Mega Muscle Growth

NΣИ

Part One

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“In the end, there was dark. Only, dark, and amidst that eon blanketed drape of shadow; a laugh could be heard.

For long has the end of times been prophesied; Aḥarit Ha-yamim, Ashrat As-Sa'ah, Ragnarok, The Sermon of the Seven Suns, The Last Judgement.

Every faith boasting their very own hopefully joyous demise of the cosmos and even further into whatever wondrous unknown lay well beyond that with gleefully broad, ignorant brush strokes of all and every exactitude of our own undoing as they berated and abused their very own flocks for their mindless exacerbation of the impending doom that crouched ever and ever closer in on them.

The honeyed sweetness of it. The sickeningly stink of fear that it drives into the heart of man. Only to be made all the more delicious in it being a plight that they had never been able to shake free the shackles of. A poison called hope.

Although, in that, the want to live. Every society of ages thinking up nonsensical notions of all unique ideal visions of serenity. Why create a being so ignorant, so hopelessly unaware as to the nature of its existence or for that matter existence itself, yet sow the seeds of curiosity all the same?

And they call us the monsters, the ones who stray from the light, but we, we were created as well; I, I was created to serve this purpose. He created me, so I may bring this rot called reality to end. And he, only he can stop me.

But death hath taken our creator and in his place shall be another; a destructor. She who shall pass judgement on us all. She who will reduce all there was back to all there was not. These inscriptions, the key to her ascension, these have been here since the dawn of time, her name, in the most ancient tongue. Her coming has been known for eons past; everything has led to her.

And, this poison; hope. The want to live; to not have to end. She, will be the one, she, will never end, she…”

A man, or what looked like a man, edged around a large chamber, a place that had no exit, that had no entrance, had no window, had no corners or edges, as it curved like a flattened sphere. The place was strange, it’s geometry not conforming to natural laws, almost like it was separate from our reality. And a small enclosure it was too, but unmistakably old, a similarity it shared in kind with the figure that paced around it. His figure ghastly thin and his skin aged and weathered as if it was worn almost like a garment rather than part of him. His actual robes were seamless as if they had not been made or woven, but simply were; lush red draped around him, that contrasted starkly against his sickly self.

And that, was it, there being nothing else to speak of in the cavernous room. Other than at it’s centre, a carved stone of brilliant colour with no real shape to speak of. About the size of a small child, no larger, and had the place been not so devoid of anything it would have easily gone unnoticed. But there was something more to it, the eeriness that it wept, the room seemed to be drowning in it, a radiance of death played round it, almost as if unspeakable life was to be lost by it. Even more eerie still on its side was, something not carved but looked to have been always part of it, an inscription that resembled NΣИ.

As the figure motioned towards the stone, the place seemed to shake, but not shake, vibrate. For no dust ran out from the stones that enclosed the chamber and the small stone at the centre of the room didn’t move an inch. The figure paused as the world settled, noticing there seemed to be a looseness in the state of everything; as if it were coming apart. Almost like a sort of spreading that could be both seen and felt. This strangeness, the figure knew, was a sign. He knew now, he had succeeded, the inevitability of it all. A faint smell began to come into the room, acidic and salty, ; the smell growing stronger as the mortar between the bricks then began to, leak? But it was not water or any other familiar liquid, a murky globby substance that ran slow, almost as if sticky. It’s colour barely opaque, there seemed to be a large abundances of it. Moans then came, unmistakably female, but not from one place, they came from everywhere. As if everything that was weakening and separating, now gave way to these smitten cries and strange liquid.

A blinding light appeared behind the figure of a man, and as the light dimmed, there was a portal to another place; a bedroom, darkened with night, and in it a person at sleep. Stepping through it, the figure saw the place he once occupied begin to shred apart, the moans loudening, the murky liquid filling the room, the varied bricks instantly beginning to atomise into a fine dust. Unflinching he closed the portal, the carved stone at it’s centre now gone. Had it really been the girl? It was the ringing that filled his ears, the last thing he heard, which reassured him it was. An utterance, a single scream from what entity now came to consume his reality, to consume all realities, to consume time and space, to consume all manner of everything, the past, present, future. It was the girl, his purpose for being, the one he was tasked to set free, to liberate her from her mortal state.

But it was not she that he was going to see, no. For it was not he that could cast the spell that would free her, no. That was for another to do. As the prophecy foretold that the, unfulfilled one, must speak the words. The one to have loved the destructor, but for that love to have never been returned. Looking at the young man as he slumbered, he knew the ringing in his ears to be the sound that filled his dreams. A voice that the boy must have always desired to say his name in such a way; but never heard. But that scream, it drove a coldness into his black heart.

But it was not the scream itself as with it carried words, words that were to greet every state of existence before just as quickly extinguishing it. As the portal came fully shut the same words echoed throughout the bedroom he now stood in.