What a curious thing it was

To be on the brink between life and death

To exist in a world where the living were meant to rot away into the folds of insanity, where all things that did not belong in the realm of chaos and noise were thrown into.

He belonged to neither the living nor the dead. He had ascended to a realm of existence that could not be quantified or described with any numbers or description. He had existed once as a member of the living, walked around in some forgotten universe that was forgotten within the depths of his twisted and sadist mind, shared the same story and life as every other of the trillions of versions of himself once had.

But then all of that had been taken away, ripped apart as his universe was shredded down unto the very last atom and he had been cast out into the realm of white and quiet. At first it had been a curse, to walk in a world and universe where there was neither song nor sound (he didn't know how to listen). He died there within the world of white and silence, he had screamed so loud until his very soul had been ripped from his mortal form and cast aside. Something new filled the hole in his chest, a material and essence that was neither reminiscence of life or death. It made him stronger and wiser, gave him powers and abilities one could only have dreamed of.

On that day he had gotten his first shadow.

It was a curious thing because there had never been a sun in the world of white, complete and utter visible darkness from which no shadows could have sprung. And yet there the shadow was birthed, attached to the soles of his feet as a loyal companion. As time passed, he learned that the shadow was not really a shadow but rather a projection of his thoughts. It moved and hummed with the same energy as the chaos in his mind which was very pleasing, for the hatred towards all life forms had finally manifested into a physical entity from which he could lash out and carry out his will.

The question was purpose. He had become a being with seemingly infinite power and had now followers, no ulterior motive or purpose. The creature had hatred for everything around him, for the universes that were full of noise and seemingly no order. No, he didn't want to destroy them, to eradicate them like other beings that wandered the white world often wanted. 

Order, that was what he desired, to provide a uniform and coherent order that would forever govern all words, see into the minds of every living being and force them into submission. Then there would be perfection, seeming quiet and never-ending pain and suffering. They would feel the hatred that he felt towards them, forever enduring servitude, fear, paranoia. 

He found soon, after an eternity of wandering the infinite cosmos, that there were many other beings just like him. Not as powerful, mind you, but full of hatred. They were neither alive nor completely dead. Their souls had been ripped away by the world of white (or perhaps another all-seeing guiding force) and replaced with a source of energy that was neither completely belonging to the afterlife or this current life that they walked inside of. They were sheer and untamed rage that hated all parts of existence, wanted to cut and burn whole civilisations and bathe within their blood. 

It was from there that he amassed his army, full of creatures and horror that moved from one universe to the next like a plague of pestilence, slashing and burning until the code of the universe had been corrupted enough so that every living creature bowed before him and his shadows. 

And for a moment, for a brief shining moment, he and his followers ruled over the multiverse with might and power. They had fought against those that called themselves the Resistance and won, enjoying their reign over the entirety of existence in which all creatures and worlds were governed by a single force. There was no independence or rebellious thought. The multiverse had become a well-ordered machine that bled from all parts, suffering fuelling the engines.

But then they had came, the human that was not a human. The human that had lived more than one life and was probably just as old as all of creation, living endless lives and dying to move onto the next, only remembering mere whispers of their previous adventures. They had been the only true threat towards his reign, towards his glorious empire. They were the unpredictable, the one thing that he could not control which was perhaps more terrifying than anything else imaginable. 

It shouldn't have been possible.

He was the rage, the prince of darkness and herald to the oncoming storm. He had brought entire universes to their knees with the flick of a wrist and yet one damn creature full of rage and arrogance had remained a constant thorn on his side. In a mighty struggle for power, the two fought and danced the dance of dragons, two ancient forces struggling for two opposing philosophies, empire and republic. He should have won, he was stronger. But in a last desperate attempt to free the multiverse, the human that was not a human sacrificed themselves and ripped him from existence. 

But there were consequences. 

The calamity and sheer magnitude of the battle and war ripped apart the very fundamental coding and balance to the multiverse. Universes were torn beyond repair and became a deteriorating wound that festered on existence. The machinery of creation came to an ultimate stand still, neither being able to create or destroy. 

That was why the painter and his friend had set about on the task of cleaning up the mess so that reality might begin anew. It was a griping task for it meant erasing whole universes and realities that had existed for trillions of years and enriched with history, but were now nothing more than a few strings of corrupted code. 

That's why it should have been impossible that the creature was back, that he was lurking somewhere that he did not know. He shouldn't have been created or even brought back into existence, the very thought of it was simply impossible. The multiverse could not function until the horrors of the war had been wiped away. 

"And yet here you are."

