It is often written in the records of the World Realm—those ancient stone tablets left to gather dust in divine repositories where only scholars and spiders dare tread—that power is not a path, but a test. A long, winding ascent layered in pain, truth, and occasionally, uncomfortably high-pitched screaming.
And on this particular morning, our trio—the Embodiment of Destruction, a beard-toting Creation fanatic, and his legally anxious son—stood on the fractured bones of a mysterious plane, gazing into the impossible.
The map Void had revealed the night before now hovered mid-air like a living entity. Its veins of energy pulsed in rhythm with the realm itself, revealing new lines with each breath the world took. Mysterious planes, connected like scattered constellations. Some stable. Some unraveling.
Frederick studied it with the reverence of a man reading the blueprints to a god's heart. Ezekiel stared too—though mostly because he couldn't look away without Void possibly noticing and asking him a question about quantum resonance.
"We will begin our journey westward," Void said, voice calm, gaze unreadable. "There lies the second node—a remnant of a failed divine experiment."
Ezekiel blinked. "West? Based on what?"
Void turned slightly. "Based on the direction the wind sighs in disappointment."
Frederick nodded solemnly, writing it down.
Ezekiel made a mental note to never ask for compass logic again.
⸻
Their first day of travel across the mysterious plane was marked by silence, ambient dread, and the gentle occasional sound of Void's boots brushing across air itself. The terrain bent for him—not out of fear, but respect. Even the corrupted trees, which had previously tried to devour wayward travelers with acidic bark, politely wilted as he passed.
It wasn't until nightfall, under a fractured sky that bled starlight from broken seams, that they encountered the next anomaly.
A tower.
Black. Endless. Angled in defiance of geometry.
"This was not on the map," Frederick whispered.
Void approached it, hand behind his back.
"It was hidden beneath causality. Someone didn't want this structure found."
Ezekiel blinked. "Causal concealment? Who does that?"
Void's eyes shimmered like twin galaxies contemplating judgment.
"Creators. Or cowards."
The tower pulsed, responding to their presence. Strange glyphs began to glow—shifting, rotating, reconfiguring into a language lost to even the most ancient planes.
Void read them with ease.
"Here lies the core of Fhadrin. Do not enter unless prepared to trade memory for meaning."
Ezekiel immediately stepped back.
"Nope. I like my memories. Even the embarrassing ones. Especially the embarrassing ones. They give me depth."
Frederick stepped forward.
"What is Fhadrin?"
Void answered without pause.
"A failed god-forge. An attempt to extract meaning from law fragments to create artificial souls. The project was… discontinued."
Ezekiel glanced up. "Because it didn't work?"
Void tilted his head slightly.
"Because it worked too well."
⸻
They entered.
Not because they wanted to—but because standing outside a tower daring you not to enter is a good way to get struck by whatever morality test it's guarding.
Inside, the laws felt… dense.
Reality was coiled tighter here, like it was holding its breath. Each step echoed as if across memories instead of stone.
Walls pulsed with frozen time, and the deeper they went, the more the world outside seemed to fade away. Until only the tower, the map, and their breathing existed.
Then they reached it.
A chamber.
Circular. Lined with broken shells—statues shaped like people but hollowed, cracked, and burned from within.
In the center, a dais of light. And on it—
A compass.
Simple. In design only.
Its needle spun, then stopped, then spun again—as if trying to make up its mind about whether reality was currently stable or just pretending.
Void stepped forward.
"A Compass of Truth."
Frederick furrowed his brow. "What does it do?"
Void placed his fingers just above the artifact. Not touching—only allowing proximity.
"It points not to where you are going. But to where you must go to become who you're meant to be."
A silence followed.
Then Ezekiel ruined it.
"So like… a therapy device?"
Void ignored him. The compass spun faster.
Then it stopped.
And pointed downward.
⸻
The floor cracked.
With a groan that sounded like history itself being pulled apart, the ground split open—revealing a staircase, spiraling downward into glowing mist.
Frederick and Ezekiel both turned to Void.
