Absolute Being: I Am Nothing

Plane Of Destiny And Fate 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Everything is falling into place.

Sarah leaned back in her chair, the vast screens before her displaying multiple views of the Imperial world. Elizabeth stood on her balcony, crown still on her head, watching the last of the celebrations fade into night. Adam lounged in a corner of the palace, apparently asleep but definitely not. Merlin explored the library with wide-eyed wonder. Kahdijah caused minor chaos in the kitchens. Rebecca brooded. Alex observed everything with that quiet, knowing patience.

"With time," Sarah said, "we can separate all the Absolute Beings into different dimensions. Scatter them across realities where they can’t converge."

Vrael nodded slowly. He stood beside her, his ancient eyes fixed on the same screens. "That’s the goal. Chaos knows about the Abstracts now—she’s heard the name, sensed their presence in the background of reality. But she doesn’t know how they come to be. What triggers their manifestation."

He paused, gesturing at the screen showing Adam. "Once they’re separated, once each Absolute is isolated in their own dimensional pocket, we can explain it to her. Make her understand. She’s persuasive when she wants to be. She can help convince the others to stay separated, to never gather in one place again."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "And if plan A fails? If we can’t separate them?"

"Then we bet on him." Vrael pointed at Adam. "He’s on our side. At least, he hasn’t given us reason to think otherwise. If the worst happens, if the Abstracts manifest despite everything, he’s our insurance."

Sarah was quiet for a moment, studying the sleeping figure on her screen. "His existence still bothers me. How can nothing have flesh? Nothing is the absence of something. Where there is something, there cannot be nothing—because something is there, occupying the space. And yet here he is. Nothing, behaving exactly like something."

Vrael sighed. "You’ll drive yourself mad trying to understand him. I’ve tried. We’ve all tried. He doesn’t fit any framework, any logic, any system we’ve created. He and his brother both."

"Alex is Existence itself. That’s comprehensible, at least. Difficult, but comprehensible."

"Alex is Existence, yes. But Adam?" Vrael shook his head. "Alex holds us on a leash. Adam holds Alex on a leash. The hierarchy doesn’t make sense because there shouldn’t be anything above Existence. But there he is."

Sarah leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "At least they’re reasonable. They don’t mess with us without cause."

"For now."

The words hung in the air.

Then Sarah straightened, her expression shifting from contemplation to purpose.

"Well. Now’s not the time to dwell on them." She reached out, her fingers dancing across the controls. The screens shifted, diving deep—past the surface of the magical world, past the transformed manor, past the celebrating cities, past layers of stone and soil and ancient bedrock.

Down to the core.

Something stirred there. Something vast and old and angry. The binding that had held it for centuries was cracked, weakened by the Dark Lord’s death and the arrival of powers not meant for this world.

Dagon.

Still sleeping. Still bound. But barely.

"Time to wake up," Sarah whispered.

She pressed her hand against the screen.

---

In the magical world, the ground trembled.

It started small—a vibration felt only by those paying attention. Animals stirred uneasily. Water rippled in wells. A few people glanced at each other, shrugged, went back to their celebrations.

Then it grew.

The tremors deepened, spread, became constant. Cracks appeared in walls that had stood for generations. Statues wobbled. Trees swayed without wind.

Deep below, something was pushing against the last remnants of its prison.

The old mages’ binding flared—once, twice, three times—fighting to hold. But it had been weakened by centuries of neglect, by the death of the tyrant whose reign had unknowingly helped sustain it, by the presence of beings who had no business existing in this reality.

The binding shattered.

Dagon rose.

---

The world screamed.

Not with sound—with sensation. Every living creature felt it. A pressure, an awareness, a presence that filled the space between atoms. Something ancient and powerful and absolutely, completely furious.

In cities across the continent, people fell to their knees without knowing why. Animals fled into wilderness. The sky itself seemed to darken, though no clouds had gathered.

At the core of the world, Dagon opened his eyes.

He had been beautiful once. Radiant. A god of light and life and protection. His people had loved him, worshipped him, trusted him with their souls.

That was before.

