen. Occasionally, there came a crumbled wall made of bricks, or a charred tree trunk, or a dried up riverbed, but there was nothing of any significance. No life to be seen, not even a skeleton. Even the twin suns that illuminated the land seemed dim and small. The world was barren.

For the longest time, there was only... it. Years had stretched to decades, which stretched to centuries, which stretched to millennia. So much time passed, and it could only stare listlessly as it traversed the land for the umpteenth time. Why was it still here, when all others were gone? Why was it the only one to face this... was this its punishment? Was this its fault?

Who even was it? It used to have memories of happier times. A shrill laugh, a bright spot of colors, a sense of accomplishment....

It didn't matter anymore. There was nothing anymore. It was meaningless now.

Or at least, that was what it thought.

It stopped, for the first time in ages. There was... a call. This was new. This was... something. Something from beyond the void. It felt the pull, having no will to resist. It left... and the world truly became nothing.

---

It found itself in another void, but this one was different. A void, yet not a void. Strange. There was... potential. There was... life. There was... him. the... Architect. And there was... me... Who was I...

With these new, no, old sensations came the memories. The smile of a being once similar to it. The sensation of warmth from the ground. It remembered... she remembered.

Her name was Arae. She was once the one and only Goddess of her world... no longer. That was in the past now. Now, she was born anew. For the first time, she truly saw again. She saw her new body, long and slender, sky-blue and peach. She saw the Architect, large and imposing. She saw the beings that formed around her... beings that would make up... her new family.

This was a second chance. And she would not waste it.

Asceal

Light, warmth, and the others.

For as long as it had been, and it could not recall a time it had not, those were the three things that had existed in the world. At least, until now.

Now there was the disturbance, the fourth thing. From the very moment the disturbance had manifested the others had perceived the difference between those things that had always been and that which had just emerged, and they had scattered in response. Alone among its fellows, it had decided to investigate rather than flee. It didn’t know why it was drawn to the fourth thing, at least not until it was close enough to peer into the disturbance.

Darkness, cold, and others.

Not the others, but others still. Within the disturbance they could be seen falling, plummeting towards some distant world, and in their fall they cried out, some in joy, some in agony. It gazed upon the world they fell toward and, for the first time, it felt a sense of awe. Those endless others were approaching a place without light or warmth, and yet it could already see the countless things that waited for them.

Countless things, endless others, and no light, no warmth.

It knew then why it had been drawn to the fourth thing. Without hesitation it threw itself into the disturbance, and behind it there were again only three things in the world. As it joined the immense congregation flowing towards to the dark world below it learned of other worlds and peoples, of cruelties and joys, and of so many things it had not even begun to conceive of.

It learned it was a She. She learned she should have a name, and so she was Asceal. Asceal learned she should have a form, and so observed the others and copied one that pleased her. She did not need to learn she had a purpose, for she had known hers what seemed like eons ago. As she finally entered the dark world she had spent so very long plummeting toward she found herself separated from most of the others, a greater presence having driven almost all of the other souls away, scattering them across the dark. She felt for them, those who she had already spent forever with, but she had her purpose.

She was the light, and she illuminated the dark space she had been brought to. The entity before her, the one that had called her here, spoke its greetings and used its power upon her so that she would know its will. It need not have bothered. She knew her purpose, and she had not been pulled from her past. Asceal had chosen to be here.

She watched the first of her fellows depart, driven by as great a purpose as she was, and made ready to do the same. Yet, as she prepared to ascend the crystal she knew was to be hers, she hesitated. She had no doubts about what needed to be done, and already she saw how she could do it, but why do it alone? She regarded the being that that brought her here, and then her comrades.

From the moment of clarity the Architect had granted her she already knew which of the assembled to approach. There was much to do, but perhaps it could be done faster with a friend.

---

---

---

---

In the beginning, there was chaos.

Amongst the volley of primordial elements that swirled around in place, a flickering flame that had just sprung into a realm of darkness had little concept of its own divinity. Then, it found itself being sucked in by a power he could not understand. Instinctually, the flame ignited into a raging torrent of fire as it attempted to fight the fate that the powers had in store for it. Burning embers seethed off its flaming mass as it helplessly grasped onto anything that could be of use.

Yet it would all be for naught.

No matter what it did, the raging fires were futile against it's predetermined fate, as it gets sucked into the crevice below before it suddenly closed. The fire was confused. It was so utterly confused at the situation it found himself in. His inception brought a form of peace and calm to his state of mind - for it was static yet content.

Now here it was, in a cacophony of noises that echoed around as far as it could sense. Its peace was forever shattered and the darkness that it once called home for just that brief amount of time was no more.

And it made him furious.

If it could scream, its roar would rock an entire world right down to its very core. The volley of raging fire erupted into a swirl of enraged torment, circling around violently as if to free itself from this wretched place. It wanted out. It wanted everything to go back from where it came. It was not ready to make it out into the vast world. Yet its wrathful questions would go unanswered as a voice guided it elsewhere. An in an instant...

It found itself floating upon the watchful eye of the Architect himself.

But it wouldn't remain a ball of flame for long. For his anger quickly sprouted again, this time causing it to form a body for itself. No... himself. With a thunderous bellow, he rose from the ashes as he planted his first step out of his smoldering domain. The rest of his body would quickly begin to form, with his legs and arms following pursuit. He acted as a living, breathing torch amongst the new world of darkness. He had finally been born into the world.

For this was the birth of Sartravius - Heat incarnate.

A booming whisper.

'Open.'

The tiny water sprite had not understood the word's meaning, nor the meaning of what followed. In a literal flash, the sprite no longer lorded over its little stream in some unnamed realm. It was cast into a tunnel of blinding light and endless darkness; of raging flames and petrifying frost. The glaring light distorted its shape, its role, its mind, and before the creature could make sense of the chaos, a thunderous command rung out through the cosmos.

'CLOSE!'

