Supernova (Ink!Sans x Reader)

4. Before We Begin

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.