There’s much to be done, and after destruction, much must be unmade, so that new creation can be wrought.

Delightfully, there’s a glimmer of inspiration even in a work such as this, one that deserves to be harnessed.

Thing-That-Undoes Enthusiastic yearning. Gnashing jaws. It wants to unmake, to push back to zero, to fix indignity.

Who would have thought that I find a principle needed for my ambition even here, in the ruins of my work? Indeed, I would have found it nonetheless, but there’s still to rejoice for the good luck, and for pearls found in the mud.

Aspect Unlocked! The Unmaker Unmerciful mercy. The dissipating touch. Back to the drawing board. Waste not, want not. Close your eyes. Peer into the light. Gentle sleep to you.

My being grows. It struggles against the boundaries, and my shape pulls at its seams. It returns to calm and to itself soon, but this is a matter to give some thought to.

Later. There’s much work to do.

Repairing my island is a long but joyful work. How could it be any different? I labor to erase the mistakes of the past, and to erase any trace of ugly Otherness from my world. With each melted wreckage and broken failure, new purity springs up.

As I work, I remember my ambition. Creation. Expansion. To take my Greater Self and make it Me, so that its boundless creative energies are harnessed, channeled into true fecundity.

And then? I didn't know before. A mortal would have struggled, floundered in uncertainty as he tried to puzzle an end goal beyond what he could see, a reason that would justify drive and tenacity. I have no need for it. I have faith in myself and my inspiration, and find all the meaning I need in the simple act of making, loving and unmaking. Why? Because I am a God, and such is my nature.

But the time for faith has passed. The answer blooms inside my mind the moment I ask the question.

After the Sky is reined in, the Greater Self reduced to the self, I will harness all its boundless energy to create masterpieces. I will perfect my craft, one thousand, one thousand thousand times, age after age as aeon gives way to aeon and what was wrought at the start is dust and forgotten, until I have reached an unrivaled height, the peak's summit from which no other step lead. I will create perfection. And then, this drive of mine, this unfathomable push to create will find its end and I'll gaze upon what I have created and find fulfillment, knowing that my task and the reason for my being has been done.

I will know contentment.

The image is dizzying in its beauty, and I giggle into my hands as I picture it. My son's presence sparks with joy, content with my own.

As I resume my work, I dance, and sing wistfully.

For the first time, my child leaves my company. He has basked in my influence long enough that he can attempt to fulfill his purpose on his own. Still, we are never apart, and after one thousand years apart, they bask in my presence, and I in his.

Izilianchi circles around the island, eyes open for intruders. I see his stern vigilance as a hand hovering over a naked blade. It yearns to be unleashed, but my poor child isn’t likely to get his wish. The Sky around my island is empty of the masses of creatures and Creators I grew used to seeing. No doubt, Azakar has devoured or pushed them all away. None of them was even remotely powerful enough to stand up to the beast.

The thought of the monster sparks anger. I wonder where it is now? If Creators were allowed to nest on my island, it must have been a long time since its last return. Long, but not enough for the Sky around to blossom with Otherness again. Maybe, now it hunts somewhere else in the sky, thinking of my Al’Huota only as a husk devoid of food and so unworthy of attention.

The creation in my hands cracks apart when I think that. My island, unworthy?

I still my thoughts, struggling to calm myself and focus on my work. Unworthy… that beast has much to answer for indeed.

Still, as I glance back toward the empty expanse, once positively teeming with malformed life, I cannot but feel something.

An emptiness.

It’s not regret and it’s not nostalgia. The empty Sky is much more appealing than a chaos of forms and sounds. Rather… I stop, puzzled. Inspiration? A missed opportunity? From Others?

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

How peculiar.

Izilianchi’s presence brims with attention as my thoughts turn to him. In a moment, my wishes are plain to him, and he rushes to obey.

My child breaks its circling, turning into a many-pronged lightning bolt as it dives into the Sky, disappearing on the horizon as fast as thought.

It returns sometime later, carrying what I asked for.

The Creator squirms in my son’s talons. Violet, half-congealed blood streams from tentacles of proto-plasm, and a massive rough-hewn face occupies a bulbous body.

Tentacles of rock emerge to constrain the Creator as it’s dropped before my Workshop.

I watch it, curious. It is small, only a bit bigger than my foot. Feeling my gaze, it turns to me, bulbous body spinning so that the three oversized faces covering three of its sides can see me. One is animal-like, and scared; the others are a mix of my own and animalistic features, angry and serene respectively. They fight to be the one to gaze upon me. The fourth, - little more than a few feelers – lacks the wherewithal to struggle for a spot.

What a pathetic creature, holding discord in its own body and mind… if it has one to speak of.

Leaning down, I peer in its eyes. No, there’s nothing. Only a vague glimmer of inquisitiveness. A ridiculous thing. And yet… the pull toward it is unmistakable.

