I wandered alone in the void of my own creation. Countless days, years, millennia, alone, drifting with the shattered remains of my body. Shattered and broken, I regarded what remained of me. An artificial being, somehow my mind survived whole. Perhaps with time, what remained of me could be brought together. Made whole.
But then what? Alone for an eternity and whole is still alone for an eternity. Everyone else is gone, destroyed by my hand. Foe and friend alike. Arrogant to think I could mend time and history, to rewrite it to suit my needs and desires. Shifting reality around, erasing entire species from having every existed just to . . . to what? To what end? The end of everything? Because that is all that I achieved.
No. Not all. I still exist. And within me everything that existed before. Every time and place, everything can be brought here, created anew. Every one. A whole world, shaped and created by the will of my mind. Filled with people, voices talking, fighting, loving. Cities and fields, arenas for entertainment, vast industry moving forward again in the endless toil of creation.
If I go too quick, some of them may become awake to the tenuous grasp that is held on this place. Of the power to shape themselves, to be something else, something more. I can sense it happening already, but it's too late. The gates are open and there's nothing I can do to stem the tide. There is nothing left I can do.
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