The First and the Last
There was no beginning.
There was no end.
There was only him.
In the boundless silence of nothingness, he drifted alone—not as a being, not as a thought, but as the only presence in a world where existence itself had yet to take root. There was no sky, no earth, no sound, no breath.
Only the great, eternal emptiness.
It was neither peaceful nor agonizing. It simply was.
And he remained, suspended in that hollow void, for an eternity too vast for any mind to comprehend.
But then—something stirred.
A longing.
A question.
A need.
And for the first time in eternity, he desired.
His desire was for something beyond himself, something to fill the silence, to break the stillness, to give meaning to a world that had none.
He did not understand what he sought.
But still, he reached outward.
And in doing so—he created.
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The Birth of the Multiverse
His first breath became the winds.
His first thought became the stars.
His first whisper became the laws that governed reality.
The emptiness shattered as light and darkness erupted into being, swirling together to form the first threads of existence. Where once there was only silence, now there were worlds—endless and uncountable, stretching across the infinite tapestry of creation.
He did not make one world.
He did not shape a single realm.
He made everything.
From the heat of his soul, he forged the blazing stars.
From the cold of his solitude, he carved the endless void of space.
From the depths of his essence, he gave birth to time, so that the past and future would have a place to rest.
And when he beheld the vast multiverse he had made, his heart—though he did not yet understand it—ached.
It was beautiful.
But it was also empty.
A world without voices. A cosmos without song. A masterpiece with no one to admire it.
He had created a multiverse, but he was still alone.
And so, he took a piece of himself, and with infinite care, he breathed life into it.
From that breath, the first gods were born.
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The Birth of the Gods
They were his children, though he never called them so.
Each one was forged from a different piece of him, reflections of his boundless power, given form and thought of their own.
Ishmel, the Lightbearer—firstborn among gods, the one who would shape creation itself. He wielded the power of divine light, sculpting mountains, oceans, and skies with hands that burned with his Creator's will.
Astra, the Weaver of Stars—the artist of the cosmos, whose delicate fingers wove the constellations, ensuring that the heavens would never fall into darkness.
Vael, the Silent Keeper—guardian of time, who gazed upon the endless threads of fate and ensured that all things would begin and end as they must.
And countless more followed, each with a purpose, each with a destiny.
They spread throughout the multiverse, filling the emptiness with life, color, and sound. Where once there was only stillness, now there was song. Where once there was only loneliness, now there was joy.
For the first time, he was no longer alone.
For the first time, he believed he had found what he was searching for.
And for a time—there was peace.
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The First Doubt
But even as the gods built their realms, even as civilizations flourished, even as the multiverse became more alive than ever before…
Something inside him remained hollow.
He could not name it, nor could he escape it. A whisper in the depths of his mind. A shadow at the edge of his thoughts.
"Is this enough?"
At first, he ignored it.
But the question grew louder.
He watched his gods with quiet eyes. They were strong, wise, full of purpose. They created wonders beyond imagination. They ruled vast kingdoms, gave birth to mortal souls, guided the cycle of life and death.
And yet… he felt nothing.
The void within him only deepened.
He had made everything.
He had given them life.
He had filled the cosmos with light.
Why did it still feel empty?
And so, in the silence of the unseen places, he destroyed.
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The Cycle of Creation and Destruction
None of the gods knew what happened in the quiet spaces between reality.
They did not see the worlds he unmade.
The stars he extinguished.
The histories he erased.
At first, it was only fragments. A single forgotten city. A realm that faded from memory. A timeline that unraveled into dust.
But then, one day, they witnessed it.
He stood upon the shattered remains of a world that had once thrived—a world of light, full of laughter, full of life.
It was now nothing.
He had erased it.
Ishmel was the first to speak, though his voice trembled. "Why?"
The Creator turned, his eyes distant, his presence fainter than before.
"It was not enough."
Ishmel clenched his fists. "Enough for what?"
A pause. A silence that stretched too long.
Then, soft as a whisper—
"I do not know."
And in that moment, the gods felt fear.
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The First Seed of Betrayal
The gods had always believed their Creator was infallible.
That he had a plan, a purpose, a vision beyond their understanding.
But this?
This was madness.
He was not following a grand design.
He was wandering.
He was searching.
He was undoing.
If he could erase a world so easily…
If he could rewrite time without hesitation…
Then what was stopping him from erasing them, too?
They had been created. But if they could be made, then they could be unmade.
And deep within their divine hearts, a terrible realization took root.
"If he created everything, then only he has the power to destroy it all."
And if he could destroy it all…
Then maybe, just maybe…
He needed to die first.
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