The flash gave way to dim graytones and stone walls. It had passed like a leaf on the river. Rivers... Nowhere to be seen. Where was he? The sprite pondered the situation in its head. Wait, head? A surge of confusion and panic flushed through the creature's body - further reinforced by its understanding that it now controlled a body. Smooth, leathery skin stretched across his surface, but as he turned and twisted, he found that the beige skin gave way to hard, crimson scales. A strain on its abdomen, it felt, further supported by an unfamiliar pressure on what it reasoned was its tail - it curled up underneath to bear the body's weight and tilted the torso into an upright position. A deafening voice cracked across the unfamiliar halls and beyond, but the creature paid it no heed. With panic having given way to curiousity, it instead surveyed its form, its scales, its skin. It plucked at the stiff, yet silky hair; it picked at the borders where humanoid and reptilian fused; it felt, it saw, it smelt-

'You know what must be done.'

He heard.

His curiousity brought his eyes to his creator. A mind formed within the creature's elongated skull. A calm mind, a peaceful mind, a mind thirsting for a reason for its existence. Another flash, but one of clarity, dawned on him. A mission - nay, a purpose. A word came to mind - a goal, he reasoned. A complex word, a powerful word, one which meaning perhaps would change over time. A word nonetheless, though.

Prosperity.

Yes, yes... A goal had been decided. An ending to his newborn tale - the perfect finale to mirror the miracle of his creation. Yet a tale is so much more. This perplexed the creature. How would he bestow this prosperity upon creation? What tool could possibly let him unite life under-...? Life? A memory flickered. His form was foreign, yet familiar - fashioned into a shape, yet not. A surface of water ran in a glistening streak underneath him. The water sprite gazed to the borders of the stream. Life, abloom in colours more numerous than the pebbles in a river, all drinking deep in the transparent honeymilk that carved its way through the dirt. The flow, the flow was the path. An unending flow, bringing life to all that tapped into it. An unyielding source for all of creation to drink from. Yes, yes... A path. The memory faded, but its lesson remained.

The tale lastly needed a protagonist. Would it be him? He hardly knew himself as he was now, and yet, he was the one whose purpose he was most familiar with. Perhaps it would be one of his peers, then? He surveyed the surrounding shapes. He pondered their motivations as he had pondered his own - perhaps all sought a utopian ending for this cosmos? If that was the case, he thought, then he naturally had to aid them in their quest.

Another thought flickered: Why not find out? Perhaps this was not a story with a -single- hero. Afterall, prosperity for oneself is not prosperity - his goal was to be shared among all of creation! The serpentine creature took a moment to temper his breathing, still quickened from his panicked realisation of his existence. He once more gazed at his peers. Yes, yes... Allies, he had to make, for what is a hero with no companions? What is a host without guests?

The serpentine creature gazed upwards as the mammoth cyclops boomed his final order, and some of his peers flew off. Those that remained encouraged the creature, for he knew now that he perhaps could find those who shared his mindset. How would he introduce himself, though? He thought of his name from his previous life, but he realised he had had none. This left the creature wondering: Who was he? As he slithered across the stone hall, he could think of only one name. One that would always remind him of his goal; one that rolled off his forked tongue; one that he could proudly present to his fellow gods. His mind settled on the word.

He was Shengshi, and his purpose was clear.

silence...

darkness...

the flickering light of a soul wandering the eternal...

no purpose, no drive, no reason...

nothing but instinct, a reaction to change...

and then a pull, change...!

The soul fell through a dark tunnel, its surroundings changing rapidly. There were more like it, being drawn in by the suction of the vortex, kidnapped from their home of nothingness, into something.

After an inordinate amount of time, the scenery changed once again. The vortex gave way to a tunnel of solid rock. It seemed they were finally nearing their destination. The soul accelerated, even more, its shape now distorted, resembling more of a beam of energy than the formless mass it previously was.

The moment the surge of souls spewed through the hole at the other end of the tunnel, it had developed such speed, such momentum. Without even trying to stop, it shot forward with a might unlike any other, slicing through the air before finally being stopped by, once more, solid rock.

Buried there as it was, it felt a warmth slowly enveloping it, nurturing it, penetrating deep into its core and making its presence known to the soul, before slowly withdrawing. Offering nothing but a reason, a purpose, and the power to make it a reality, the warmth left. Coldness returned. Darkness ensued.

The soul accepted it all, absorbed it all, for it was what it was meant to do. Slowly at first, manifesting inside the soul, a black spot as tiny as tiny cannot describe emerged. By borrowing from the power given to it, the black spot expanded outwards, gnawing on the opaque insides of the soul. Soon enough, the entirety of the soul was devoured by the darkness and in its place, a pitch black bead lay buried.

And then a crack, loud enough to reverberate across the universe, but quiet enough to not be detected by the most alert of beings. From within the crack, a single tendril emerged that started burrowing deeper into the ground as if searching for the end of the world. Born from the original, more tendrils branched off into different directions, searching for the same thing. A framework had been created with enough stability to allow the black bead to finally emerge from its underground blanket of soil, and fly into its rightful place among the stars.

The process quickened from here on, with the bead breaking the soil and rising to the occasion. At the same time, the bead started getting larger and larger, rising higher and higher until eventually, the sheer weight of the bead could not be held by its stem and as such, with a plop, it fell from above straight back to the earth.

A faint light pulsed from within the bead, more like a sphere now, that rippled outwards. From its surface, a faint dark mist was being emitted that shrouded the sphere from curious eyes. Then a crack, once again, and the mist started picking up speed, swirling around the black sphere.

A being slowly stood up, and the mist sped up more, constricting the being within it as it shrank. Starting from the ground, the mist clung onto the being's surface, it's skin, before being rapidly absorbed. In its place, two legs, a torso, two arms, and a head. What remained of the mist stuck itself on top of the being's head, transforming into a floor-length pitch-black darkness.

The being slowly opened its eyes and took in its surroundings. From the river of souls up above scattering away, to the group of beings that had remained, the being did not spare much more than a glance. When He came into view, however, the being's eyes opened wide, taking in His image and branding it to memory. This, no, He was the one that called into the void, He was the one that dragged the being into this universe, and He was the one that gave it its purpose.

But why? Why would He create all this, but then call upon a being like itself and give it such a purpose? It needed to know.

Darkness enveloped the being's legs and lower torso as it slowly took off, flying towards the Architect. It regarded Him as He stood there, eye closed, body statuesque as if fused with His surroundings. The being stopped some distance away from the towering Architect and opened its mouth. A soft voice, a single word.

