Eternia's Requiem

The Supernova bloomed.

For a single immeasurable instant, existence itself seemed to hold its breath.

Light swallowed everything.

Not ordinary light.

Not the radiance of stars.

Not the glow of creation.

This was something far older.

A fusion of primordial forces compressed beyond reason.

A newborn catastrophe.

A miniature end.

The brilliance consumed the battlefield.

The void screamed.

Reality bent.

Distance ceased to matter.

Concepts twisted.

Even time appeared uncertain of its own direction.

And at the center of it all stood Life of Jolly.

The being who had laughed before worlds existed.

The being who had watched the first sparks of creation emerge from endless darkness.

The being who had once declared that existence should be enjoyed rather than feared.

For the first time in his eternal life—

He looked afraid.

The Supernova struck.

Silence followed.

The impossible light vanished.

The battlefield returned.

Life of Jolly was gone.

Not entirely.

Fragments of his presence still lingered.

Fading echoes.

Memories.

Remnants.

But the Overlord himself had disappeared.

His voice no longer echoed through eternity.

His laughter no longer challenged the silence.

The oldest friendship among the five primordial beings had finally broken.

And nothing would ever be the same again.

For a moment nobody moved.

Not even The First Dream.

Not because of regret.

Regret was a luxury abandoned countless ages ago.

No.

The First Dream simply stared at the place where Life of Jolly had stood.

A strange emotion stirred within him.

Not sorrow.

Not satisfaction.

Something older.

A quiet realization.

One path had closed forever.

The endless debates.

The arguments.

The centuries spent trying to convince the others.

All of it had ended.

There would be no more discussion.

No more compromise.

No more attempts at understanding.

Only war remained.

Then the silence shattered.

"You killed him."

The voice belonged to Miracle of Fire.

The void erupted.

Flames appeared everywhere.

Entire regions of existence ignited.

Not ordinary flames.

These were primordial fires.

The first flames.

The origin from which every future sun, star, furnace, and magical blaze would descend.

The battlefield became an ocean of burning crimson.

Miracle of Fire’s appearance distorted.

His body expanded.

His aura grew unstable.

Rage transformed him into something frightening.

Something ancient.

Something closer to a natural disaster than a living being.

"You killed him."

His voice shook countless worlds.

"You actually killed him."

The First Dream remained still.

"Yes."

That single word only made the flames grow stronger.

The Archon of Light arrived beside Miracle of Fire.

Unlike his companion, he showed no visible anger.

That was somehow worse.

The light surrounding him intensified.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Brighter.

Until entire galaxies became visible within his radiance.

Stars formed.

Collapsed.

And reformed again.

All within the boundaries of his aura.

His silence felt heavier than any scream.

The First Dream looked at both of them.

For the first time since the battle began, he felt truly alone.

Not physically.

Existence itself had once been empty.

He was accustomed to solitude.

No.

This was a different kind of loneliness.

The realization that the final bridge had collapsed.

That there was no turning back.

Then another presence appeared.

A familiar presence.

A presence The First Dream immediately recognized.

The Second Dream had returned.

The battlefield froze.

Even Miracle of Fire stopped advancing.

Even the Archon of Light became motionless.

Because of what The Second Dream carried.

The object looked absurd.

Primitive.

Crude.

Almost ridiculous.

A slab attached to a stone handle.

Nothing more.

And yet every instinct screamed danger.

The Origin Plate.

The First Thing.

The object that existed before existence.

The object older than time.

Older than dreams.

Older than gods.

Older than reality itself.

No one knew where it came from.

No one knew who created it.

No one knew why it existed.

The only thing known was that it should never be touched.

That had been the agreement.

The only agreement all six Overlords had ever unanimously accepted.

Never touch the Origin Plate.

Never wield it.

Never attempt to understand it.

Never use it.

Yet here it was.

Forged into a crude cleaver.

The First Dream stared.

For the first time since the battle began—

His expression changed.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

But concern.

Deep concern.

The kind that only appears when witnessing something fundamentally wrong.

His voice became cold.

"Why?"

The Second Dream remained silent.

The First Dream repeated himself.

"Why did you bring that thing here?"

No answer.

Only silence.

The silence irritated him more than any insult.

"We agreed."

His voice echoed across the void.

"We all agreed."