The voice echoed all around the creature. Though, he didn't have a physical body at this point in time. It was merely his consciousness that had sparked anew like a flame inside a dying forest, ready to set the entire world ablaze in pain and suffering. He felt a mighty presence surrounding him, a force and power that was beyond comprehension. It seemed as if this creature was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, a fundamental pillar of the multiverse and all of reality. 

"The multiverse is in ruins," the presence continued, seeming pleased by the concern that he felt towards the presence. "However, I am the multiverse. I was just like you once, mortal and physical, having a body just like the trillions of others of plagues and creatures that wander about. But a rare blessing was given to me, an opportunity to become one with existence and so I have become, pulling the strings that have shaped your destinies and so many others. That is why I have brought you back, for you shall be my instrument that guides about the second phase of my plan."

Plan? The creature responded, though he could not speak as he had no mouth. I am not a puppet whose strings need to be pulled. It was from mine own doing in which I conquered the multiverse, brought the mighty Ink and his followers to their knees. 

"No," the entity snarled back. "It was I who ripped you when you were nothing more than an unimportant skeleton in a forgotten universe. It was I who ripped out your soul and cast it into the Abyss and put a part of myself into you, giving you the power that you wielded against the rest of creation. It was I who ripped out your followers from their universes and made them loyal to you. The only act of free will was when you gave yourself that hideous name Nightmare, for not even I could think of something as childish and immature as that."

Well obviously you failed at what you did, Nightmare retorted, the name branded on him as if the cattle had been prodded by its master. Because I lost the war and all of my followers, we were struck down by the human that was not a human as if we were nothing more than flies. And now the painter and his followers are gathering together again to restart the universe. Your mission has failed, even if you were guiding me from the beginning. There is no second plan. You brought the human back my mistake too, if you didn't notice.

"I noticed," the creature hummed, amused by Nightmare's ignorance. "(Y/n), the human that is not a human, has been the one part of the multiverse that I have never been able to control for their coding exists outside of space and time. However, I saw an opportunity in halting the machinery of the multiverse, to put it in permanent stasis for the time being. For the endless cycle that (Y/n) exists inside of has always put them out of my reach and control. However, the stasis of the multiverse has allowed me to touch their coding for the first time. Feel it."

Nightmare was aware of his consciousness shifting. For the first time he could see. He was floating in a sea of a thousand stars without end, bright blue crystal waters that threatened to drown him from every end. He was aware that he had a body now and reached out a hand to touch the trails of coding that floated all around him and felt an enormous icy surge jolt through his spine. Infinity filled his mind, a daunting concept of never-ending everything. Never-ending power, never-ending sorrow and pain and loss and love and hatred and tears and conflict and sadness and horror and...

"Make it stop!" Nightmare roared, tearing himself away from the coding, away from infinity. He was once more a mere flicker of consciousness at mercy to the mighty presence that surrounded him. 

"That, the infinite raw power of the stars and existence, is the quantified version of the human's coding. It was a difficult task, translating the coding of a being that was out of reach to make it so that it was under my dominion, but it is a task that I have completed," the creature purred.

So the human that is not a human is the same as before -

"Except their coding now exists under the reign of the multiverse, under this power of mine. Even now they walk besides the painter and his lackeys, unaware of what has happened. In time, when Ink and his followers restore the multiverse in working order, they will begin again and create more worlds. But at this moment, (Y/n) under my orders will infect the codings of these new worlds, to establish my influence in all corners of reality. Forever will they be governed under a single rule, under a single force. It will eradicate the painter and his followers from existence and there will never be a spark of rebellion to fight against us, for they will have been controlled since the very beginning of their lives."

Does the human know that they serve you? 

"No," the entity replied. "They live as a double-edged sword, working to fight against you and me. However, my coding and life's blood exists within their rewritten coding, and whenever the word is said, either by you or by me, they will join us in the conquest to right the wrongs of the world."

Nightmare was aware that he was being lifted up. Icy tremors wracked through his very existence as he consciousness began to grow and extend on cosmic proportions. "Go now, my faithful servant," the creature purred. "You once more have your corporeal body that will be my sword in the war against those that dare rebel against me. Let them think that they are winning, let them restore the multiverse and at the critical moment, we will rip it away from them and start our new empire."

Nightmare collapsed to the ground, aware that he now had a body that rang with newfound power and strength, greater than he had ever felt in the entirety of his being. He looked up at the creature, his master for whom he now served and always had since the beginning, stared at the cracks that ran down his skull and the twisted grin carved into his features. 

"Shall we begin?"