In this grand cosmos, unfettered by the limitations of concepts, the primordials reside, licking their wounds and slowly trying to recover from the scars of their conflict. Amongst these seven who remain, The Creator contemplates. Their duty is one of burden and frustration; a pain which does not cease.
Following the merging of Destiny to The Wheel, The Creator understood the first step in the words that their creator, The Architect, had told them. The primordials had come together in a desperate attempt to shatter the wheel, but despite their best efforts, they failed. It was as if some force beyond their comprehension limited their strength. They would strike, blast, crush, and pierce The Wheel, yet their attacks resulted in nothing more than exhaustion from the primordials. With nothing that they could do, the primordials simply admitted defeat. Though The Architect was now gone, a part of them still remained. The primordials chose to come to terms with this reality, accepting that they did not hate their creator, and that this vestige was not something to treat with wrath.
In the present, The Creator gazes upon The Wheel. The grand duty that they have been charged with remains pending, and the urging of The Wheel has slowly dug into their psyche.
With a deep breath, The Creator raised their hand and began to speak. They channeled their overarching power that surpassed that of the others, a power bestowed by The Architect in their final meeting. “Come,” they declared. “Come, my brethren. We must speak.” Their voice bellowed throughout the cosmos.
Within moments, the shifting images of The Creator’s fellow siblings began to appear. Their servitude to the call, irresistible. The first, Void, stepped out of a pool of darkness. Their image, one of purity. A perfect darkness cast upon the emptiness of all. Soon after, Order came. Their movements, methodical and calculated, as precise as if they were measured by a machine, if not more. The third to arrive was Time, appearing from nothingness, their expression completely blank. The fourth, Eternity, stepped forward as if they had already been present. Soon after came Life, who did not devote their attention to the gathering, but to a flower they were placing into their own hair. Finally, Death had come. A chill ran through the space between the seven who resided within this space, yet they remained silent. Every sibling gazed towards the spot which remained empty, as if they desperately hoped for reality to change, for Destiny to come forth, but that was simply not to be.
After a few moments, each primordial accepted within their hearts that Destiny truly was gone, and shifted their focus to the one who had summoned them. The Creator, the one formerly known as Fate.
“Brother,” Void spoke, their voice reverberating within the very essence of each of the primordials. “Why have you summoned us? Is something the matter?” They asked. Their voice, though imposing, carried with it a hint of tenderness.
The Creator shifted their gaze between each of the primordials who stood before them, and began to speak. “Yes…” they said, their words heavy. “Yes, brother, there is a matter with which we must all address.” The Creator’s gaze stopped moving as they rested their eyes upon The Wheel. “This has been coming for… quite some time. We cannot delay it any further.”
Without a word, Order flicked their wrist, summoning a table and chairs for each of the siblings to sit on. They motioned, and sat down. The other primordials followed suit soon after.
“So, it has come for us now?” Asked Time.
The Creator shook their head. “No. Not yet, at least. The Architect cannot fight us anymore. Now, it is time for The Wheel to participate.”
Each primordial looked at The Creator in their own way, shifting from anger, joy, or even simply with no expression at all. The silence was deafening, but it was quickly broken by Death. “What does that mean, Fate? Are you seriously saying that we must do the bidding of The Architect once more? Was that not the entire reasoning for our war to begin with?”
“This is different.” The Creator placed their hands onto the table and stood up. “In my final discussion with our creator, The Architect, they told me of their vision, and what was to come after they became The Wheel. They spoke in riddles, vaguely referring to the past, present, and future as if they were one. Despite this, I can feel the answer to one of the riddles now.”
The Creator closed their eyes, gathered themselves, and clenched their fists. “The Architect said that after the one was sealed by the seven, a new balance would emerge. A tournament, dictated by chance, would gather the one who stands above their kin.”
The primordials looked amongst themselves. A rising, unspoken tension was clearly evident. Eternity guffawed, a grin plastered on their face. “Are you suggesting that we are to fight each other?” They asked. Once again, however, The Creator shook their head.