Now his form was twisted—not physically, but spiritually. The light that had once shone from him had curdled into something dark. The love had become judgment. The protection had become punishment.

He remembered.

He remembered everything.

---

Five thousand years ago, Dagon had been the guardian of this world. He walked among mortals, teaching them, healing them, protecting them from the darkness beyond the borders of reality. They built temples in his honor. They sang songs of his kindness. They loved him, and he loved them in return.

Then the strangers came.

They appeared in his temple one night—two figures, cloaked in power so vast that even he, a god, felt small in their presence. One was ancient, patient, with eyes that had seen universes born and die. The other was sharp, precise, with a gaze that seemed to see every possible future at once.

Vrael and Sarah.

"We have a proposition," Vrael had said.

Dagon, young and trusting, had listened.

They spoke of balance. Of order. Of the need for certain events to unfold in certain ways. They spoke of a future threat—something beyond his comprehension, beyond even theirs—that required preparation. Sacrifice. Planning.

And they spoke of his role.

"You will become a warning," Sarah told him. "A catalyst. When the time comes, your awakening will draw specific beings to this world. It will buy us the time we need to prepare for what comes next."

Dagon had refused. He was a protector, not a weapon. He would not allow himself to be used as bait.

They had not asked again.

Vrael reached out and touched Dagon’s forehead. Just touched it.

Something broke inside the god.

It wasn’t pain—not exactly. It was worse. It was corruption. A slow, insidious twisting of everything he was. His love became possessiveness. His protection became control. His judgment became cruelty.

"You’ll understand in time," Sarah had said, watching him change. "This isn’t punishment. It’s purpose."

They left him there, transformed, broken, barely aware of what he had become.

The mortals noticed the change. They stopped coming to the temples. They stopped singing the songs. They started hiding, started fearing, started praying to other gods who might save them from the one who had once saved them.

Dagon’s rage grew.

He punished them for their fear. For their ingratitude. For their betrayal. He became exactly what they feared, and he hated them for making him into it.

The old mages bound him eventually. Put him to sleep beneath the world. Ended his reign of terror.

But they couldn’t undo what Vrael and Sarah had done.

They couldn’t make him good again.

---

Now, five thousand years later, Dagon rose.

His awareness spread through the world like poison through blood. He felt the mortals above—their fear, their confusion, their celebrations cut short by his awakening. He felt the lingering presence of the Dark Lord’s death, the echoes of power that had ended him. He felt something else too. Something new. Something that didn’t belong.

Several somethings.

Absolutes.

The beings Vrael and Sarah had spoken of, all those millennia ago. The ones his awakening was meant to attract.

He didn’t understand the plan. Didn’t care about the plan. All he knew was that there were intruders in his world, powerful intruders, and they would suffer for their trespass.

He began to move upward.

---

In their observation chamber, Sarah watched Dagon rise with clinical detachment.

"He’s awake," she said. "Right on schedule."

Vrael nodded. "The Absolutes will sense him soon. Adam especially—he can’t ignore a threat to people he’s claimed as his own."

"Merlin will want to protect his homeworld. He’s young, idealistic. He’ll insist on going back."

"And when he goes, the others will follow. Or some of them will. Enough to thin the herd."

Sarah smiled. "Then we move on the Imperial world. Separate the remaining Absolutes before they can gather again."

Vrael studied the screens, watching Dagon’s slow ascent. "He won’t defeat them. He can’t. He’s powerful, but they’re fundamental."

"He doesn’t need to defeat them. He just needs to delay them. To occupy their attention while we work."

"Time." Vrael nodded slowly. "That’s what I’m selling. Time."

They watched in silence for a moment.

"Five thousand years," Sarah murmured. "He’s been waiting five thousand years for this moment. He doesn’t even remember why. Doesn’t remember what we did to him."

"Does it matter?"

"No." She shook her head. "In the grand scheme of things, he was always insignificant. A tool. A means to an end. His suffering, his corruption, his eventual death—none of it matters compared to what we’re trying to prevent."

Vrael said nothing. He just watched the screen, watched the ancient god rise toward a confrontation he couldn’t win, and felt nothing at all.