The axe sent sparks flying as it scraped the stone. It dragged loosely behind her hand, the chain bound into the handle clutched loosely between her fingers. Her face was carved into an ugly smile. There was fire in her eyes. The sun burned high in the sky, too close, too loud. Perhaps there were people screaming. Perhaps there were people dying.
She glanced downwards. There was a child walking lockstep with her, its outstretched hand laced into her own. It stared resolutely onwards, past the rubble and chaos.
"Isn't it pretty?" asked the child.
The world eater made a satisfied noise. She licked her lips. It was pretty.
"You did good," said the child.
The world eater had done good. She knew this. She could feel it pulsating from the death that now grew. She could feel it aching to be released from the rocks. Ahead, the stars were screaming. They were screaming her name.
The child smiled wide. "You're doing so good. Such a good job."
The world eater smiled too. She tried to speak but nothing came out.
"It's okay," said the child. "I already know."
The world eater nodded. It was true. The child did know.
"Come on!" laughed the child. "So much to do."
The world eater stopped, letting her arm pull the child until the pressure brought it to a stop too. She unhinged her jaw. A flick of her wrist and the child was no more.
A spider scuttled along the street behind her and she stomped on it. Another one followed behind and she stomped on that too. But there was a third and a fourth and an infinite amount following them. The spiders grew into a black mass, a tidal wave of chittering flailing limbs. It consumed her the way she consumed worlds, drowning her. There was nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the total absence of sensation and of self.
And the planet fell into the sun and everything burned.
The serpent twisted between worlds, its body the width of a star and longer than could be comprehended by mortal minds. Its slid through the cosmos, dancing its most arcane dance. It wrapped around stars and rolled them along its back, their light trapped within its shining scales. It was purple and red and blue and thousands of colours that did not exist. It radiated purity and havoc. It smashed worlds to pieces because they were too small for it to see them.
The empire wouldn't stand for such monsters. Their worlds were too important to them. But fleets upon fleets made no dent to the serpent's hide. Missiles and bombs rolled off its scales and it failed to even notice the aggressors, only the unexpected motions of its impossible bulk providing any form of reciprocation.
But that was okay, because the empire had monsters of their own.
She stood upon a star and studied the beast. She felt her grip tighten upon the handle of her axe. It was more symbolic than practical, as were the chains with which she draped herself. She was fire and hell incarnate. She bore many titles and in time she would bear many more. Where she walked, mountains were crushed. Where others forged tools, she imposed her will. She touched her soul and reached for the monster. Hands outstretched, she joined it in battle.
Their clash broke open worlds. It lasted centuries. And when they were done, the trail of dust formed new constellations.
The axe sent sparks flying as it scraped the stone. It dragged loosely behind her hand, the chain bound into the handle clutched tightly between her fingers. Her face was carved into an ugly grimace. There was fire in her eyes. The sun burned high in the sky, too close, too bright. There were people screaming. There were people dying.
She glanced downwards. There was a child walking lockstep with her, its outstretched hand laced into her own. It stared at her, eyes focused sharply.
"Isn't it pretty?" she asked the child.
The child made a satisfied noise. It licked its lips. It was pretty.
"Did I do good?," asked the world eater.
The child looked up at her and smiled sadly. It said nothing.
The world eater could feel the death that now grew. She could feel the stars screaming. They were screaming her name.
"Am I doing good?" she demanded.
The child tried to speak but nothing came out.
"Tell me!" roared the world eater. "Tell me if I'm doing good!"
The child stopped, letting its arm pull the world eater until the pressure brought her to a stop. She raised her arm and struck the child.
But the child was spiders, dissolving into inky blackness. The swarm scuttled closer and she stomped on one. Then another. But there was a third and a fourth and an infinite amount following them. The spiders grew into a black mass, a tidal wave of chittering flailing limbs. It consumed her the way she consumed worlds, drowning her. There was nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the total absence of sensation and of self.
And the planet fell into the void and everything was cold.