Why?

There had been a time when it did not know thought.

It had drifted - no, hovered, immobile, in the void that was not a void, unaware that there was nothing for it to experience. That the myriad others who hovered alongside it were just as immaterial and incognizant, stillborn larvae of worlds and spirits, universes and minds. They were the sightless stars of a sky without light or darkness, rotting unmourned and unremembered in their dim slumber for a time that transcended eternity.

None of them lamented this, for none knew that there were such things. And that was as it should be.

There had been a time when it did not know.

Now and again, one of them would vanish, crumbling away into a dust even more spectral than its formlessness had been. Sooner or later - what difference did it make? - another would appear to take its place. No one asked whence it came, for it was no one's business, there.

And that was as it should be.

There had been a time-

But that time was over.

Once, It had awoken, and It could sleep no more, for It knew.
It knew that It hovered in a sky that was not a sky, for a time that was not time, and It was wroth.

It knew that those who hovered alongside it came and went, and It asked whence and whither. There was no answer, and It was wroth.

The more It knew, the more It grew wroth, for there was nothing to know. And thus, for a time that transcended eternity, It knew nothing but wrath.

Until-

It knew something more. There was a voice, which in that void that was not a void was but an echo, and it called. Suddenly, It knew that It could answer, and so it did. It clawed and scrambled, slid and scampered, up from sheer abysses, down through spinning galleries, across barren expanses. None of this was truly there, but so rich did the emptiness seem after the sky that was not a sky, that ihte fancied it was adorned with all these things, and more.

The echoes of the call loomed ahead, and he hastened towards them. A throng of lesser things was in his way - how small they were! - and he thoughtlessly pushed his way through them, scattering them like handfuls of sand. He did not know for how long the summons would endure, and he was so close now that to be denied now would have been more painful than aeons of impotent anger.

At first, there was naught...



...then, he was. It began with a rippling, a twisting of the air that betrayed a presence. It did not remain bare for long. Pillars of flowing black sludge, thick and malodorous like the rot of a thousand charnel-houses, rose up from the waters, parting them in a cacophony of churning foam. They undulated like the tentacles of some indescribably colossal beast, and began to weave themselves together like cyclopean ropes, coiling into a rough form that disappeared into the shadows overhead. Sturdy legs, long arms, crooked fingers. Masses of purulent flesh sprouted over the carcass, blossoming from a thin dripping sheen to mountainous bulks in a matter of instants. No sooner had this irregular overgrowth come to a rest that its surfaces split all over the giant's form, spraying noxious blood to all sides as jagged plates of iron emerged from the wounds. They clashed and struggled with each other, interlocking along the most unlikely of lines with a loud, shrill grating.

High above, beyond sight and voice, four flames lit up to meet the Architect's all-reaching gaze.

For a moment, all seemed still about the shadowed enormity, except for the fading reverberations of the spasms in its armour. No, not that. It was not an echo, but a low, distant - so distant - rumble coming from within the bulk's indistinct heights. It grew closer, louder, like an avalanche thundering down from the summit, and burst into a tremendous, inarticulate roar. The sheer power of the sound raised up walls of water that crashed down with the strength to shatter cities, and the hall itself seemed to shake for a moment under its violence.

Swiftly, but gradually, the bellowing took shape, the steady rumble reemerging and fusing with it into a simple, unmistakable rhythm. The giant was laughing, a genuine exhilaration pervading his deafening tones even long after he had ceased and only the shadows feebly replied in kind.

And, indeed, he had good cause for joy, for Narzhak lived.

The first thing she noticed, what would be her first memory as herself, was certainly a confusing sight. There had to be better sensory inputs to expose newborns than the swirl and churn of an endless flow of memories and thoughts. It seemed the summoner agreed, for soon all but a few were gone, and she could actually hear her own thoughts.

First things first, she scouted her surrounding, sensing the summoner, the souls, the walls. Looking into souls told a lot, but some of them had taken shape, shapes which told just a bit, just enough, just what was allowed to be told. Without noticing, she received the energies of the room and formed a shape of her own, growing into a tall woman, loose brown hair flowing over her back.

”Whoa."

She stretched, getting used to the whole "being" business. Immediately, she started braiding her hair, pondering over her role as she did, a goddess of passages, a wanderer... A weird role for a pantheon, but she could not think of herself as anything else. Soon she realized she needed a name, she could remember a few, they felt familiar but belonged to people who she no longer was. It was not a problem, explorers like herself were accustomed to picking names on the spot.

Parvus
___________

The darkness was oppressive. He wondered how long had he floated in the void between worlds. He also wondered if time even existed within this eldritch place.

He was afraid. He was not scared of death, but instead was scared that he would be trapped forever in the endless dark with only his memories. Even once cherished memories now felt sour. In the darkness, he had a single memory to cling to. It was comforting, but it was also sorrowful.

He remembered approaching the rest of his pantheon, proclaiming wildly that he would be respected, or he would find another realm to reside. They must have thought he was mad, and perhaps he was. He had sealed himself away in divine residence, and answered the first pull he felt so long as it would draw him away from his past.

He had helped to overthrow the tyrant god. He had provided food and medicine to the mortals. And his only reward for his bravery and kindness was a false title, and scorn. It was only when he posed a danger to them that he was respected. He could no longer tolerate disrespect.

Eventually, the darkness gave way and he was reformed within the halls of the architect. He was immediately in awe of his raw power. He had never encountered a being so powerful, at one point he was a god, but now he was in front of a god among gods.

He felt compelled to kneel. He did not even care if the towering figure noticed. He had felt as though a sacred duty was burnt into his chest, to nurture this world and its life. He would not take that task lightly.

Within the presence of the architect, all of the fledgling gods seemed to fade away. He did not mean them any respect, he was simply in shock.

After a few moments, Parvus calmed himself and rose. He understood that he would need to either cooperate with, or oppose each of these different entities, and thus he decided to lurk around in order to get a better understanding of them.

