There was no sound, no light, no life—just nothing. An impenetrable darkness only the gods could see through. An indistinguishable feeling—a feeling of a lonely soul adrift, fading, being eaten away by an unfathomable force.
Amongst the depths of nothingness, amidst the deep darkness of the abyss, a solitary figure could be seen, lying there.
His two dead golden eyes opened, reflecting a life of regret and despair. His pale white skin shook faintly—a stark contrast to the stillness of his perfectly black, long hair. He wore a pitch-black robe, but it was torn. The fabric fluttered weakly, as if the very fabric of reality was eating at it.
Oren Xianrath looked empty.
"Where am I?" he thought slowly. He had been asleep for a... while.
No, maybe a few years. His eyes narrowed as he spat out, "How slothful of me," his voice venomous and filled with disgust.
Even though he had sinned, it was not for a reason deserving of that sin of sloth. All he wanted was eternal rest. It felt like even the void wouldn't let him sleep, having an uknown grudge against him.
Maybe not even he deserved that, it seemed.
As Oren looked around the deep abyss, he sensed endless ripples in nothingness. With his unmatched perception, he was able to see everything—endless darkness—distorting, collapsing, and rebuilding continuously—creating tears in reality.
As his eyes adjusted, he saw more and more of them—tears ripping open and enveloping the space around them.
Each moment, the number of tears grew exponentially, ending in infinite tears scattered around the abyss. He was not scared—it was to be expected that realms were there. It was nothingness.
Nothing is the creator of all... but it's nothing. He still could not get that part through his divine mind. Even though it was just a rumor amongst deities, how could the creator of everything be nothing?
Even though he knew the realms were there, it felt like countless eyes were watching him, making him feel small—like at any moment, he would be devoured. His empty golden eyes widened, a flicker of remembrance crossing his handsome face.
He had been there for a long time, but something was off. It felt like someone was watching him. He looked around, his gaze moving from one realm to another.
Knowing no deities dared go beneath the holy floors called Heaven, he forgot about that strange feeling—they were too weak, and eventually, their souls would meet inevitable corruption.
But, to his surprise, he too was one of those deities. His eyes narrowed, darkening in sad self-pity.
And one question filled his mind, bigger than all, making him worry: AM I GONNA BECOME CORRUPTED? The very thought of it made his empty soul waver.
He closed his golden eyes. It felt like he was fading slowly. He didn't mind it. The reason he was in nothingness was because he wanted to meet his end. Ah, how peaceful a painless death was, truly. "Who likes pain?" he mumbled, as it felt like the inevitable death approached him.
But something in him... something wasn't ready. Am I? he thought. Am I really dying? Am I really gonna die? Is my life gonna end so soon? That's what he wanted—what he had wanted, at least. If he did not want to die, then why was he in nothingness?
He second-guessed himself again.
Remembering that he was in the void. Sooner or later, he would be eaten—killed by one of those corrupted abominations—and sent to Hell to pay the price of his sins.
He laughed, mocking himself. Sins? I have committed no such sort.
So, knowing he was gonna die either way, Oren gave himself two choices: live or die, life or death—but still, he could not pick.
His eyes dimmed, remembering the other option. "Oh yes, or corruption," he scoffed with disgust.
He looked up, feeling a presence. No—a familiar one. Something he hadn't felt in what felt like centuries. It was Enli. The old pulse. The one he was born with—this time more intensely.
All deities had two channels of Enli in their soul: one externally connected to the surrounding area, and one internally that pulsed through the body.
Everything—pure or corrupt—that possessed life radiated Enli. That was the presence he felt. It was... corrupt. But he was yet to become such a thing, so something was watching him.
As his soul pulsed Enli, his eyes lightened suddenly, glowing from their original emptiness. If he could have seen himself, he no longer appeared as an empty ghost wandering the depths of nothingness. He looked renewed—a majestic being brimming with life.
Enli was an energy for gods. They had infinite resources, but unlike the gods, Oren's internal Enli was nearly out—and there was none in nothingness.