“No,” they quickly retorted. “I do not believe that we are the ones meant to fight. I believe that is the duty of…” The Creator looked back towards The Wheel. “The duty of those chosen by The Wheel.”
Silence followed The Creator’s declaration. None dared to speak, as if the very silence was a veil protecting them from the reality which has come to pass. In the end, it was Order who chose to speak.
“You would have us aid you in the creation of a universe then, and for those of said universe to participate in this tournament,” they said, not in a question, but an answer. The Creator could do nothing but nod.
Each of the primordials stood from their seats. Some appeared crestfallen, others chagrined. Despite their differences in expression, all of them held the same look of determination in their eyes.
“Before we do anything,” Death interjected, “what is meant to happen when the tournament ends?”
The Creator felt the pain of the question immediately, knowing what the reaction would be. They took a moment and then stared directly into the eyes of Death.
“Stasis.” They announced. “The universe will be placed into a permanent stasis, as shall the winner. This is so that a ‘perfect balance’ may be maintained in perpetuity.”
Though The Creator awaited the reactions of their siblings, instead, the voice of the eldest came.
“So be it.” Said Void. “If that is our charge, then let us execute it at once.”
The rest nodded, and each began to reach their hands outwards. The table and chairs which they had been using fell away into the void, leaving behind nothing more than an open space.
“Thank you,” muttered The Creator. “This may ring hollow, but knowing that we all share in this sin alleviates the pain somewhat.”
“We have all sinned, brother.” Eternity said, their voice rippling throughout the cosmos. “It is within our sins that we find purpose. Never forget that.”
The Creator turned their gaze to their sibling for a moment, and then stretched their hand outwards towards the coalescing darkness. “You are right.” They said. “I shall carry this with me, as we shall all, always.”
“Enough with the platitudes,” Death scoffed. “Now is the time for focus. If you don’t, you may face Death.”
Life chuckled. “Yes, though they are gauche, Death is right. Creating a universe is not easy business. Let us breathe Life into this new existence.”
“And don’t even get me started on what comes after forever. Existence cannot wait for an Eternity.” Eternity chimed in.
“Agreed,” Time affirmed. “The intricacies of existence are not to be trifled with. We must take our Time.”
“What would existence be without Order?” Order asked.
“An empty Void,” Void answered.
“Yes…” The Creator whispered. “And though they are not here, we all agree… though it is our Fate to bear this burden…”
“Destiny shall come to pass, one way or another.” They all said in unison.
A light began to emanate from the palms of each of the primordials. The Creator focused their energy while the other primordials turned their attention towards him.
“Thus, from a primordial call, the essence of creation shall bow to The Creator.” The Creator commanded.
And thus, in the everlasting darkness of the Apex Plane, The Creator activated their second overarching power. They channeled the essence of The Wheel and called to it, willing its power to activate. From the depths of the power of the seven and The Wheel came a light. Unfathomable, bright, and powerful. A bang, and born of it were clouds of gas, guided to coalesce into planets and stars. The primordials did not wait; they extended their influence into each aspect of this burgeoning universe. Unbeknownst to each of them, however, another force was at play. A nefarious, dark force. Chaos had secreted from the depths of The Wheel, tainting the otherwise pure universe.
Although they each felt a sense of pride from their creation, deep inside they all held the same sense of defeat. An unfathomable guilt weighed heavily upon each of their hearts, but soon after they would be surprised.
“Destiny…” The Creator said as they watched the miscreant crawl upon the rocks of the first world. “No…” They muttered, “That is not…”
Order placed their hand upon The Creator’s shoulder. “It is a shadow.” They said. “A vestige, left behind from the remnants. A being unbefitting the title of Destiny. What is its name, Creator?”
The Creator cursed internally, fighting back the tears that dared to mark their face. They recalled the words of The Architect and repeated them.
“...And in the beginning, hated by hate itself, one shall roam in darkness. That one, the first of the chosen, shall be known as… Darwizzy.”