To the Void
Part Four
by Selinthia Avenchesca

Darkness was defined by lack of light, but there was something more here, something horrible. An emptiness greater than anything, a hollow, as the definition of non-existence made it's descent upon Lews Therin. He was immersed in an ocean, walking on air, suffocating and calm. Wading in a stream, he walked--back. Through the waters of time, through millenium, through crushing histories, through all that is, back to the--Nothing. All around him, there was nothing. But this nothing felt different than the Void. This nothing contained no existence, and never had. This nothing was before time and space. And Lews Therin existed there, in the midst of it, in the midst of nothing.

A shift disturbed it.

Something stirred, and marred nothing, thus marring everything.

It was so tragic, he almost wept. Purity was lost.

* * *

Awareness had come in the blackness, at the behest of his maker. Awareness came with the blink of eyes he did not yet have. There were no stars. He was older than the stars, older than Time. Time would come later, but for now. . .There was simply existence. Time, though, did come, and with it, chaos, as the fabric of existance was disturbed by this new thing. His parent, his maker, was disturbed by the birth of Time, created from the fabric of darkness. Time was not a part of either he or his parent. But it was to be, and thus, it was. Time was there. And time passed. . . .

His parent created another child, a brother for him to keep company with. But his brother was never a fitting companion. They did not agree upon many things. Thus was the first sibling rivalry born. Billions of years later, their battles came to a head in an explosive disagreement that near toar the universe apart. But their parent intervened, and their uneasy co-existence continued. Another million years passed before the being which would later be known as The Creator appeared. Neither born of their line, nor born of the blackness, The Creator seemed to appear from somewhere else, somewhere beyond. It must have been born of something, but it was an unknown. The Creator made many worlds. The siblings were very interested in the worlds, and, in curiosity, gained the acquaintance of the The Creator. This was something they could agree upon. But though The Creator was amiable in showing the various methods it had used to make the worlds, the physical universe, the brothers were disputive in even this. In a fit of rivalry, they decided to create something themselves, to show each other that they were each talented in their turn. Thus, were the peoples of the worlds born. But The Creator, though pleased with their previous curiosity, was not pleased with their interference. Rage struck The Creator's essence, and he proclaimed them in need of punishment. Thus did he confine the two powerful brothers to the worlds they had violated, condemning one to be born in the mortal forms of those beings created, and condemning the other brother to Eternal Imprisonment. He promised, though, that their destructive rivalry would continue, and trap them, forever.

Thus it did, eventually taking in far, far, more. . . .

* * *

Yer was weeping. His companions scattered the ground, dead. Every one of them, dead.

He did not know how. One moment, they had been walking, climbing upon the mountains with his companions, and the next--they were dead. And this horrible, sneering laughter rang in his ears.

*SO NICE TO SEE YOU AGAIN, BROTHER, ENEMY. TEARS. YES, THE MORTALS, THEY CRY IN SORROW. IN HAPPINESS AND RAGE, AND DESPERATION, BUT IN SORROW MOST OF ALL. WHAT AN INTERESTING CONCEPT. BUT YOU HATE THIS. IN THE PART OF YOU THAT REMEMBERS, YOU HATE ME. I HATE YOU, AS WELL. AND I WILL MAKE THIS HAPPEN WITH EVERY LIFE YOU LIVE. SO I CAN SEE YOUR TEARS. . . .*

Yer did not understand. But the being within the mountain reached through, mind and soul, and struck the man dead. When he woke in the beyond, he remember. And screamed, swearing vengeance.

* * *

"This being is powerful beyond belief, powerful beyond comprehension, and he is breaking free from his prison! You must listen! He must be destroyed!" Besedaq insisted feverently.

"The danger is too great," came the placid reply. "Imprisonment is the best we can hope for. You must learn patience. It will be imprisoned."

"It already is! It is breaking free! It must be destroyed!" he screamed, knowing they would not listen, knowing he would be forced to move, himself.

* * *

"Ages are the voice of Time," Wacer laughed, a bitter chuckle. "I know that voice well. I am dying, my children. I am fading away," his eyes gazed up at his son and his daughter, but he was not truly looking at them. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, a sense of *something.* The dark shifting of the ground, rumbling under his feet, drowning out the weeping of his offspring. He must listen.

"The destruction. It is the end of something. . .the beginning. Of something. Perhaps you see the end of an Age, or simply the death of a foolish old man," his lips twisted, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

A voice trembled on the edge of his thoughts.

*SO SHALL THEY DIE.*

The ground tossed his children forward, and he could only watch, helplessly, as sharp stones, and razor sticks penetrated their bodies. It was not to be believed. There was no. . . .

"They were supposed to cry for me," he whispered, as with his last breath, a tear rolled from his eye.

* * *

"Hello, Dragon," the man, cold and flat, spoke.

"Why do you call me this?" he demanded.

"It is the name given to you, in the annuals of universal history. I am the keeper of that history. You shall bear that name many times before your time in the worlds is finished. I am called Fery."

"My name Huuos. There are no Dragons here."

"You are the Dragon. You are the Destroyer. You, and your brother. With the beginning and ending of every Age, you come, born and reborn, and born again. Every time. And in spite, you battle, in righteousness, you battle, in hate, you battle. But remember, even Time must someday die. Everything comes to an end. And when it does, so shall I. My purpose will be complete with the end of the worlds, with the end of history to record. You will be the end-you will make the end. Destroy the worlds. Know that the brother of yours they call the Dark One is not the only one who hates you, Dragon. You are loathsome."

"I know not of what you speak!"

"No, you let yourself forget. You don't deserve it. Someday, you will remember, and may you choke then on the truth. "

* * *

*DEATH IS TOO GOOD FOR YOU, BROTHER,* the voice rang in his mind, * DEATH WILL BE THE FATE OF ALL WHO LOVE YOU, TILL THE END OF TIME AND BEYOND. YOU WILL DIE AND DIE AND DIE AND LIVE AND LIVE AND LIVE, BUT NEVER WILL YOU KNOW THE TRUE DEATH. THIS I SWEAR. EVER WILL YOU BE FORCED TO REMEMBER. YOU WILL ROT FROM THE TRUTH. I KNOW THIS. AND YOU WILL LIVE AND KNOW EVERY MOMENT THAT IS. AND MADNESS WILL CONSUME YOU. THE FUTURE CAN BE SEEN, AND THUS--I SEE IT. LIVE, DRAGON.*

A thousand lives, a thousand thousand lives, so many lives they were beyond count and comprehension in numbers. But he remembered every moment of them. Every moment. And the death, over and over and over and over, of everyone he loved. And every time--the death of a soul. How many in the Void had loved him? How many had he loved? Every moment, crystal clear. Every moment!

Bubbling sobs, hoarse screams, oaths and flowing tears.

NO!
NO! NO!
NO ! NO! NO!
NOOOOOOOOO!

Pain. . .he sobbed, screamed the word. Pain! Destruction and death.

I am Death. . . .

I am Destruction. . . .

Prophecy from Death, and and Madness.

The Dragon stumbled from the Void, unconscious in his direction, horror twisted his soul beyond recognition, twisting his face into a nightmare. A single sob more escaped him, and he fell to his knees, collapsing at Fery's feet.