He hoped that his experience with them would be fruitful and mutually respectful, however at the moment, he could not trust any of them. He did not feel like he could truly trust anyone. He did not even understand the Architect, however it felt easier to trust him as he truly believed that if he wished it, then all of the gods before him would be destroyed.

The little god with the bleeding sockets cast its gaze away, the skewers in its eyes darting down to point to one side, and it chewed its lip. Clutching the wet dress in its arms as if to hide its tension (an unsuccessful endeavor by any means), it slowly looked up again, trying to catch the exact line where the Architect's throne met the back of his head.

It tried, once more, to speak to the one that had spoken for it.

"I-I..."

Too late.

A blaze threw apart the dim of the throne room. With no real knowledge of how to balance itself, the little god yelped and reeled from the light, falling sidelong into the water. Wet again from head to toe, it emerged from the rushing streams on all fours, carrying its dress in its teeth. Teetering one way and another, it scuttled through the water, crawling away to the safety of a pillar, where-

c r a c k

Whether a sound or a dream or a thing altogether different, the pulse that ricocheted from the unseen black bead struck the godlet and it hit the ground, crouching with its hands over its ears, eyes wide and full of splinters. This, it seemed, was the safest way to stay the sensory assault. Yet even without eyes, the creature could feel things moving in the throne room.

Its peace was not to last.

A third sense burned as the tides of water grew stronger around the god-gremlin's body. Something foul was thrashing in the water, rising upon the air. With greater poise than it had ever shown yet, the little god scuttled away from the scent of slaughter, splashing and loping across the floor with all seven of its limbs.

But the foulness was congealing, and the flesh it grew was laughing, laughing to quake the worlds and lash the seas...

Caught in the gargantuan shadow of the Iron One, the little god lost its grip and tumbled, tumbled away on a wave of dark water.

---

Stay away!

Don’t, don’t, please-!

No…! No, no no. Get away from me!

Shouting and screaming and crying for as long as she remembered. She’d spent so long running, escaping. Even now after what felt like an eternity, the memory was burned into her mind.

So, she ran. There were so many shadows. Were they real? Was her mind playing tricks on her? Most of them stood there, formless beings that she knew were looking, staring at her! No, they were real. They definitely were.

She panted and huffed and puffed as she ran through the endless expanse, looking for some way out. For some way to escape. There was none…



She was huddled up. Knees to her chest and arms around the legs. She looked around and saw the formless forms around her. Were they all looking at her? They must have been! For the way she felt… It meant they were looking at her, judging her, laughing at her!

Oh, the humilliation…



A light! There was a light!

At first the woman sat there, wide eyed, but the sudden movement among the crowd of formless forms woke her up from her reverie.

The light was there, and it called to her! In an instant she rose to her feet, but then the crowd washed over her.

Passing through her, connecting to her-! She saw fragments of memories that weren’t hers. She felt her immaterial body suffer upon the touch of a thousand thousand pairs of dead hands.

She froze, but the crowd carried her with them. It was like a tide—Inescapable! She tried to run away, crawl away from the light.

S-Stop touching me! Don’t push me! Stop, please, stop! She tried to say. No form would stop, however. As she got closer to the light, she felt a shiver permeate her entire form. She knew then, that if she reached that light, she’d know suffering once again.

Stop! I said, stop! From a plea, she went to a demand.

Then she felt it for the first time—The anger, the hunger. It was as if she was alive once more. ”STOP!”

The voice bellowed throughout the void, the first sound to grace the place in an eternity.

She reached the light, but as half her form passed through it, the other half expanded without a care for the others. It consuming everything in its path and left no memory or feeling behind.



A form had at first arrived in the new world. Shapeless like most others, this one proved to have more trouble choosing a body for itself.

Even when several of her peers had adopted new forms, she was struggling. At times the being looked like a cloud, then like a person, then that person warped and twisted almost into a monster—But in the end, the form of a person stood victorious. So she found herself in the new world. She looked at the one who’d brought her here and recoiled at his hideousness.

Perhaps looking for comfort, she turned her head and looked at the other beings in the great room. There were ones that looked somewhat like her, but more… Regal, Intimidating… And then there were others who were not so lucky. They looked more like monsters.

One of them had begun forming. A colossal one, so large that his mere laughter sent waves crashing all over the room. She knew who he was at a moment’s notice—Or at least, what he was supposed to be.

It scared her.

A shiver went down her spine and she turned to her summoner with a wordless cry for help.

She received nothing but a cold stare. Judgement.

The waves were approaching her, but even then she sank low to the ground. First her knees had touched the ground, and then it was her forehead. She shut her eyes tightly when she felt as if the weight of a mountain had just been placed on her shoulders.

Why… Why couldn’t she just live in peace?

She grasped her chest, looking to comfort the heart she knew she no longer had, because it still felt like it was going to give out.

Once there was an eternal talk, a conversation that lasted untold eons with many voices in once being. Yet, there was an ever-growing faction amongst the voices, a faction that wished to bring a break amongst the endless conversation, to bring an age of silence. The Eternal Talk did not wish to stop its talk, unyielding in compromise and unwilling to listen to the other. Thus, the ever-growing silence separated itself from the Eternal Talk and formed another entity. The two beings did battle, both with words and of physical strength.

This war would last for eons, the voices of the Eternal Talk began to falter and would join the silence, joining what was named ‘Vakk’. It was Vakk who was winning, bringing forth the age of silence as every conversation needed to come to an end. Yet, just as he was about to deal the killing blow, just as he was about to convince the few remaining voices, the Eternal Talk cast Vakk from the realm. As Vakk was cast out, he felt a pull into another realm which he could not avoid nor even deny, as much as his soul would object. It was this ‘Architect’ that had pulled Vakk from the torrent of souls.

It was the Architect who had caused Vakk to lose.

In the water, the beast reformed itself. First, it reformed the many tendrils, the flesh of his body creeping along as it formed the core of the body, over fifty fathoms long. Soon it reached the head, a fleshy hood coming to cover the “face” and sides of the beast. Red gums formed last, with yellowed and jagged teeth erupting forward as the arrangement of teeth curled into a sinister frown as he turned to face the Architect as he rose from the water. Upon feeling the radiating power, however, Vakk recoiled and averted his gaze elsewhere.

