The void quivered.
Not from the aftermath of war, nor the tremor of some divine clash. It was far more subtle—far more terrible.
A distortion so slight it should have gone unnoticed, yet reality itself flinched.
The stars paused their shimmer, galaxies hesitated in their endless spiral, and the tides of existence forgot their rhythm.
And then, Zepxaris appeared.
There was no arrival. No ripple of power.
No celestial storm heralding his presence.
He was simply there.
A towering silhouette of incomprehensible simplicity—a shape half-formed, both visible and invisible, as if space itself struggled to define him. His outline bled through the fabric of existence like fractured light slipping through broken glass.
And with the first step, creation fractured.
Not violently.
Not with sound or light.
It simply ceased.
---
The Genesis of Unmaking
Zepxaris' hand drifted through the void.
Where it passed, universes unfolded—not in violent creation, but in gentle inevitability.
Solar systems flowered into existence, their suns burning with cold, inverted flame.
Galaxies twisted into strange unrecognizable geometries, entire dimensions bent into fractured reflections.
Space and time tangled—braided into paradoxical loops, collapsing into infinite recursion.
Zepxaris casually sculpted new creation, yet with every stroke, entire existences were discarded.
Realms crumbled into fragments as quickly as they were formed, returning to nothingness without consequence.
To him, it was not destruction.
It was art.
---
The Forgotten Astral Gods Stir
Far beyond mortal comprehension, thrones that had been empty since the dawn of creation stirred.
Forgotten Astral Gods—beings whose names had been lost to time, their existence only whispered in the prayers of dying worlds—awoke.
These were not mere gods.
These were cosmic authors.
They had forged the first creation—their hands shaping the primordial void into structure, their voices laying the fundamental laws of existence itself.
Yet, even they had grown silent, withdrawing into the ethereal veil where no god dared look.
But now, they stirred.
Awakened by something far beyond divinity.
Something that resonated with their forgotten essence.
And they watched.
From their astral citadels, they peered through the veil of creation.
Eyes that had witnessed the birth of time now gazed upon Zepxaris, and they did not understand.
Not fully.
They saw something beyond their comprehension—a being that stood on their level, casually forging and unmaking universes with idle indifference.
And the Astral Gods were still.
No defiance.
No curiosity.
Only awe.
---
The Omniversal Sovereigns' Gaze
In the furthest reaches of existence, where even time and space bowed in reverence, the Omniversal Sovereigns stirred.
Beings so far beyond creation that their mere observation caused realities to shift.
Seated on thrones of oblivion, they gazed into the void with cold detachment.
Their eyes, once blind to mortal struggles, now turned to Zepxaris.
Not with fear.
Not with hostility.
But with recognition.
For the first time in eons, the Sovereigns saw an equal.
They did not move.
They did not speak.
They simply watched—silent monarchs bearing witness to a force that could match their own.
---
Creation and Annihilation
Zepxaris drifted his hand through the fabric of existence.
Where he touched, universes were sketched into being.
Nebulae swirled into colossal effigies, their swirling light burning in colors reality had never known.
Entire dimensions twisted into sentient, writhing masses, breathing and pulsing like gods made of time itself.
Stars were born and extinguished in a single breath.
Galaxies bloomed into spirals—then curled into nothingness, dissolving like fleeting dreams.
In the far reaches of the omniverse, the Sovereigns observed.
Still unmoved.
Still silent.
But fascinated.
They watched as Zepxaris plucked galaxies from the cosmic loom, idly twisting them into meaningless shapes.
One realm was reduced to ribbons of light, spinning endlessly around the void.
Another was compacted into a single, trembling mote, so infinitesimal that even time abandoned it.
Worlds were crushed into conceptual ash.
Entire pantheons, with all their divine legacy, were reduced to nameless memory fragments.
And yet, Zepxaris remained indifferent.
There was no malice.
No hatred.
Only casual artistry, as though existence itself was clay in his hands—to be shaped and discarded without care.
---
The Sovereigns' Throne Room
From their ethereal sanctums, the Sovereigns remained still, watching through their cosmic screens.
Their thrones, forged from conceptual matter, hung over the endless void, glowing with the remnants of forgotten worlds.
They leaned back in their thrones, silent monarchs watching the new genesis unfold.
They did not speak.
They did not blink.
They merely watched the sculptor at work.
And in their eyes, there was no fear.
No hatred.
Only fascination.
For Zepxaris was no longer an anomaly.
He was one of them.
---
The Birth of Oblivion
Zepxaris did not stop.
His hands moved with lazy precision, carving and reshaping existence as though it were a mere afterthought.
Entire realities were erased, but they left behind no void.
No nothingness.
Only absence itself.
Concepts of light, gravity, and matter simply ceased to exist, not destroyed but forgotten by reality itself.
In the wake of his passage, there were no remnants.
No debris.
No ruins.
Just emptiness without definition.
The Omniversal Sovereigns watched this new creation with silent awe, leaning forward ever so slightly on their cosmic thrones.
For the first time in countless eternities, they were entertained.
---
Zepxaris' Indifference
Zepxaris did not glance at the Sovereigns.
He did not acknowledge the Astral Gods.
He simply continued walking.
His footsteps carved through reality itself.
With each step, time and space rippled and contorted, stretching into meaningless, abstract fragments.
The laws of existence bent and crumbled under his tread.
He paused for a moment, gazing at the fragments of creation he had left behind—a trail of shattered realities and unfinished ideas, scattered like forgotten thoughts.
And then, he smirked.
Not in cruelty.
Not in mockery.
But with subtle amusement, as though he had just completed a fleeting distraction.
Without a word, he turned and walked into the void.
Leaving behind nothing.
Not even emptiness.
Just absence itself.
And from their cosmic thrones, the Omniversal Sovereigns smiled, ever so faintly.
For they had seen their reflection.
*THE CHAPTER ENDS*