Chapter 170: 45 Epiloge: Overgod and Firsts

The Overgod was in a strange mood. For one, he was excited. Even if this was just a shard of himself — of his true self — the tiniest fragment he could create while still remaining the Overgod, whose sole purpose was to watch over these young origin deities, he had more than enough power to feel excited for the little ones, and to see where all this had been heading. Failure among the newly made origin deities was to be expected; in fact, it was fairly common and, dare he say it, healthy. Universes consuming other universes, specifically failed or dying universes, spread diversity among the budding realms. Different energies, different thoughts, different divinities and peoples created new ideas and flavors of existence within the consuming universe, even if all that was absorbed was a small fraction of what it had once been, just primordial dust. Echoes of what it had been remained, and much like how genetic diversity worked amongst the realms of mortality, this energetic diversity promoted growth and created healthier, stronger universes.

As such, the collision of the Four Realms and the slowly dying One World had been expected, considered acceptable even. It had happened differently than the Overgod’s models and diagrams had predicted most likely, but it had happened all the same. The most likely outcome had been for the one world to collapse in upon itself, chunks to be split apart and absorbed by the nearest universes and — including the Four Realms, the Wheel Realm, and a smattering of others. Two universes, two complete universes integrating with each other, was rare and unlikely, and had it come to pass at just that, it would have created at most a juvenile clustered universe. Something rare and highly, highly valuable. Even the Big Four creating their own universes pushed the logical mind in that direction, then to add Sehuyun's debacle on top of it...

That was not, however, what had the Overgod in such a strange but excited mood.

That honor belonged to the simple fact that Statera had started building not a cluster universe, but a multiverse. He should have been more excited than he was, as it had been an exceedingly long time since he had seen anyone this young achieve something so ambitious. No, achieve was not the right word. The right word was more along the lines of plan, even though Statera had no idea what she was doing. Rarer still was the fact that the odds of this being successful appeared, with what limited amount of data he actually had access to, to be higher than the vast majority of what he had seen.

That was not to say the odds were good; in fact it was far more likely for her to fall into creating a cluster universe than another multiverse. The odds were just that low, and it was just that difficult. He knew it was possible, after all, he had done it. However, in the Overgod’s long, long life, he had never actually seen another multiverse created — and not for lack of trying.

The multiverse was littered with the scars of those who had tried before. Odin with Yggdrasil, binding multiple realms together around the corpse of a dead primordial giant, was one such example. There were plenty of other long-forgotten beings who had tried to conquer other universes or reach beyond their means, only to have it backfire in their faces most spectacularly, usually taking multiple universes with them. Back in those early days, it had been such a problem that the Overgod had to ban experiments into creating a new multiverse, because quite frankly it was doing more harm than good.

At least, he had banned inter-universal war as a method to create multiverses. Attempts were still being made, after all. This Shard of himself was actually not quite sure why the greater Overgod desired to create a new multiverse. It likely had something to do with loneliness, or perhaps knowing that he had created a multiverse and therefore it was possible for another one to be born, and that he couldn't seem to get anyone else to follow his footsteps pissed him off. But the fact of the matter was that his greater self had kept this Shard in the dark, and that told him that there was some planning around this potential, because there was no way his greater self, with all the power at his command, had missed this happening.

That was what left him in a strange mood. Excited because of the multiverse angle. Strange because of the danger said angle represented as, despite its necessity, he did not enjoy watching new universes implode upon themselves. Plus, everything was coming together in seeming coincidences that likely were not mere coincidences, for the simple fact they were likely designed to be, and that was...annoying. He was manipulating himself, his greater souls manipulating this shard into acting a specific way, in other words, and that pissed him off.

He was the manipulator. Not the manipulated, shard or no.

The Overgod fought down that spike of frustration, refocusing his attention upon the fledgling experiment. Statera's design was simple but relatively elegant, each universe performing a function. The "Heavens" design, as far as he was aware, had been attempted a few times before, but much like the Four Realms universal template itself, it was rare as it tended to collapse under its own weight before gaining much traction more often than not.

That was just it, though. The Four Realms had not been collapsing under their own weight. They had been solidifying, compressing into a small sphere, hard like a marble, and then just as they had been about to expand, everything came crashing into it — and not by his own design. That was the big kicker. He had not designed this, and every time he asked his greater self, despite some of the manipulating he was certain was happening, the answer he received was that He was not influencing anything at all.

That was the point, he was being told. Everything had to happen on its own. That was actually part of why the Overgod had felt the pang of disappointment once Statera had called upon his own understanding of reality — which, if he was honest, was whatever he wanted it to be; what he said reality was, was reality, and vice versa. Statera calling upon that understanding had felt like a failure to create a multiverse. Because as far as he could tell, as far as every experiment had shown, unless the budding multiverse cut itself off from the Overgod’s overarching understanding, it would eventually just rejoin the multiverse, typically as a cluster.

