The Wheel.
I will never forget His words. The final, guttural sputters of our creator and friend. His last wish, and His final soliloquy. In His last moments, He transformed into this… object. His final request, His words. I shudder when I think about the conversation that would mark me as The Creator. Though eons have passed since His words echoed throughout the expanse of this dimension, I can still hear them rebound within my mind endlessly.
He told me to conduct a “tournament” for each universe in an endless desire for balance. He said his new form would be the best option for all, and once the tournament had completed then the universe which we had crafted would be placed in a stasis, forever bound to its “perfect balance.” Now, I can feel Its will. His remnants, though weakened, still cry out against me.
It wishes to spin. The Wheel desires nothing more than to begin the cycle of determination. I have done all I can to hold it back, but I can feel it clawing its way forward. It is quite ironic, for a being that oversees Fate to understand their own. I cannot hold it back any longer. Its will is too strong.
Like a knife whose sole purpose is to cut, so too is The Wheel. It has a singular, obsessive desire. “Spin. Spin. Spin.” It continuously repeats. Its will pounding against my mind in an endless mantra. I shudder, both in fear and anticipation.
I know better than to simply believe our creator blindly. He laid plans within plans, his power was beyond comprehension. Our battle had rocked the endless void which we called our home. The Apex Plane, a land of eternity, shaken by the powers we wielded with reckless abandon. He wielded them with ease. We had to use the power of Chaos, and the scars remain. Even now, I have yet to return to my full strength. I can feel an atrophic pulse deep within, as if a part of me has been lost to never return. It is within this… weakness, that I can feel The Wheel making its incessant demand.
“No… Not yet.” I repeat. I extend my hand outwards, projecting my power to hold The Wheel back, for just another moment. I gaze onwards towards the horizon, and glimpse into the universe. I watch the fruits of our labor, the creatures that graze, the planets and stars that spin, the words and songs that are brought into the cosmos. I see the smiles of children, the greed of Gods, the hatred of some and the love of others. I can see it all.
This is our fault, our burden. As I gaze outwards, I can see His vestige. The husk of His former self, reborn as a vagrant being hated by even themselves. They cling to existence, desperate to remain despite their original sin. The very universe itself echoes in its hatred of their existence. Despite it all, they cling to the stones and the grass, their strength pervading despite their wretched form.
I mustn't gaze upon that one for too long. The pain is still too fresh. My own kin, banished and rendered down to such a pitiful form has brought tears to my eyes on many such occasions. A being of my stature should not weep, not for them, not anymore. The time of weakness has passed. I bear this burden, and I must remain strong because of it.
…How I miss the past. How I miss the joy, the feeling of right, the new possibilities we possessed and carried. I can see Life, their cracked smile trying its hardest to stand out despite the pain they hide within. They distract themselves, overseeing the births and existences of the beings in the universe. I can feel their pain, despite their attempts. Perhaps this is another burden of my stature?
It does not matter. We all carry the burden now. Without the hand of guidance, we leave the nest as the bird and spread our wings to fly. We are free, and that is both our blessing and curse. Our mistakes are our own, and we cannot fight against them anymore. The ripples and echoes of our mistakes permeate this endless expanse, to forever be a reminder of our decisions.
And yet, It repeats itself.
“Spin.” It demands. It does not speak, but Its desire is enough for me to understand. Its very will is strong enough to ripple throughout the void, and with my station I must bear the brunt of the force.
“The Creator.” What a joke. All I have done is destroy. I have damned my sibling, and by extension damned the cosmos. How I wish we could be done with this awful burden, to strike it down and shatter It to pieces, but we have failed time and time again. Something within us stops our abilities from stopping it. The scar of battle with our Creator still stings within each and every one of us, and as a result we cannot so much as scratch this contraption.
“Spin.”
I furl my fist and grit my teeth. I focus my strength, enacting my own will upon The Wheel. “You shall not,” I retort. The groan of its parts echoes, but I do not release even a single inch to The Wheel. “I will not allow you to.”
“Spin.”
The burden is immeasurable. I reach out both of my arms. I know I cannot hold out for much longer. My limits have arrived, and yet The Wheel has shown no signs of acquiescing to my demands. Its singular desire and will are unmatched.
“Spin.”
I bring out everything I have. I begin to yell unconsciously. The strain is too much. My siblings have come. They surround me and witness this moment, this fated end to our battle. I look over to my comrades, a silent request for their aid, but they simply watch. This is not their station, nor their burden. I am the one solely responsible for this, and now the time has come.
“Spin.”
I can feel it. Despite my best efforts, The Wheel is moving, even if it’s imperceptible.
“Please…” I plead. I gaze upon The Wheel one final time. I can feel my brethren behind me, watching. I am not ready.
“It is time.” I hear one of them say. “Thank you.” They say.
I look away, at the universe which we created. I see His vestige crawling along the ground, desperate to survive, and I understand why I still weep as I gaze upon them.
We are the same. Despite everything that has happened, our differences in power, our opinions and feelings, we are the same. We would reduce ourselves to our most bare pieces just for one last moment of the life we wish. Perhaps Destiny was the enlightened one all along, and I the fool?
“Spin.”
I cannot feel my limbs anymore. I have gone numb. My power is drained. My desperate struggle, all for naught. It is almost laughable. I, Fate itself, trying their best to defy it. I should know above all others that this is inevitable. Despite my begging, my struggle, my desires, it will all end the same.
“Spin.”
I release my powers and the hold on The Wheel. I drop my arms to my sides, both in exhaustion and powerlessness. I gaze up to the remnant of our creator and witness the beginning of the end. Loud clunks reverberate throughout the endless cosmos. I can see the wisp of a soul be sucked from the universe into the wheel, and then the endless mantra goes silent for but a moment.
Then, it begins.
It starts slowly, a cycle, then two, picking up speed before gradually coming to a stop. An option has been chosen amongst the many by pure chance, and then it repeats. The sound is deafening. I can feel my body shake, and I know my comrades shudder as well.
I cannot hold back my tears any longer. I clutch at my chest and grit my teeth. I look upon the universe that we created and recall His words.
“Damn it all…” I whisper. My voice is drowned out by Its spin. “Damn it all…!” I repeat, louder this time. Still, my words are lost to the cacophony.
“DAMN IT ALL!” I cry to the uncaring expanse before me.
In the universe, on a planet teeming with life, to a mother and father who wanted nothing more than to have a family, a newborn babe emerges. It takes a deep breath, opens its eyes…
And it cries to the expanse before it.