He simply nodded.
"It seems the next law fragment was hidden deeper than expected."
Frederick gripped his hammer.
Ezekiel gripped his anxiety.
And together, they descended.
⸻
The stairs led to something older.
A cavern carved not by hands, but by truth itself. Its walls glowed with embedded law fragments, all humming a discordant tune. It wasn't chaos—but it wasn't unity either.
At the center of the cavern: a sphere.
Hovering.
Made of shifting matter. Like liquid metal wrapped in memory.
Void approached.
"This is a Core of Interpretation. It holds the raw data of a law not yet named."
Frederick stepped forward.
"You mean… an unassigned law?"
"Yes," Void replied. "A law rejected by the world realm. Forgotten. Undesired. But still potent."
The sphere pulsed as if offended.
Ezekiel whispered, "Can I touch it?"
Void answered instantly.
"Absolutely not."
The dwarf stepped back.
Void raised his hand.
"Let's see what this law… remembers."
He placed a single finger on the sphere.
It exploded.
Not violently—but conceptually.
The air filled with visions—memories of the law itself. What it had tried to become. How it was born. Why it failed to find a place. Fragments of identity spilled out like a shattered personality:
• A law of Burden, trying to define how weight affects the soul.
• A law of Lost Names, which recorded things forgotten by their creators.
• A law of Unspoken Regret, meant to give form to the feeling of wishing you had spoken but didn't.
Void closed his eyes, letting them wash over him.
He was quiet for a long moment.
Then said:
"This law never found a home. So I will give it one."
He extended his hand—and the fragments spiraled into him, wrapping around his essence.
Frederick and Ezekiel watched as Void shimmered, briefly, with an unfamiliar warmth.
A flicker.
Then gone.
⸻
They left the tower, hours later, beneath a shattered sky and the quiet humming of the map's next destination.
"We continue west," Void said.
"Why west again?" Ezekiel muttered.
"Because the compass demands it."
"…I liked it better when the compass didn't have opinions."
Void ignored him.
The next destination shimmered faintly on the map—its name unreadable, its laws unknown.
But even unreadable things must be read eventually.
⸻
Void's Workshop: Naming Rejected Laws Like Stray Pets
(A very serious transcript of a very unserious god trying to organize the metaphysical junk drawer of reality)
⸻
[Transcript begins:]
Void: "Bring me the next law fragment."
Ezekiel (off to the side, sweating): "This one keeps leaking regret and making me remember when I called my third-grade teacher 'mom'."
Void: "Good. That means it has depth."
[Void places the fragment on the workbench—a flat surface made of condensed space-time, also doubles as a cutting board.]
Law Fragment: trembling, murmuring 'should've said something… should've…'
Void: "You shall be called… Law of Unspoken Regret."
Frederick (scribbling): "Beautiful. Raw. It smells like wet parchment and sadness."
Void: "Next."
⸻
Law Fragment floats in, radiating pressure and the distinct scent of guilt and student debt.
Void: "Hmm. Tries to define the feeling of knowing you're right but still apologizing in a group chat."
Ezekiel: "That's terrifying."
Void: nods solemnly "We'll call you… Law of Passive Subjugation."
Frederick: "Sounds like my marriage."
⸻
Law Fragment #38 slinks in. It's literally just a sock with the aura of a forgotten god.
Void: "Ah. The Law of Lost Names. You're the one that eats identity and makes people forget why they entered a room."
Ezekiel: "THAT WAS YOU?!"
⸻
Void stacks the named fragments like oddly depressing Pokémon cards.
Void (muttering): "So many beautiful, rejected concepts. Maybe one day… I'll create a realm just for all of you. A sanctuary. A weird, quiet place full of feelings and incomplete tax returns."
⸻
[End transcript.]
⸻
Frederick's Sketchbook: "Sketches of Unspoken Regret"
(Page 109: Officially Moist)
⸻
A page stained with mysterious droplets. Possibly tears. Possibly law-induced emotional backwash. Frederick refuses to clarify.
