Twelve eternal beings circled the event horizon of a black hole, their presence distorting the very fabric of space-time. It was the first meeting of its kind since the galaxy’s birth. Beneath them, the abyss stretched into an infinity of blackness—a sobering reminder of the void they now faced.

Supermassive stars spiraled around them at unimaginable speeds, their surfaces torn apart by the black hole’s gravity. Streams of stellar matter were flung toward the event horizon before being cast back into the cosmos like debris from a cataclysmic storm. The silent dance of destruction served as the backdrop for what was to come.

The God of Life was the first to speak. His form, a shimmering manifestation of green light, pulsed with ancient energy. His voice echoed across the vast emptiness, reverberating through space even though no air existed to carry the sound. It was a voice that transcended the physical.

“You’ve all felt it,” he began, his words heavy with the weight of cosmic knowledge. “The monstrosity has changed its course. It comes for us. In three millennia, it will be on our doorstep.”

He stood motionless, emanating an undeniable power as his eleven brothers and sisters hovered around him in silence.

“Then we stop it before it gets here. We obliterate it before it becomes a threat,” came the sharp reply of the God of War. She was bathed in fierce red light, her form smaller than the God of Life, yet she commanded more reverence. The others averted their eyes, gazing into the abyss as she spoke.

“It will not work,” the God of Life said, his voice carrying the weight of ancient foreknowledge. “I have seen the end of all things. We cannot win if we attack. If we intervene directly, even with our combined might and that of the lesser deities, we would be no more. What, then, of our home? The world we have given life to—what then of us?”

The God of War bristled, her crimson light flaring in intensity. Her form stiffened, her luminous face hardening with defiance. “Nonsense,” she growled. “There is nothing that can withstand the might of my strength, let alone the combined force of all the Gods. I will vanquish this threat alone.”

The God of Life remained steady, his gaze unflinching. “Sister, I do not doubt your strength or your resolve. But this foe is unlike any we have faced. It comes from a place beyond our reach, beyond our influence, and it hungers. I have seen it, and in my vision, I witnessed our end at its hands.”

The God of War faltered, though she did not move. The other Gods turned their attention toward her, waiting for a response that never came. Ages passed in silence.

A figure, round and seated, bathed in a soft orange glow, raised a hand that seemed to stretch across galaxies. The God of Order spoke, his voice steady and eternal, as constant as the turning of the stars.

“There must be something we can do,” he said. “We are not helpless. We are as eternal as the universe itself. How can we simply cease to be?”

The God of Life turned toward him, his light dimming as his voice darkened. “My old friend, the end for us is not death. It is an eternal prison of darkness, where we nourish the monster until the end of time. Trapped forever, feeding it so that it may devour more. Time will stretch on so far that not even I can see beyond our confinement.”

At his words, the gods' radiant forms dimmed. Their light, once bright and divine, grew transparent, as if the blackness of space had begun to seep through them. They seemed more like shadows now—fading echoes of their former selves.

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“Do we flee? Do we leave this place?” asked the God of Wisdom, his tall, white silhouette wavering for the first time in his existence. His voice, usually steady and sure, now carried the weight of doubt. If he were not a god, one might have seen fear flicker in his eyes.

“No,” the God of Life replied. “We would only delay the inevitable. We must make our stand here, where we still have a chance. A chance so uncertain that even the universe itself cannot foresee the outcome.”

Suddenly, a nearby galaxy flickered and dimmed, its light snuffed out in an instant. The universe cried out in pain, and a terrible laughter echoed in the minds of the gods. The lights of the God of Air and the God of Stone—violet and yellow—flickered, then vanished as their essence was ripped from the council.

The God of Life allowed a weary smile to touch his ethereal face. “I will speak with them later. We will need their aid. We will need everyone’s help if we are to survive—if the universe itself is to survive.”

“What is this plan? Speak now!” barked the God of War, her snarl barely contained. As she spoke, her features shifted. Her ears pulled back, her face elongated, and a deep growl rumbled from her chest.

All eyes turned to the God of Life. Stars streaked past, the silence stretching into decades, before he finally responded.

“An abomination,” he said, his voice calm and unwavering despite the gravity of his words. “A monster to kill a monster. We must violate our sacred laws, risk the end of days, if we are to have any chance of survival.”

“You’re mad!” shouted the God of Chaos, a spectral figure bathed in blue light. The sudden outburst from him—a rare event, as no god took less than a year to reply—shocked the others.

The gods exchanged glances, their translucent eyes wide with disbelief. But the God of Life knew their shock came not from Chaos's interruption, but from the enormity of his proposal—a violation of everything they held sacred.

“The creature we face is beyond us,” the God of Life continued, “as we are beyond the Demi-Gods who serve us. Our chance is slim, and though I cannot see the end, I know it is our only option.”

“And if we succeed?” the God of Wisdom asked, his voice more cautious now. “What then? We will have created an abomination—a being capable of the destruction of all things.”

Around the circle, the other gods nodded slowly in solemn agreement. In the distance, a star exploded into a supernova, its core collapsing and its matter flung across light-years of space. The silence that followed stretched endlessly, as though time itself had paused.

“We choose our candidate carefully. We guide it. With the right path, we might yet survive,” the God of Life said. “But we must act before the monster arrives. Once it is here, we will be powerless to change our fate.”

“Three millennia,” murmured the God of Fate, her voice like the tolling of a distant bell. “Such a short time. You know it is barely enough for what you ask. To create an abomination and leave it all to chance?” She paused, tilting her head. “Well, it even tempts me.”

“That is why I need all of you,” said the God of Life. “Not just to create the abomination, but to steer it toward our goal. You’ve heard the universe cry out in agony. We have all felt the disturbance—the hunger. This thing comes from beyond even our understanding. Created by our ignorance. The folly of the Gods. Now, what do you say?”

The God of Life stood unmoving at the edge of the event horizon, waiting. Years passed, and one by one, his brothers and sisters bowed their heads in solemn acceptance before disappearing into the void. Centuries now passed until only the God of War remained.

“You have my support,” she said, her voice low and dangerous, “but mark my words. If this fails, I will tear this place apart, and I will feed you to the monster myself.”

The God of War turned, took one step forward, and vanished into the blackness.

For the first time in his immortal existence, the God of Life frowned, uncertainty clouding his all-seeing eyes. “It will work,” he whispered, though his voice, usually so commanding, faltered. His words seemed to drift aimlessly, swallowed whole by the black hole beneath him.