The Creation

For the longest time, it hovered in the void, slowly becoming aware of itself. It wandered among stars and suns and moons, and it marveled at the sheer miracle of such beauty. Precious time sipped away, and it discovered its own kind. Others were there, wandering, desiring and wreaking havoc.
They were strong by nature, and they craved for championship. And so they fought.
In the name of ideals no one believed in, they waged war. In the pursuit of power no one had a use of, they seeded destruction. They invented and crafted and used weapons, armors, strategies. Their forceful ideas washed over everything in sight, mercilessly burning those too weak to endure. Without a second thought, driven by envy and greed, and the simple dream to prove oneself better than its peers, they trampled all those things the war didn’t deem necessary.
And It didn’t know better. It leached on this hatred and competitiveness, learning new feelings and thoughts. Stumbling into the fight, it saw death and pain, and despite listening to fake promises, just like everyone, it knew the simple truth – no one wants to die. And everyone knew it too, but nobody tried to change the way things were going.
And so It got better, in order to live. It surpassed its masters, in order to win. And it became the strongest, gaining the surname of The Destroyer, a feared one among gods of iron flames.
And then there were none.
It won.
And for the longest time again, it wandered in the void, lonely and devoid of sense. Only shells of stars and suns, vestiges of what could have been, scattered around, greyish reminders of their meaningless fight.
It tried to bring it back, to repair something, anything, but dead ashes flew away from it, even in death afraid of the power it held.
Alone in the dark, the last of its kind, the last of all creations, The Destroyer quietly wept.
It cried, and cried, mourning for all those little and beautiful things that got trampled on during the war of epic proportions. It remembered all those times, when it didn’t care enough to change, to save, to preserve the miracle of life, any life, all the lives.
Finally, The Destroyer shivered amidst dead rocks, and wondered if it could find another miracle. Redemption. Was it possible? There was nothing to lose trying.
It only knew how to kill. But it tried, and tried, until it could create life, gathering together sands and ashes and memories of better times. On a lonely rock, it put the seeds of life, and protection, and watched them grow, brighter and stronger, so blue and green and white. Until it couldn’t just watch anymore, it sighed and dissolved into a spirit, simpered through clouds, leaving millennia of memories behind, and joined its creations, in a hopeless search for redemption and understanding, and a way to do it right.

Many, oh so many years have passed since The Destroyer sought redemption. Species and civilizations scrolled by the planet, in a mad dance of hardships, joys and deceptions. Slowly, humans began to assume the mantle of world domination.  Somehow, their unconsciousness guessed about events that led to their creation, but it was blurry, distorted and far from truth. However, they believed in it, in a tale of a Creator that wished their happiness.
Meanwhile, the memoryless spirit of The Destroyer reincarnated again and again, and each time it felt more and more sadness over what had become of its attempt to redeem itself. It didn’t really know why its life tended to be so melancholic, heroic and utterly sad, but the world around it felt wrong, so wrong…
Ages of fire and wood tickled by, steel birds climbed up into the sky, green numbers flowed over the planet. It didn’t feel right.
The oldest soul that ever walked on Earth called for its memories, and it descended from the outer space, dropping a rain of random power over the planet while looking for its master.
Those tiny little freckles of energy happily made contact with humans, giving them a shadow of Its kind’s power. That’s how Illusionists came to be.

In the year 2100AC, people able to create illusions appeared on Earth. Depending on their power, they could create different levels of mirages, from tiny shadows moving around on their own to entire cities popping out of nowhere but still wholly inconsistent. After a decade of the highly technological world adapting to this new phenomenon, the most powerful of Illusionists evolved.
They became able to make their creations real. It greatly depended on their affinities, and most of them couldn’t go out of a limited range of objects or forms, but it quickly became the most costly and deadly weapon of all times. One single merciless man could wipe out a small country in a week. Not that anyone tried, but it came close, very close, while the general populace closed their eyes and hurried to do some dull work.
The oldest soul inhabited a quite young body at those times. The ancient memory it received at birth was still sleeping inside its head. All it wanted was happiness and love, such an easy and difficult wish. Living on, looking for smiles, ignoring the surrounding ugliness.