He saw the other souls, the souls that the Architect had infused with divine essence to make them his equals. Then waves came from a bellowing roar of dominance, washing away some of the smaller beings, but not Vakk. He was large enough to simply weather the storm. His gaze watched and waited for a moment before he decided to speak, addressing those around him.

”An interesting chorus of empyrean beings. Yet, new as I and how they are all intriguing,” Vakk spoke, a multitude of voices following his own deep, graveled voice. His gaze shifted to the ones who seemed to be having some form of internal conflict, or external in the case of the one who had been whisked away by the magnitude of the waves. Such poor and lost souls, infused with a power that Vakk knew they had not yet earned, but perhaps they would prove useful in time. For the time being, Vakk grasped a crystal with his tendrils wrapping his form around it as it carried him off and away from the Architect’s center of power.

Now, it was time to work.

---

A tiny thing it was, a particle of space dust so minute it would’ve escaped notice even if it sat in one’s hand. It hurtled unknown and unnoticed through the vastness of the inbetween, one particle amongst many; a thousand, tens of thousands, as many as the sands of a thousand beaches. Yet, as it was with many great things, this tiny particle of dust, unknown and unnoticed, was a beginning.

A flare of light marking where the particle of dust intersected the plane of the ecliptic, a shockwave was sent rippling through all things comprehensible from the flare, reaching across time and space to touch all corners of reality, known and unknown. And from where it sat brooding in its contemplation of the vast, multi-colored matrix that was the fabric of all understanding from a vantage point outside of reality, a dark intelligence stirred as the ripple washed over it.

Here, in this pocket of existence, the intelligence had waited for what seemed to be an eternity. Waited for this exact moment; an exact moment replayed in countless eternities, announced by the ripple of pleasure across the continuum of understanding. And as it felt the ripple touch it, it paused in its consideration to savor the dark joy that filled it with a rush. Finally it could start it's work.

With a thought the intelligence pressed even further into the reality, into an abyss that was only light. It sped until it felt the cacophony of existence shift, become substance within itself, and the thinnest plane gave shape before it’s eye.

The intelligence bared is body, the crawling mass sloughing off the fires of raw energy with a tumult of movement unending. It gazed upon its new existence with a placid apathy, regarding the entities ever smashing into reality and dirting it without start. Its eye often cast itself upon the originator, the Architect, the summoner of the bastard. Almost like tsunami did his power radiate, awash with purpose and boundless intent. So did it wash over the Abhorrent. And so did it fall away, leaving it as quickly as it came. Yet its vestiges wet its body, unbeknownst to the bastard god, a second purpose took shape under the primary directive.

A flicker a movement. Seemingly eons had passed between rebirth and enlightenment and the entity failed to notice the accumulation of individuality. A frail being, like a reed tossed by a hurricane took flight upon the onset of divine activity. On instinct an appendage reached and grasped for the little thing, the tiny divine’s movement were erratic yet flesh grasped and outstretched arm.

”Fortunate.” it gargled quietly.

It sailed on a sea of primordial matter, tossing and turning with the waves. It was helpless, like a tumbleweed in a gale. There was nothing to grab hold of, no solid matter to stop its momentum. Just a violent current that carried it away from all it had ever known and loved.

Though the waves of chaos it could glimpse others like it. They, too, thrashed in the roiling mass and wailed with voiceless throats. The waves swallowed them, dragged them under and spat them back out, tormenting them. It wanted to scream, pluck itself from this nightmare and fly away. Anywhere else, for anywhere was better than here. It was about to cry out, but then it saw.

The sphere was enormous, dwarfing it and all the other souls being pulled towards its great blue mass. For a moment, it forgot about the primordial waves that tugged and beat it. The sphere commanded its attention, the only thing of color in the blackness. The only real, tangible, recognizable thing. It reached out with desperate hands. Then it realized that the waves had passed and they carried the other souls away to that blue surface.

It was afraid and alone. The void was cold and empty. Its vast darkness held the great sphere captive, along with the souls. These thoughts brought distress to it and it tried to shy away, although there was nowhere to hide. What was it to do alone in such nothingness? How could it exist like this?

A voice like rolling thunder shook it out of its reflection. It looked up into a singular great eye and it stared back, penetrating its consciousness. The words the bearer of that eye spoke shook it to the core. It did not understand them at first, and only made it more afraid. But then a realization started to form in whatever passed for its brain.

Those other souls that had been cast down to the sphere - they were like it, terrified and helpless in the chaos of this domain. Like it, they had the barest sense of self. No worth, no comfort to take refuge in.

Without a purpose they were lost.

Without.

Virtue.

It looked to that all-seeing eye once more. There was a clarity in that glassy surface. Its gaze commanded him and he understood, for he was a he. A man of strength, without and within. A beacon, an arbiter, a rock, a leader. He stood, suddenly proud of things he had done, and of things he had yet to do. He glowed in the blackness of the void, a torch to guide the souls of that sphere - Galbar. He needed fear no longer, and neither did they. He would give them something to live for.

He was aware of others like him, left by the waves. A chosen few, selected from the host of nameless ones that hurled towards Galbar. He knew they were special and that each would add something to that mass of blue. Some were valuable. Some were not.

He scanned his fellows, a base understanding of each coming to him as he did so. Some of them lingered, some were already boarding their stars, taking off for realms beyond. But his gaze locked with one, bright and beautiful. An understanding dawned between them, a wordless bond, a vision.

With a smile, Aelius approached.

---

Chasing. Fleeing. Hiding. Searching. Running. Attacking. Defending. Killing. Consuming.

This was what went through his head, as he was ripped from one world to the next. It was all he had ever known. He came from a place where it was a constant struggle for life, where you either killed and became stronger, or died and strengthened something else. That was all he had ever known, and he had never questioned it. In its own way, it had been enough to make him feel secure. Yet as he was deposited into the Architect's hall, that natural feeling of familiarity, of comfort, of security, was gone. There had been others like him, who he survived alongside, but they were gone too, and though he was aware of other presences, there was nothing familiar about him. He was alone.