He had been left with mixed feelings when he had to give Statera that boon. It had been well within the rules of the Trials for her to ask for his aid in that way, but at the time it had meant the failure of the multiverse potential, but success for what was shaping up to be one of the youngest cluster universes in history. Except the percentage of success for multiverse generation had not gone down because of it, and he did not know why. Perhaps it was because Statera was so young that she still needed to call upon that understanding like a child asking a father why the sky was blue, even if he, the Overgod. did not view these universes as his children. They were his, to be sure, but they were not his children.

The Overgod Shard sat back. Either way, he could not assume the multiverse would work. The trials would proceed as scheduled. That meant reviewing data, viewing this batch of universes from afar, putting the thoughts of multiverses to the side and judging who may be next to fall, what was going on, who would cause problems, and who would continue to grow.

The next stage was coming up, where he would introduce these baby universes more to each other, and bring them closer so that trade could begin happening between universes, which provided the same function as absorbing destroyed universes, if on a smaller scale. Allowing more sustained contact so they could work out who and what they were when surrounded by their peers was a key part of the growth process. Statera was, of course, along with the Four Realms, going to be a bit of a challenge to keep from overwhelming the others, as they were likely the most powerful of them all at the moment. But it was nothing that could not be overcome. There were also some field trips he had planned — visiting some other more established universes so they could see, with their new eyes, those who needed it at least, what a fully functioning and fully grown universe looked like. The dying branches of Yggdrasil were now also on that list. And his mind returned to Statera; what she needed, what she could do to help this along. And he got an answer from himself.

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Isolation. Cocoon Protocol — not a true isolation protocol, which would take the chains off those two monkey wrenches currently visiting, but isolating all of those baby universes that remained and allowing them to continue to develop as such. The Shard did not hesitate. He hit the button, and sent notice to the two that the isolation protocol, the cocoon protocol, was in effect. The Overgod continued to watch and observe for a time, staring at that tiny, tiny percentage point of Statera creating a multiverse, so small looking, yet one of the greatest possibilities he had ever seen as far as his current memory allowed. He had not expected this. He was uncertain if his greater self had expected this. Either way, success or failure would bring him one step closer to the goal of creating a multiverse.

And the universes were isolated.

***

There existed a universe, formed out of the decaying body of an Origin Deity. This Deity, at the time of its birth, the time of its awakening, had split the void with a mighty crash, sacrificing its very body and soul to create a universe for those within it. It was stable, actually, and it was growing — despite having essentially killed itself, this deity was still an Origin, and this universal model was among the most stable of all the universes. Or so it was said.

That mattered very, very little to the First when he had arrived. He sat back and, while the nascent world was forming, settled within an individual cell of this dead god, creating a tiny pocket of stillness, and waited there for his eternal Rival to show his face.

He never did. In fact, for the first time in millions of years, for the first time in thousands of lifetimes, they had not even been sent to the same universe. It came as a relief, honestly. Despite everything, despite the restrictions of the Overgod, despite the chains on his wrists that bound him — metaphorically speaking, but also literally — the fact that the one thing that always stood in his way, that thought it knew better, playing villain to his so-called hero just to oppose whatever the First was doing, was gone. The Rival had a spectacular lack of vision, and always found just how to make that the First's problem. For the first time in far too long, he wasn't going to have that issue, even if his hands were tied into stillness.

Blissful stillness, and utter silence. Here, he could spend some time, make his next plan, figure out how to reach his end goal. Because he was tired. He was just so tired of this endless cycle — but every time he tried to set down his roots, every time he tried to make the world, the universe he was in, a place he could stay for eternity, the Rival stood in his way. And this? This was a chance for him to not just see something he had never seen before, only heard of, but to understand how to make a universe of his own.

Perhaps after this he would be allowed to make his own universe. He imagined it was something he would enjoy doing, like a potter shaping clay. So, truthfully he was sort of content just sitting back and watching. No matter how much he wanted to correct those around him, because they were doing it wrong, getting it wrong, and he could so easily help them, show them how to get it right, show them how to do things the best way, he did not.

He relaxed as much as he could. He sat back. He made himself a little house on the sandy beaches of an endless ocean of what amounted to god blood, some vein pushed by tides. He settled down, lived there, and observed what the ocean brought him, understanding and absorbing it. The tide of god-blood brought with it memories and history and everything that was happening in this universe...which was, at first, a whole lot of not much.