Similar to Enli, gods and deities alike shared an enlightenment. Some called it that; others called it blessings. They were powers, and each of them was ever different—none the same, and special.
His eyes darkened. His enlightenment was nearly useless. At most, all it could really do was change how he perceived things. He could do some other things, but they drained his resources too much.
Forgetting about his thoughts, he used his enlightenment. Doing so changed his perception. Orens perception shifted as stored-up energy from his soul released.
The familiar cold energy within him stirred, flowing through him like a long-lost current, reawakening parts of his essence and body. His internal Enli surged throughout his body, coursing through him with an intensity that never dulled.
Using his enlightenment, for some reason, made him forget about the death he had wished upon himself.
His eyes glowed. They seemed to brighten, looking not so empty anymore. Changing his perception and peering at his chest, he could see his soul—ethereal and ever-changing. It looked hollow, void of life, mirroring the nothingness around him.
He saw the tapestry of essence that made his soul. They were ever-changing, abundant, and beautiful—the individual strings of his soul within the vastness of emptiness, encircled by the strands of essence.
His skin crawled, forgetting about his soul. Orens' eyes scattered around Nothingness frantically.
His body started to shake uncontrollably as he felt the air around him contort, disappearing from the nothingness around him. He felt the presence of a stronger being.
He saw something—not the realms scattered around the abyss—something else.
He looked to his left, but it was too late... The thin air around him trembled as four black rods emerged, their forms shuddering with unnatural motion.
An abomination, he thought. He smiled fakely, gritting his pearly white teeth. He did not know why, but just knowing one was near filled him with anger.
But still, he could only see it if he used his enlightenment, but he was running out of enli, so he could only sense it.
He stared at the rods, they were thin but impossibly dense, their edges indistinguishable from the black void they existed in. It looked like they were flickering in and out of existence, consuming the air around them.
Each rod surged with pulsing energy. They were not still, but fluctuating—black flames shifting in shape, ever-changing. Within the black flames, a pure white emerged, engulfing the tips of the rods.
They looked beautiful, exerting the sort of presence upper beings would.
He gulped, knowing he was too weak. He had been an Upper Deity once, so he knew— the gap between the heavenly floors, to beat this abomination it would take many of deities to even touch.
He ducked pulling his head backward, his weight low as he pivoted on his left foot, dodging the first shadowy rod. Almost instantaneously, the second rod came at him.
He dodged using swift movements. He stepped back, shifted his weight to avoid the strike. His body leaned backward, chest pulling away from the rod's deadly arc. He could feel the intense flame's proximity as it whooshed by him, hotter than the sun in his old realm.
His emotions changed to ones of anger. He could not win; he was going to die. He knew the blazing rods were fast, but he also knew he could not keep up with them.
He got a closer look that time. Each individual flame flickered violently—restless, a malevolent presence that hungered for more than the physical realm.
The gleaming mix of black and white flames came from his right side this time, heading directly for his skull. Wasting no time, he pivoted to the right in one smooth motion, ducking his head. The rod glided through, destroying the very air just above his left shoulder, grazing against his hair.
He managed to dodge the third.
His perception changed again as enli rushed to his eyes. He looked into the flames simming as tge strings of essence that made them formed into words and he noticed: the two flames were opposites in a way. The black destroyed the physical. But the white flames—they were worse. They destroyed what was not physical, even capable of destroying souls.
He gritted his teeth, the fourth was inevitable. Unavoidable.
It was too fast—faster than his reaction speed. Too close. It felt like it was teleporting, glitching in and out of nothingness. The pressure around his body surged as the black flame devoured everything in its path.
No... He felt frozen. Not in fear, but in... anger.
I haven't even found... a purpose in this new life... and I'm already about to die? He had never thought about ut before his slumber but death seemed to...
"Schhlch."
Oren spat out blood. His face a mix of anger and pain
The fourth rod pierced his chest, driving through flesh, muscle, and bone with unnerving precision. He stumbled as blood spurted from the wound, staining the edges of his torn robe. His pale white skin quivered faintly—though there was no trace of pain, only hatred in his expression.
A purpose... he thought, as his eyes dulled...