Mmh…

Inspiration revolves like a rock thrown into the void. I sit and watch for a long time before it finally turns, and the cracks and angles take a form and a meaning.

Of course. The principles brought by the many.

Division, union, the consuming, Love-For-The-Others, wound, speak, secrets, the intrusion.

How fascinating. To think that even the unsightly Others had something to teach. Of course, once me grew large enough, I’d have found the lessons on my own. But still, there’s a glimmer of gratitude to be found.

Extending a finger, I touch the animal face. It wrinkles its nose, staring at where I brushed against it, where there’s a touch of gold now. The Creator spins once as the gold expands to engulf it, then sighs, slumping.

It doesn’t change. It doesn’t melt or it’s reborn. But its eyes change to a vivid gold. It’s part of me now. But the rest; it remains exactly as it was. Only the Others could be able to appreciate such a thing, such a remaining of unsightliness, and I cannot say to truly understand, but, as I said, I am grateful.

Katuga, the Reedemed Class: Divine Beast Level: 345

My latest child slowly stands up, all six of his eyes blinking as he takes in the new breath of meanings and understandings brought by his quickened intellect.

I frown at the feelers as they wave around like so many little tongues. Gratitude has its limits. Narrowing my eyes, I push a change.

Katuga stiffens. The feelers shorten, then disappear, leaving a smooth expanse. The Creator’s malformed skin loses its sticky, fleshy appearance, taking much a more appropriate metallic sheen.

Stopping from doing more is difficult, but I still do.

Katuga blinks at me. The three revolving heads all share the same, confused look.

I smile coldly at it. Half-formed creation…

At my gesture, my other child swarms his newest sibling. He half-pull, half-push him away. Katuga let himself be carried away, still blinking, heads still revolving.

I sigh as I am left alone.

Katuga is somewhat powerful, but the greater part of that power comes from my remaking. I wonder, there are others like Azakar?

Wanting answers, I send my son to scout.

He flies, quick and fast as lightning, but the Sky is vast. It takes him a long, long time to traverse it all and to do so, he comes across a multitude of strange, Sky-born creatures and Creators. To my surprise, he even finds other lands. Similar to my island, they float in the Sky, each the domain of a particularly powerful Creator that imposed its wishes over its surroundings, with its subjects and inhabitants.

In one, a living mountain of rocky blubber slumbers fitfully, filling its land with shapes born out of its dreams, that prey and are preyed upon by shadow-like beings. In another, sparks and flares form a figure that spins at the center of a meadow, crystal flowers melting and reforming to the rhythm of its dance. In another, thin beings sway like reeds in a bleached desert, beneath a pale sun. In another, a thing with scythes in place of arms, legs and head chases tiny creatures in a sea-sky that moves with it, forever keeping it from reaching its quarry.

It’s an admission that I do grudgingly. It’s… fascinating.

I want it. All of it. Everything.

My greed is a bright flame, such that I barely hold myself from jumping out of my island and start devouring.

Patience. First, I must assess.

I sift through my child’s eyes, puzzling over everything he sees. It is strange. None of the Creators comes even remotely close to the power of Azakar. Even the most powerful of their kind pales in comparison. The absolute strongest are…

Janus, the Many-Face

Class: Divine Beast

Level: 420

Zabuolichan, Who Dances

Class: Divine Beast Level: 412

Iapputitzu, of the Flowing Stone Class: Divine Beast Level: 435

And this is it. In comparison…

Izilianchi, the Elder Brother Class: Divine Beast

Level: 480

How puzzling. Why such a difference?

Azakar appears to be… special. A unique progeny of the Sky, a singularity, one of a kind.

How vexing, and yet how exciting. Who knows what could I create with its bones and flesh? Its vital spark? I cannot wait to find out.

Excited, I steer my son to search for the beast. His soul blazes at the memory of the enemy he has never seen, and he does so at once, streaking faster into the Sky.

The Sky is large, immensely so, and it ends loping on itself, coiled like the bends of a river. It’s only the illusion of a limitation, as the Sky’s dimensions fold upon themselves unto infinity. It is a daunting spectacle, one that could put despair even into a God. But I have ways to make it mine, and no shadow can dampen my desires.

My child pursues his quarry for a long, long time. Long even for me. I let him to it, busy with unmaking, repairing, replacing.

Ilienta is pollinating. Golden, metallic flowers cover the boughs, each of them a blinking eye discharging soft puffs. Excited, I tiptoe around the tree, planting smaller versions of my Kithrul all around it. My children will have plenty to do once born. Should I add entertainment as well? How about a few wheels for them to play with? Some tasty fruits for them to snack on? And a smaller version of me so that they won't ever feel abandoned. And of course, a fence so that nobody will disturb them.

I keep working like that for a while. Admittedly, I let my inspiration lead me further than I originally intended, but it's fine. This and more for my offspring. Ah, dutiful children to spoil and love...!