That is, save for two things: the Shadow and the Light, two constants in every universe. Here, without an Origin Deity to officially guide them, they turned upon each other.

The two had constantly fought each other, popping walls of cells so that they merged into a greater singular dimension, undoing bodily structures that were rotting away and reshaping them into something more appealing to them. The First did not agree with either of their visions. If he was completely honest, both were idiots as far as he was concerned. No...idiots was perhaps too strong a word. They were just young and inexperienced, didn’t know how things worked. He could see that, watching them fighting and clashing. The Shadow, this being of all-consuming darkness, worked from the inside to twist everything into its foul image. Not like a rot, or disease. It wasn't something he could intervene against; some universal sickness or disease that would have to be killed before it festered. More like a natural toxin, that would likely be expelled in the Overgod's breath after having served its purpose.

The Light was more freeform, more chaotic. That was as much as he could say about the Light. It shaped a few things in its own image, rejected the Shadow's dominance-stance, but overall seemed content to just...shine on everything around it. At least it had created mortal races before the Shadow. That was a point in the Light's direction, at least, even if the way it led them left much to be desired in the First's expert opinion.

It was thanks to the Light's creation, in fact, that people began to gather around him, like they always tended to. Even if they were...different than him. They shone with tiny motes of white light in their chest, looking like constructs with a hollow sternum containing a star. So, so different from him.

In this life he was something of a space-man, with a body comprised of a nebula, stars dotting his skin, his hair flickering sunlight. It was quite impressive, if he did say so himself — he had spent ages in character creation, crafting each minute detail. This universe wanted him to be something great and stabilizing, the nascent Will within searching for a master. He of course could not be that, not without breaking the other gods’ rules, unless he exploited the loopholes — which was generally frowned upon. But he could still be stabilizing, even if he remained perfectly still and neutral. And the lost, aimless Will had blessed him for it.

Either way, his power had of course attracted people, his neutrality drawing these tiny little souls to gather around the beach with him and build their own homes much like the one he had chosen to stay in. He wasn’t worried too much about collecting power, even as those around him strove to, because as he had learned time and time again, true power was not what you held in your fists or your flesh — such things left you. That sort of power was fleeting, just like each person he had ever met, save for one: that annoying bastard who refused to leave him be. His once-friend, who had never in his own words given up on him — that ill-conceived notion that he, of all people, needed correction. He was the First of his kind, the first Monkey Wrench, the one meant to fight off viruses and infections that plagued the multiverse, a warrior whose purpose had not yet been outlived...but he certainly had not taken the option to settle down. Because no place was perfect. Everywhere he went, the universe was not...right, no matter how much he tried to shape it into what he needed.

This universe could have been, when he first arrived — it had been so malleable. But of course, per the Overgod’s orders, he had been forced into inaction.

That was, until he had been approached by the Shadow and the Light. He was a neutral being, and had attracted echoes of the Origin Deity because of it. In turn, the area around him had been relatively clean of the Light’s and Shadow’s influence. They had reached a stalemate, as best he could tell. Neither held the advantage over the other, unfortunately balanced as they were. Searching for an advantage, they had discovered him.

The Light had asked for his continued inaction. He had not responded, staring at the sky as he was.

The Shadow had not, offering alliance. The First had held the option in his hand to finally be allowed to step in; because that was the loophole he knew about in his contract, the loophole the Rival refused to use: that if you were asked to help, if you were brought into something, you were allowed to act. Free will was a constant in the multiverse. If you were drawn into the machinations of the world by forces outside your control, not through your own manipulations but through genuine chance, genuinely letting it happen and not seeking it out or intending for it to happen, only then could you begin to intervene and escape the contract. And yet...despite holding that in his hand, had it delivered to him on a silver platter, he had still ignored it. That was not the answer he sought. So the Shadow accepted his inaction, and the First put his offer to the side, and mused.

Free will was a thing he hated and loved in equal measure, sometimes. It allowed him to do as he wished, but also let others do as they wished, no matter how stupid. Then, the message had come.

The Cocoon Protocol. He had only seen that once, maybe twice, in his long, long life. He knew about it because, unlike the Rival, he actually paid attention to things outside of his own person. He sat on the beach holding a fishing pole, fishing for star whales, the line reaching up from his little island into the skies, to the spaces beyond this stretch of land that had formed around him. No bait sat on the end of his line because, as he had learned long ago, if you left the hook out there someone would eventually approach it of their own free will, even if he never touched it again.

He scratched his chin, slowly, dust falling from his body and the people below shrieking in alarm, as he moved for the first time in their living memory. If they thought that was crazy, then they would lose it at the next part; as he spoke for the first time in a long, long time.

“How interesting.”