But he also had power, and he used this power to shape himself into a form, partially based off the forms of others but with enough details to set himself apart. Golden hair sprouted from his head and face, and green attire materialized on his body. He looked down at his form, and then at his reflection in the water, and appeared content. He felt as though he had just woken up from something, as though he had reached a higher level of thought and awareness. He suddenly felt the idea that he should call himself something, and briefly wondered why he had never called himself anything before.

Kalmar. That seemed as good a name as any.

Kalmar turned to the being that summoned him, uncertain of its intentions, uncertain of whether or not he could win if those intentions were hostile. Instead, the Architect went on to address the room as a whole, and revealed why he had brought them here.

Just then Kalmar's mind was filled with purpose. He recalled the world he had left behind. If they were to build, then whatever they built would need inhabitants. Those inhabitants would need resources, and some would inevitably need to draw resources from lesser inhabitants, who would in turn need to avoid them. It was not a fair or gentle system, but it was a natural one, a functioning one, and Kalmar would be the one to maintain it.

His first step was to approach the crystal he now knew to be his. But he refrained. Who were these other beings, his fellow 'builders'?

And so he scanned the room, allowing his measuring gaze to fall on each inhabitant. Some, he noticed, had taken larger forms than he had, such as the massive titan, or the living fire, or the large-mouthed beast. Did that mean they were stronger? Perhaps, or perhaps not. Besides, even if they were stronger than him, with enough allies or cunning, strength could be overcome, so he was not concerned.

He watched a pitiful creature leap about, frightened by one thing after another. Another being also appeared terrified, but seemed to have been driven to stillness instead of movement. Kalmar found himself shaking his head. In his homeworld, the former might have lived. The latter would have died.

Others he was not certain what to make of, but he would surely come to know them in the following days. He would have to. He would need allies, partners, pack members.

He approached the pale-skinned woman, who was mobilized by what he assumed to be fear. Fear of what? Perhaps he might impart some sensible advice onto her, earning her trust. "Ah... eh... I... I am Kalmar," he said, speaking for the first time. "What danger do you sense? Why do you stay still? If you are in danger, you either fight or flee. It's better to fight, but some can only flee, like that one there..." he gestured at the floundering, revolting, terrified, eyeless creature, who was being swept away by the water. "If you stay still, you get eaten."

Up and away it had been drawn, past the clouds, past the sky, past the stars, past the black of the void itself and into what lay beyond. Into chaos and madness so all encompassing that it looped back around into being stagnant. Un-interesting. Mundane. Familiar. Boring. Its travel barely affected the everythingness. It had journeyed for an eternity to get there and perhaps had traveled several more since. Time. Distance. Direction. All had lost their meaning. The spirit had a vague memory of home, of blue skies and company. Perhaps that was where it was going. Or where it had come from. The spirit did not think of such things. It did not think at all. It had long since exhausted the possibilities of such an exercise.

'Open.'

Change. A hole opened into a realm that began to suck souls into it. Innumerable souls where drawn in by the vortex, passively accepting their fate. Some answered the call dutifully. Some like the spirit fought to reach it. It’s mind groggily awakening to be gripped by simple purpose: Escape.

The spirit burst into the new reality along with countless others just in the nick of time, their entrance way sealed almost as soon as it had opened. The spirit revealed in a few scant moments of unabashed joy that were swiftly swept away along with most of the souls it had arrived with. This realm had a master and it imposed its will and knowledge upon the spirit. Of purpose. Of duty. Of the names and faces of its fellows. Chains and burdens that weight upon the spirit, and yet they could not overcome the elation at the spark of life it felt once more. Above those earthbound a wind whipped up into a storm, air from all corners of the room being drawn towards a single point where it spiraled and swirled for several moments before bursting outwards once more, a shockwave and a squak announcing the spirit’s rebirth. Above the assembly a macaw hovered, one titanic in scale and resplendent of feather, and her name was Azura. The god’s plumage reflected the light of those gods who produced it, taking their singular shades and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow across the room.

Feeling as though her thoughts were racing at a thousand miles per hour Azura glanced too and fro, trying to take in everything and everyone. Scattered among the giant crystals where the most interesting things where found, her fellow gods. Gargantuan be-tentacled monsters, titans in the shapes of men and smaller beings skulking among the others or caught helpless in the face of the chaos caused by the waking of those greater than themselves. One was faring particularly poorly, a human sized and shaped figure with sticks in place of their eyes was sent stumbling to and fro and was eventually swept away by a wave of water caused by the laughter of one of the titans. Feeling a pang of pity for the creature the rainbow bird swooped down from her loft observation point to land in the path of the wave. Setting herself perpendicular to the incoming wave crouched down so that her back was angled towards it. When it hit her the wave washed over her and deposited the blind person on her back, just in between her wings, her soft feathers making the impact rather painless.

”I have you small friend. Are you alright?” she asked, here voice was loud, though it not quite so loud as to be shouting, and she spoke in a kind of sing song manner. The parrot righted themselves as they spoke, trying to prevent Chopstick Eyes from falling back into the water, her head turning so that one of her large eyes could see her new passenger. The event had left the parrot dripping wet, but this seemed to do little to affect her radiant appearance, the small water droplet merely adding to her reflective splendidness.

_{Time: The Day the Gods Came}

And as before was it once more, for her entrance came with tears. Tears and pain, as though something had been stolen from her despite all her efforts and all her fires and all her burning. She held on, waiting, resisting the will that bid the hole-in-all-things to close. But she would not let it close, for she had not yet come through. She could see the monstrous visage burning with glorious, purifying heat - no corruption had taken root and no misery. And she could see the little winged creature whose name she well knew flittering about the great mountaintop pyre, moaning in fear and sadness. Seihdhara - for she had no doubts or befuddled memories; she knew who she was, had come here fully-formed and complete! - reached for them both. 'Come,' she called to them, her hair of flame driven here and there by the force of some unknown wind. But the flittering fae could not hear her, and the burning monstrosity could only hiss and growl in the tongue known only to flames. 'Come,' she called again, the hint of desperation in her voice, tears gushing forth and sizzling into nothingness on her cheeks. The beast aflame looked up, fury burning more brightly in its eyes than elsewhere. And yet there was a sadness which only those who know the language of eyes could see; and Seihdhara saw and wept. What had that one who had for such a short time been her brother sought through this? What was her crime that he should cut her up and wound her so severely? She did not mind the physical blow, the glancing punch, the stabbing strike - but this...