Sketch 1: "Void Touches the Sad Ball"
• Caption: "He didn't flinch. I did. I flinched hard."
• Notes: Heavy shading around the eyes. Void's silhouette radiates with melancholy. There's a little Ezekiel drawn cowering in the corner, labeled "definitely not crying."
⸻
Sketch 2: "The Burden Law Almost Looked Like Me"
• Caption: "The law fragment showed me carrying too much and laughing anyway. How dare it know me."
• Ink splotch rating: 4/5 sobs
⸻
Sketch 3: "My Son, Floating In Existential Soup"
• Depiction of Ezekiel mid-law pool trauma. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Floating like a ravioli in philosophical broth.
• Caption: "He emerged wiser. But briefly forgot his name and asked me if he was a lamp."
⸻
Sketch 4: A Smudged Fingerprint
• Caption: "Void said this was a fragment of 'What Could Have Been.' I touched it. I remembered a song I never wrote."
• There are faint lyrics written beside it. The rhyme scheme is emotionally unstable.
———
Void's Unsolicited Commentary: The Frederick Sketchbook Incident
(As dictated by an ancient being who absolutely did not care enough to be offended, but also absolutely noticed that his forehead was drawn too big.)
⸻
[Scene: Night. Campfire crackling. Frederick is asleep, snoring softly into his cloak. Ezekiel is drooling onto a leaf. Void, as usual, does not sleep.]
Void stood silently over the small bedroll where Frederick had passed out. Not because he needed to check on him. Not because he cared.
But because something glimmered in the edge of his perception—a faint, residual pulse of creation aura.
He looked down.
A sketchbook.
Bound in stitched beast hide. Smudged. Glowing faintly with ink, stress, and artistic insecurity.
Void picked it up with two fingers. Delicately. As if it might start screaming.
He opened to the most recent page.
⸻
Page 112: "Void Standing Like He Owns the Plane (Because He Does)"
Caption: "Impossible to draw properly. Eyebrows too majestic. Possibly a trick of the law."
Void tilted his head. His eyes narrowed.
"Why do I have cheekbones in this one? I don't even cast shadows."
He flipped the page.
⸻
Page 113: "Void Looking at the Law Pool Like He Wants to Adopt It"
• Caption: "He said nothing. But the pool obeyed. I think I understand my mother now."
Void blinked.
"…What does that mean."
He flipped again.
⸻
Page 114: A 3-Part Progression Series
• Panel 1: Void touching a floating law orb.
• Panel 2: Law orb crying.
• Panel 3: Void whispering "It's okay, I'm broken too."
Void stared at it for a long time.
"I never said that. …Did I?"
Pause.
"No. Probably not."
⸻
Page 116: "Sketch Attempt #14 – Void Smiling (Failure)"
A chaotic swirl of black lines. Possibly a bird. Possibly an emotion. Hard to tell.
Caption: "I think if he smiled for real, the sky would peel open."
Void hummed. "That's… not inaccurate."
⸻
Page 118: A Full Spread Titled "Expressions of Void (Guessed)"
Each box shows a "Void" with different expressions.
• Happy Void – Looks the same.
• Sad Void – Slightly tilted eyebrow.
• Surprised Void – Unchanged.
• Mildly Disappointed Void – Two pixels lower on the left eye.
Void stared blankly.
"This man has spent an hour of his mortal life drawing emotional variations of a being who hasn't blinked since the concept of time was invented."
He closed the book.
Carefully.
Then set it down exactly where it was.
With surgical precision.
He stepped away from the campfire, face neutral.
"I don't care."
"It's not flattering."
Pause.
"…But if he gets my angles wrong again, I'm reversing his dominant hand."
⸻
The next morning…
Frederick: "Weird. I could've sworn I drew more pages last night. Also… why is my sketch of Void's jawline cleaner than usual?"
Ezekiel: "Maybe the book absorbed some of the law energy?"
Void: (Drinking law-steeped tea from a floating cup.)
"Yes. The book. Very mysterious. Certainly wasn't divine critique."