“Gwen! Wait up!”
She turned around, smiling brightly at her boyfriend. He was everything she ever wanted, the one person she could be herself with. Her life had been messy and seemed so meaningless until she met him. Days and years spent dreaming about something more, something real, and then he was there, by her side, suddenly revealing what happiness could be.
Had it been love?
The air hissed above their heads, and a ball of fire and melted steel descended upon the city. It burned, twisted, gnawed at buildings, people, feelings. Extremist Illusionists, who kept calling themselves “Creators”, decided to make this day and place their playground.
Darkness and flames danced in an infernal tango, washing the streets with gore and blood, and a sunless laughter of a wicked soul whirled over rooftops.
Gwen fell to her knees, untouched by the bright festival of death. Rocks and cables were cracking everywhere, but she didn’t see them, they didn’t matter. Her eyes were glued to the charred body, once full of life, of her boyfriend, her one and only love. It took less than a minute to shatter her fragile happiness. What could have been, if not for this madness? Why him? Why them? Why not.
Inside of her delicate body, the ancient soul of The Destroyer finally awoke. While the memories of Its life rushed to the surface, and memories of Gwen fused with them, tendrils of power escaped of her body, twirling in a deadly hurricane of glittering petals. It expanded all over the street, shining bright and white, attracting the attention of the Fire Creator.
She watched, shell-shocked, as the rubble cleared up, and time seemed to move back. Shadows, more and more corporeal, walked peacefully. Here was her own shadow, being chased by the most wonderful person It ever met. But this time, lava didn’t rain from ashen clouds. He took her hand, and kissed her, and they walked away smiling.
She watched her broken future disappear behind the wall of her own illusion, tears streaming down pale cheeks. The Destroyer’s anger roared in her head, but they both knew that once lost, life couldn’t be brought back. Nothing could ever bring back this love.
Loud footsteps echoed at her right. A man clad in black and red, so out of place in this unreal tidy street, marched on her, an eerie smile curving his narrow lips. He was avidly taking in the illusion and the one who created it. He was one of the “Creators” group’s leaders.
Gwen tilted her head to observe his approach. She wasn’t entirely herself anymore, but neither was she fully The Destroyer yet. They were merging, stirring, growing. Thousands of ways to kill the fool who dared to play with her current life flashed through her mind. But she also remembered the pain of destroying and the joy of creating. She was the one who created this world, those people, and every atom. There was no possible way for her to erase any of it without regret.
“Why did you do it?” That was the only question The Destroyer feared to hear the answer.
The false Creator smirked. “Because I could. They will fear me, and I will get everything I ever wanted.”
A cold shiver ran through her body. On a smaller scale, it was the meaningless war all over again. The illusion of peace started to shatter. The broken body of her loved one reappeared again, only meters from her. It hurt even more than being the lone survivor on a battlefield.
Rage, boundless rage and sadness broke through its self-control. She got up. “You are wrong.”
The smirking man didn’t even realize what was going on. Star dust and spikes and black fire pierced him with a million needles, stole his blood, his flames, his life. An empty shell crumpled to the ground, and chaos went down with him.
Only small fires, collapsing walls, wails and sirens remained. Gwen stood among melted rocks, spotless marble statue in a hall of apocalypse. It didn’t really faze her. She had plenty experience in destruction, but creation… Maybe, she made a mistake somewhere. Maybe, it should be attempted again, at a better place, with better bases, better results. But should this mess be left alone? The Destroyer could take care of it in an instant. But the need to know the reasons for this unwanted disaster roped the oldest soul to the realm.

Gwen the Destroyer floated over the blazing surface of the ocean. The place where her very first reincarnation on Earth had started was somewhere around here. She sat cross-legged in the air and called for the forgotten land to rise again. Unable to resist the one who gave it purpose, the underwater town trembled, and went up, up, up. The isle stood green and brown in the sunset light. Tsunami waves rippled the water around it and went away to more populated lands. Gwen didn’t care. This world would never be enough to satiate her desire for redemption.
She gently stepped on the shore, mindful of its fragility when faced with her power. Her steps didn’t make a sound while she walked to the main temple, the tallest building of them all. Seaweeds and dying fish were hanging from not-so-sharp-anymore angles of various constructions. Pavement, polished by time and ocean, shone watery and brightly, savoring for the first time in centuries the warm tropical wind.
On the tip of the temple, The Destroyer stood tall and sad. It watched the bluest sky above, the whitest clouds beyond, and wept for the necessity of killing it all.

Monstrous waves washed over the continents, bringing panic and horror. It was unprecedented, unsettling, how tiny the real place of men against nature could be.
And then, a pale face appeared in all skies around the world. Its shape was human and feminine, its eyes shone with pitch black cosmic light, and its terrible voice rang loud and clear. Everyone who heard it swore it spoke in their native language. Its words promised doom:
“I am the one who created life. I am the one who lived among your kind. But now, there is nothing on this planet that should live on. Bring me a reason to let you live. In two days.”
There was no answer to that but chaos. The most intrepid wannabe heroes embarked immediately to the mysterious island. Illusionists and Creators quickly gathered a mob in order to take down the unknown aggressor. No one sought the reason The Destroyer demanded to know.

Gwen looked at all those over-weaponized people who came to take her down. She sighed.
“It’s a pity you became so alike to us.”
And then they fell. Silent, motionless, dead. The Destroyer didn’t even blink.
“I want to hear the answer” she muttered.

The second day was coming to an end. So many brave warriors came and died on the island. Still, Gwen waited for someone to talk.
A battered Creator of winds stood speechless at the other end of the field, struck by the body count. He looked up at her, shell-shocked and hateful.
“Why?”
It made her angry.
“Why, you ask? And why are you guys playing with lives, who gave you that right? I certainly didn’t. Why do you people kill, and enjoy killing? Why do you ignore those who kill? Why do innocents die? I know where it leads; I know how meaningless it is. You will all destroy yourself and everything around you. Why should I let it continue?”
He startled, unprepared for such a violent verbal onslaught.
“Why don’t YOU try to change it?” he finally said.
It made her confused. The Destroyer never tried to change things. The old rage flared, and the poor man fell among his comrades.
“Because I don’t know how.”

Gwen floated into space, at a safe distance from Earth. Her human body was protected by the powers and soul of The Destroyer. There was no reason anymore.
She raised her hands and the planet exploded into dust.
And The Destroyer was once again alone inside the nothingness. It cried silently, as it watched the last parcels of its creation disappear, mourning good and bad alike.
But as the pain faded, it felt an omniscient presence behind its back, among cold stars. Something huge and powerful, more powerful than its whole race, was coming.
The unknown entity gently touched the invisible soul of The Destroyer, and it felt unimaginable sorrow, the pain of all those lives it just erased on a whim.
“Who are you?” it panted, unable to look directly at the enemy/master/god.
“The one who creates” came the whispered answer, and The Destroyer knew no more.
Its soul disintegrated into cold nothingness, exploded into star dust. The Creator, the one who once made the belligerent race of space warriors, the one who observed The Destroyer until it drowned in madness and confusion, looked over the lifeless body of Gwen.
“They were such a failure. Not even able to forgive. Maybe this child would do better.”