On the furthest peak of the cosmos, beyond the reaching grasp of the creation’s light. Turmoil was brewing, a tremor of ancient rage and festering resentment.

Unbeknownst to the creators, the more they create, the more they intruded upon what was once theirs-the quiet, formless and eternal VOID. The warm light of creation, encroached upon their domain, burning through the darkness where they had ruled unseen. Creation itself became an insult to their very existence, a cruel reminder that they had been discarded—cast aside like relics of a forsaken past, abandoned in favor of this new, fleeting light. They had not simply been forgotten; they had been replaced, their once-unchallenged dominion now encroached upon by lesser things.

This was no mere opposition to creation. This was the first surge of fury, a deep-seated hatred that had festered since the dawn of time—a venomous rejection of life, light, and everything it stood for. Creation was a direct affront to their existence, a theft of the darkness that had once been theirs alone. Every star, every world was a wound, a scar carved into the void they once ruled. They seethed with the knowledge that creation had thrived at their expense. They must reclaim what was stolen, and they would make the universe tremble for daring to forget them.

On the furthest reach of the creation’s influence sudden despair echoed across the vast cosmos. A vibration, a frequency that only the creators could perceive, its resonance unlike anything they had known. It was not a sound but a sensation, an agonizing cry that reverberated through the fabric of the cosmos, like a tremor at the core of all things.

Then came the scream.

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This wasn’t merely a sound but a shockwave of pure agony, a death cry so profound it shook the foundations of creation itself. The light of a creator—one of their own—was suddenly snuffed out, extinguished in an instant. It was as though a star had collapsed into itself, leaving behind only a cold, empty void. The universe quaked, recoiling at the unnatural event.

It was the first time that this happened A creator known to have the power of the universe at their finger tips, died in the most agonizing way possible that it rendered all the other creators momentarily paralyzed.

A being who had shaped the stars and breathed life into the cosmos—now, that being was gone. Not vanished, but annihilated—torn from the cosmos with such brutality that their essence left a scar upon reality itself.

It mirrored that first gaze upon the empty cosmos—yet this time, fear gripped them instead of sadness. All the creator realized that it was not a warning nor a threat but rather something inevitable. One of their kin has fallen and who ever or whatever was capable of killing a creator wanted them to know that no one was safe.

It was just like when they first gaze upon the emptiness of the cosmos but this time it was fear rather than sadness. All the creator chilled to their very core realized. Their kind was meant to be eternal, untouchable. Yet here, in the dark expanse of creation, one of their kin had fallen, not by accident or natural decay, but by a force that had made itself known in the most violent, deliberate way.

This was not a warning.

This was not a threat.

It was a declaration.

The creators understood, with a chilling clarity, that something out there, beyond the reach of their light, had the power to kill them—and worse, it wanted them to know. The silence that followed the scream felt heavier than any darkness they had encountered before.

One of their own was gone, and whoever—whatever—had done this had marked them all. Now, none of them were safe.