It began with the participants in war. Their blood was the first, their lives the seeds of this grotesque feast. But it didn’t end there. Once the battlefield ran dry of victims, the hunger persisted, insatiable, demanding more.

The birds came next. Fragile creatures that soared above the chaos, desperate to escape. Their wings were no match for the monstrous maws that erupted from these twisted forms.

The trees followed, shredded like paper. Branches splintered, roots clawed out, their essence consumed by creatures that should not exist. The earth itself trembled as these abominations burrowed deeper, devouring life at its most fundamental level.

Then the skies—the very heavens—were eaten. Clouds vanished into gaping maws, stars dimmed as if they feared to shine upon the horror below. Night and day blurred as the creatures stretched upward, devouring the atmosphere, the layers of air that had once given breath to all living things.

But it was not enough. These beasts moved across the world, their persistence unfaltering, their hunger unending, consuming as much and as many as possible. The worst crimes committed by the sin of Gluttony are mere jokes compared to what these beasts have done. And I? I was a forced witness.

Before my eyes, which I could not close no matter how much I willed it, tragedies unraveled like storybooks in a cursed library. I saw them swallow houses with people inside. Horrific imagery burned into my mind: the pure and loyal falling alongside the sinful to jaws that come not from this reality. Final words, cries of despair, and prayers to gods that would never answer will now haunt me endlessly.

They consumed rivers as if parched but did not stop at water. Their thirst craved destruction. Mountains and even volcanoes—yes, even those brimming with molten lava—were devoured without a second’s hesitation. The fire posed no hardship to their endless hunger.

...

Would the sun itself truly fall victim to this gluttony?

...

The thought raced through the remnants of my mind. I wanted to deny it, to cling to hope, but that hope was shattered as I saw how every land, every sea, every corner of the world fell victim to their relentless consumption. The planet itself was slurped from existence by my very jaws.

However, this was not enough. The creatures turned to the stars surrounding what I once called home. One by one, they devoured the celestial bodies, each a glowing tribute to life now extinguished in their voracious wake. Planets came next, and then they set their sights on the sun itself. It, too, was consumed, its light extinguished forever.

Effortlessly.

The remnants of the solar system stood no chance, swept away in the tide of endless destruction.

Now? Thrown into an endless cosmos, here is where they began mindlessly attacking all there is to be: accumulations of stars, planets, and their satellites, black holes, pieces of the void, devouring entire systems as they came across them. These beings did not merely crave destruction; they sought to annihilate existence itself. Before they could accomplish this, however, gods, avatars and concepts appeared before me in their physical forms, attempting to stop them. At first, they used the might granted by their very essence, but even these divine interventions were forced to escalate, revealing the full extent of their power.

It was futile. Even the Concept of Finality itself, the bedrock of ALL endings, was consumed. The Abstraction representing Superiority fell, and not even the Avatar of Survival… survived. All were mauled and hacked apart by teeth that not only resisted decay but seemed to grow sharper, larger, and more numerous with every bite. Reality itself crumbled under their assault, yet these creatures only grew stronger.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

In the end, one voice remained—a cruel and mocking voice belonging to a Jester God. A God of Luck and Jokes—how ironic in this situation, a God made of stories being the last one to survive, yet has no one to tell the story to... and is soon to be devoured next.

Through maniacal laughter, it wove a tale of tragedy, futility, and endless despair. Was it speaking to me? To the soul trapped in this abomination, unable to ascend or find peace?

Or has He fell victim to His own insanity?

The Jester’s words revealed the bitter truth: these creatures always return. Each time they are destroyed, they revive in a new form with a new story. Eradicated countless times before, they are reborn under different names, different appearances, but with the same ultimate goal: to consume all of existence. Even the gods could not erase them, for their curse is rooted in the fundamental flaws of existence itself. These monsters began as malice incarnate, born not only from betrayal, despair, and hatred but from any form of attack or defense. From the smallest organism clinging to life—an act that should be seen as beauty and perseverance—but isn’t.

The story of a poor girl, sweet and innocent, who devoted her life to medicine but was betrayed by her village and unjustly branded a witch. Burned at the stake, a spark of malice that craves revenge birthed true witches into the world. Their tools, their accursed magical instruments, were the forms these abominations took at the time. Slowly, these tools grew out of control, forcing the gods to reset that universe entirely.

Another universe bore witness to a tragedy of science. Doctors seeking to end the disease all humans share—mortality—experimented recklessly, unleashing zombified organisms. Avatars had to intervene and destroy the universe before the infection could evolve further.

In yet another timeline, a futuristic utopia seemed unbreakable. But even there... technology turned against its creators, threatening all existence. This time, the Concept of The End, an eldritch abomination capable of what these very beasts desire, was summoned to tie up the loose ends. Yet these were but three of countless stories that shared two unchanging details: the spark of malice that birthed the monsters and their insatiable desire to devour ALL, hoping to end ALL THERE IS TO EVER BE, alongside with their own cursed lives.

To them, it makes sense! If you think about it, it does makes sense! If nothing exists, then they shouldn’t either!

IT!

JUST!

MAKES!

FUCKING SENSE!

...

But no story is so gentle as to end here... or ever.

And this story... This is the story of their success. Sort of...

After an infinite amount of revivals and failures, they finally overcame the defenders of existence. They consumed everything—all that dared to exist within reality—and finally, reality itself. As the last fragments of creation vanished, the final, insane laugh of a broken individual echoed through the void:

“I’LL OFFER YOU THE KINDNESS OF NAMING YOU! HAHAHA! ANGELS OF DEMISE! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The Jester God’s final words.

It was finally over. Nothing existed. No stars, no planets, no light, no dark. Not even time remained.

Finally, they could rest. Right? I mean, it’s finally over, no?

Wrong.

Nothing happened. The curse endured. They could not die.

The beasts could no longer endure. They embraced insanity, and in their madness, they turned on each other as a final effort. They tore at what might loosely be called their allies, rending flesh, breaking bones, and crushing the very cores of their endless existence. Heads and hearts, brains and stomachs were destroyed again and again. But no matter the damage inflicted, regeneration followed without fail. They rebuilt themselves, helpless against the curse.

Again.

And again.

Over and over.

They repeated this pitiful scene an infinite number of times, each time regenerating faster than before. Trapped in a never-ending torment they never sought, the beasts—and the soul imprisoned within—remained.

At some point, all the beasts tried to hack the new owner of my body, and a thought hit me: Was my soul the reason they were not allowed to ascend? Doesn’t matter—every fang’s bite, every claw’s scratch was instantaneously healed as if pressing an undo button.

What could these abominations do? Nothing. They had obliterated existence with a fragment of their strength, yet they were powerless against the endless life forced upon them. Eventually, they realized the futility of their struggles.

They stopped fighting.

They stopped moving.

They stopped acting.

They stopped breathing. (Were they breathing to begin with?)

They stopped everything. Most importantly, they stopped... thinking.

Death refused them. They had no choice but to improvise.

And now...

“I’m all alone.”

“Oh my, I can think in mind now, slightly clearer thoughts than before, but it’s still an upgrade from the passenger I’ve been for the past endless eternity.”

But that doesn’t remedy the situation I find myself in. NOTHING EXISTS. Not even the beasts function anymore. I am alone, utterly and completely alone, in an endless sea of darkness.

Again... Nothing exists anymore!

I am an individual waiting for something.

But there is nothing.