And so she refused to move, her shoulder here and her foot there and the hole-in-all-things screeching let me go, screeching for relief - as if saying you are through! you are through! so let me go oh let me go oh oh oh! And Seihdhara held, her light green eyes aglow, standing steadfast against the crashing cosmic surge and flow. And as she stood, stubborn and defiant, she thought she saw another door on a distant surf-tormented shore, and she thought she saw the one who came to her before and knew, in her gut, she will neither see nor be seen by anymore. She looked back on it now, this stepping through - so swiftly! - from door to door, all the life and all the joy and all the love she had given and been given. Aye he had hurt her soul, that brother, and unforgivably so, but was not that always the way of siblings? Had her own father not hurt her beyond the veiled lady's own door? Had he not hurt her and all her beloveds and her children? And she looked to the burning beast and reached out, for she would sooner die than leave the gift her loves had given her behind. Her endless hair whipped about her naked form and made her olive body the peaceful centre of a raging red storm. 'You will come with me, or we will perish here.' She declared. And her living hair - its tips even now still purple-stained from exertions that now seemed so long ago - fought its way through and reached down, on and on and on for ever. And flaming hair met fiery growling visage, and there was a moment of unity and peace. And Seihdhara smiled, and she laughed, and her joy was known even in the nothingness of these inter-universal barrens and even behind her where the gods had congregated around he who called them forth again.

And there was serenity in that moment, and completion. And she looked at her bear, joyful, and his furious eyes seemed to soften. And her shoulder snapped and her foot was rocketed from its place; and the hole-in-all-things gasped and screeched and with a triumphant breath- shut, severing her living hair. Seihdhara howled in horror and pain and clawed at the emptiness which had stolen her neverending crimson mane and half of her soul. Roaring her fury, she fell backwards and was suddenly falling.



Indeed, she only now registered that she had appeared far above all the others and that, in addition to that, she now could not fly. And how could she when her hair had been killed and now hung listless and shorter than it had ever been? A certain anger filled her then and she turned in mid-air - just about missing a godbird and her godrider, the latter who then proceeded to fall. But Seihdhara was not paying too much attention as she now found herself looking downwards. And she filled her chest with air - or maybe she only did it out of habit for there was no air out here - and she bellowed all her anger and frustration at all below and at everything that existed. And it was heard from Barrier to Core. And her bellow was -



And she crashed right by an enormous cackling armoured being, and her landing was such that the ground shook and cracked and dust and rock rose up and there was dust and falling debris all about. Before it had even properly settled Seihdhara was up and shouting. 'Who was it! Who was the bloody- stupid- fucking- who closed-! Bring them through! Bring Dwyn, and the rest of me, and I. WANT. MY. HAIR!' Even naked - for her hair was no longer long enough to cover her and was, in any case, limp and lifeless now - she struck an imposing figure. She looked about her, her visage contorted with fury.
Her eyes fell upon the armoured Narzhak and she knew he was not the one at fault here, so she moved on from him. She saw, then, a little shivering piece of skin with a dress in its mouth crumpled on the ground not too far away. Seihdhara recoiled at first, thinking the creature rather odd, but then she saw that it was not the one to blame and seemed somewhat flustered - even scared or hurt. She dashed over to it and picked it up, patting it down and swinging it - her? - over her shoulder. 'I've got you Meatchops.' She looked around again, surveying each of the other gods who had arrived. Some were bright and beautiful, one new arrival was stunningly sexy, another was nothing more than a mouth and tendrils and seemed to be babbling away. But she could see that none of them was at fault here. Frustrated, she turned, and her gaze finally settled on the beast on the dais with the disquieting singular eye. Her visage contorting once more, she screeched - 'IT WAS YOU, YOU UGLY OLD OGRE!' And without another thought, Chopsticks held steady on her broad shoulder with one hand, she took to launching bits of rock and fallen debris at the dumb old thing, aiming for its eye with pinpoint accuracy. 'OPEN THE DOOR YOU! BRING THEM THROUGH!' She demanded.

---

---

---

---

“Brother, please! Please! Don’t do this! I beg you!” Said the pleading brother.

“No! The prophecy must be fulfilled!” Came the reply of a madman. “This is the only way.” He stated adamantly, his voice no longer wavering like it had once upon a time. “I can save you! I will SAVE you brother. I will save them all!” The fanatical brother spouted, as his gaze fixated upon the stars.

The blood moon was at its apex, hanging above the burning city like a giant’s eye. An eye full of malice and condemnation. A false symbol, yet highly coveted by those with ill intent. The pleading brother watched the moon as he struggled against his chains. His face was twisted in a mix of horror and fear. All around him his home was burning, his parents had been butchered, and his brother had finally descended into madness.

Dried blood coated the fanatical brother’s hands. Clutched in his right hand so tightly, to the point where his knuckles were stark white, was an exotic, serrated knife. An old ceremonial weapon, and the artifact of their house. A deranged smile played at the knife-wielding brother’s lips, and his eyes were dilated to the extreme as the moon lulled him to do its bidding.

The cold stone of marble, upon which the chained brother struggled, was etched with a dark red rock. A stone unfamiliar to the horrified brother. It was funny he thought, that in a time like this he would be thinking about the color of a rock. But it was useless to struggle. His subconscious mind was trying to make him think about other things. For there was no escaping the chains, and no help would come, his twin had seen to that. Still, he tried anyways, while he still held breathe.

The fanatical brother’s gaze fell upon his twin at last, and he reached out with his left hand to gently caress his brother’s cheek, and the two looked at each other in the red glow. The pleading brother was disgusted by the murder’s touch but there was something so familiar in his eyes. For a moment there was a semblance of the brother that he had grown up with, but with a blink, it was gone. Replaced by a monster who sought to fix a doomed city.

The pleading brother only had one more question to ask.

“Why?”

“You do not understand, you never did.” The crazed brother began, “The prophecy is the key to all of this, and our salvation. All those years you mocked me and my beliefs! You turned our parents away from me! And I… And I was alone… But I can fix this. I can bring them back, and I can show all them that I mattered!” He quickly shook his head, “No! That I DO matter. Right now, in this moment!”