The Origin Cleaver pulsed.

Reality flinched.

The object possessed no aura.

No divine power.

No magical energy.

And that made it infinitely more terrifying.

Because its existence ignored every law.

Every principle.

Every rule.

It simply was.

A thing that existed before existence.

A thing that should not have existed at all.

The First Dream slowly looked between the remaining Overlords.

Then realization dawned.

Not suddenly.

Not dramatically.

Like pieces of an ancient puzzle finally sliding into place.

For countless ages he had wondered.

Why they always ignored me.

Why they always distance themselves from me.

Why had the others become increasingly hostile?

Why had every discussion eventually become an argument?

Why had every compromise failed?

Why had every disagreement felt personal?

Now he understood.

This was never about Life of Jolly.

This was never about the universes.

This was never about morality.

The answer was simpler.

They hated him.

Perhaps they always had.

The thought amused him.

Not because it was funny.

Because it was absurdly predictable.

The First Dream laughed softly.

The sound unsettled everyone present.

Miracle of Fire frowned.

The Archon of Light narrowed his eyes.

Even The Second Dream looked uncomfortable.

The First Dream’s laughter slowly faded.

"I understand now."

Nobody replied.

"You hated me."

Silence.

"You always hated me."

Still silence.

The lack of denial told him everything.

His smile widened.

For countless ages he had possessed something the others feared.

Adaptation.

The ability to overcome.

The ability to evolve.

The ability to survive.

No visible weakness.

No fixed limitation.

No permanent vulnerability.

To the others, it was unnatural.

Disgusting.

Dangerous.

An existence superior to their hierarchy.

An existence that couldn’t be kept in check.

An existence that refused to remain predictable.

The First Dream finally understood.

The universes had simply given them an excuse.

A justification.

A reason.

A motive.

Nothing more.

"You planned this."

The words emerged quietly.

No response came.

Yet the silence confirmed everything.

The First Dream looked toward The Second Dream.

His old friend.

The creator of the universes.

The source of everything.

"You brought the Origin Plate because you feared me."

The Second Dream finally spoke.

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

Too defensively.

The First Dream smiled.

A sad smile.

"Then why bring it?"

No answer followed.

Because there was no answer.

Not one that would survive scrutiny.

The First Dream nodded slowly.

He had spent countless ages trying to save himself.

Trying to survive.

Trying to avoid sharing the fate awaiting the others.

And for that—

He had become the villain.

How ironic.

The one fighting to live had become the monster.

The ones willingly marching toward extinction had become heroes.

They probably had a plan to kill me when I would have become weak from the drainage of my divine essence and then destroy all of universes later to recover.

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh again.

Miracle of Fire pointed at him.

"Stop pretending you’re the victim."

The First Dream turned.

The flames reflected in his eyes.

"I never claimed to be."

The statement stunned them.

For a brief moment nobody knew how to respond.

The First Dream continued.

"I am selfish."

The battlefield became silent.

"I wish to live."

The void trembled.

"I refuse to disappear because of a mistake I did not create."

His voice grew stronger.

"I refuse to surrender my existence because the rest of you became attached to your experiment."

The words struck harder than any attack.

Because they contained conviction.

Not madness.

Not hatred.

Conviction.

That made them infinitely more dangerous.

The First Dream raised his hand.

His crown glowed.

The symbol of adaptation.

The symbol of endless change.

The symbol the others despised.

"You call me a monster."

His gaze swept across them.

"Perhaps you’re right."

The darkness deepened.

The Origin Cleaver pulsed.

The flames roared.

The light intensified.

Ancient powers prepared themselves.

The greatest conflict in existence was about to begin.

And standing at its center was a truth nobody wished to acknowledge.

The battle had never been about good and evil.

It had never been about justice.

It had never been about morality.

It was about survival.

And survival had finally reached the point where compromise was impossible.

The First Dream slowly lowered his stance.

His eyes remained fixed on the Origin Cleaver.

The only thing in existence he could not confidently predict.

The only thing that truly worried him.

The only thing older than himself.

For the first time in countless ages...

The outcome of the battle had become uncertain.

And somewhere deep within his ancient heart—

He realized he had never felt more alive.

He thought to himself if the sixth being Essence of Void hadn’t left would she had joined them or fought with me.