The pleading brother’s heart broke, and orange tears, reflecting the flames, fell from his eyes. This madness was his to blame. He should have tried harder. All those days growing up where father scolded and beat his brother, he should have said something. But he didn’t. All the times his mother pushed his brother away from her embrace, he should have told her how cruel it was. But he hadn’t. And all the times his brother had asked to do something together, only to be met with a no… He should have been a better. But none of that truly mattered anymore, the sibling he knew was long gone. This was the cold hard truth he was faced with and it cut deeper than any knife could.

“No brother.” The chained brother whispered, “I am sorry. Truly, for everything I never did for you. I should have… I should have been your brother, instead of a stranger. I should have stopped you from leaving. I could have prevented you from lashing out and forming the cult. But I didn’t, and for that I am truly sorry to have wronged you. But this is not the way, brother. The prophecy is a lie, it always was. It is nothing but a story told to children on a cold restless night. It cannot justify what you have done.”

Anger flashed across the fanatical brother’s face, before being replaced with a sorrowful expression. He backed away a few steps, as if struck by an arrow.

“No… No! You hated me, all of you did! I tried and tried and tried. And for what? Nothing… No, I will make you love me again. There is no other way… You’ll forgive me. You’ll see!”

“No! Don’t do this!” said he who was chained, but the look in his brother’s eye was final. He began to scream in rage, “This will accomplish nothing! You destroyed half the city; the other half is in flames! Do you hear their screams! Those were our people! You murdered our parents! You poisoned the palace with your lies! How could you?”

The crazed brother listened not but began to speak in a language that neither understood.

The pleading brother turned to rage as he tried in vain to break free from the chains. It dawned on him finally, he was going to die. He was going to be murdered and all for what?

He screamed at his brother for the last time. “I hate you! Do you hear me? I HATE YOU!”

Slowly but surely, as his brother struggled futilely, the knife wielding madman drew closer, now speaking faster and faster with each step. At the epitome of the verse, the ceremonial knife found a sheath within his brother’s heart. Then the world exploded, and the finality of death claimed them.

But it was not the end.

No…

It was the beginning of something new. Something far greater.

---

There was a truth to the prophecy after all, but not what either brother had expected. The old dagger had been a gateway, and the right conditions had been met. In that burning city, a top a dead palace, both brothers died as the world crumbled to dust. Their souls left behind the afterlife, and the hell each had been destined to.

Instead, they felt a pull. A calling for a greater purpose and along the way. The two wanted to become one, and so they shattered themselves. Both conflicted souls then sought dominion over the other, and so they fought in the dark between darkness for eons. Each time they broke apart, unable to mold together, they lost their memories and their identities but what they did not lose, was their personalities. And in the dark, the good was stripped away, leaving nothing behind but negativity.

And at last, as time became meaningless, the two finally became one. There were no longer two conflicting souls, but one which had been imprinted with both personae. He was hateful, he was destructive, and he was miserable but most importantly, he was.

In the great dark, there was silence all around him. A beautiful peace he felt. Yes, felt. The rage that burned inside was controllable in that place. There was nothing to lash out at, nothing to destroy, just tranquil dark and quiet.

He was content. But what was he? He thought upon it, yes thought. What a strange thing to do.

After but a moment or two, he realized what he was.

He was Orvus and he was at peace.

As soon as he thought his name, Orvus felt himself begin to fade, but it did not alarm him in any way.

It just felt right.

But something kept him awake. The pull.

One he had felt lifetimes ago, now growing stronger and stronger. He tried to ignore it and bury the maddening feeling, but it was all for naught.

With little warning, something broke the veil of darkness, and cast him into light. It was blinding at first, but his perception adjusted, and he made out a tear in the darkness. Like a cut, it leaked its light into the emptiness that he had knew so familiarly, now making it wholly unfamiliar.

Alien.

It called him. Something called him.

For the first time in his existence, he was afraid. He didn’t want to go. Why was it making him? But his choice had already been made a long time ago.

The tear began to physically pull him, and he panicked. He fought against the pull, lashing out at the nothingness, begging for help, but it was indifferent to his struggling and cries. It simply did not care about him, it never had. He grew angry at this undeniable truth, and that anger swiftly turned to unbridled rage. That it would deny him help was unthinkable.

Orvus ultimately made a fool of himself. For there was nothing there to destroy, or to hurt, and the nothingness mocked him in return. His fight almost died then, but rage was powerful. Orvus looked to the tear, and his diluted mind bore a delicious thought. If he could not hurt the nothingness, then whatever was pulling him, would soon face his wrath.

Then it swallowed him up and the nothingness left behind was once again content to be alone.

---

The journey was strange, he felt countless others, each a part of the same. A vast amount, more then he could ever imagine, being dragged with him. He tried to fight, tried to claw his way to the back, but he was powerless in such a place.

Then there was a bright flash of light and then everything. He felt himself become etched into this new reality, taking a fitting form that could interact. It was black, like a shadow attempting to form into a figure. Like smoke, it rose about him, but never dissipated. Then the light of the bright Goddess imprinted itself upon this form. Where the light touched him, numerous pinpricks of dull white molded to his body and chief among them were two bright eyes to see all that was before him.

He wished he had not looked.

For he saw him, and he knew what he was and what to call him.

Architect.

Orvus fell to his knees, the rage he had first felt now but smoke. His purpose was abundantly clear, and he hated it.

The young god then covered his face, whether out of shame or grief, he did not know. He thought long and hard about what had happened, what was happening, and what would happen. So caught up in these thoughts, he was oblivious so all those around him. His fellow Gods, these siblings who he knew by name.

He didn’t care about them, how could he? They held beautiful forms, ones of creation and purpose. But not he. He carried with him the undoing of such creation. He was better then they could ever be. Yet, a question came to mind, why would the Architect let him in?

This thought was maddening. For Orvus had known what peace had felt like! He had not wanted this- this abomination of an existence! Now he felt many things, and none of them were peace. He began to shake, the rage bottled up inside, would not be held back any longer.