The world was bathed in the deep purple light of its toxic star. Lesser beings would be dissolved to shreds, their very essence obliterated by the weight of the noxious thing. Despite this, they stood there in a rough circle, facing her. High above, their fleets cast shadows open the world. Millions of souls sat by computers waiting for the chance to press their buttons and signal an end to life. Her life.
"It's over," said the first and greatest of them. "You are relieved."
She laughed, her wild and raucous laugh. She was amused. "Whatever do you mean?" She knew what they meant. She just wanted to hear them say.
"The war is over. Come home. Please."
Her knuckles tightened on her axe as her hunger solidified. "It's not over. It will never end. Our survival is dependant on it."
"No," said one of the others. "We're making peace."
She howled, equal parts amused and furious. "Please! You tell me you come in peace? Look up." They all glanced upwards, watching as the shadows of countless battleships danced before that great and evil star. "You think you're going to destroy me. You think that will end it."
"Aye," said their leader. "If you will not renounce your rage, then we will end you."
Her voice was low and dangerous, daring and provocative. "I have served my people. I should be rewarded."
The leader raised their hands, fingers spread wide. "You will be. A world for each of us. Retirement. Eternity. Peace."
Her eyes narrowed. "And when they tire of me? Will they not destroy me then, when I am fatted and sated? I'm a weapon and I have but one function. You know this."
Another stepped forwards. "You think this is easier for the rest of us?"
She spat. "Of course it is. You're but an imitation. You wouldn't demand my surrender if you thought you could kill me. You'd just do it."
"Perhaps," came a quiet reply, "perhaps we think we'll miss you."
She laughed hard at that. She laughed so hard that they almost didn't notice her casting her fire into the sun.
The axe sent sparks flying as it scraped the stone. It dragged loosely behind her hand, the chain bound into the handle clutched tightly between her fingers. Her face was carved into an ugly grimace. There was fire in her eyes. The sun burned high in the sky, too close, too bright. There were people screaming. There were people dying.
She glanced upwards. There was an adult walking lockstep with her, its outstretched hand laced into her own. It stared ahead, eyes distant and dim.
"Isn't it pretty?" she asked.
The adult made a satisfied noise. It licked its lips.
"Did I do good?," she asked.
The adult looked down at her and smiled sadly. "Oh child," it said. "Don't you see?"
"See what?" asked the child, blood dripping from her teeth.
"See what you've done," came the cold reply. "See who you are."
"Who am I?" asked the child desperately.
But the adult's fingers slipped out of hers. It backed off slowly, weeping bitter tears. "What have you done?" it cried. "What have you done?"
The child flicked her arm and the axe cut the adult in two. She flicked her arm again and again, reducing the pieces into mere fragments, an unrecognizable mess of a person. She screamed.
A spider scuttled along the street behind her and she stomped on it. Another one followed behind and she stomped on that too. But there was a third and a fourth and an infinite amount following them. The spiders grew into a black mass, a tidal wave of chittering flailing limbs. It consumed her the way she consumed worlds, drowning her. There was nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the total absence of sensation and of self.
And the planet fell into the past and everything ached.
She sat upon the remains. Some terrible force had cracked it in two, throwing chunks of it at the planet, where they tore into the atmosphere. Each shuddering impact set parts of the world ablaze, liquidating the rock where they landed. She could still feel them in her hands, the rough texture of the rock comforting. She could feel their weight as she flung them, as each impact took countless lives. The desolate remains surrounded her, the twisted metal bent around flesh.
"Why?" she asked the universe. "Why am I still alone?"
The corpse of the child the size of a solar system drifted around her silently. It held no answer.
The axe sent sparks flying as it scraped the stone. It dragged loosely behind her hand, the chain bound into the handle clutched tightly between her fingers. Her face was carved into an ugly grimace. There was fire in her eyes. The sun burned high in the sky, too close, too bright. There were people screaming. There were people dying.
She glanced upwards. There was an adult fleeing before her, each shuddering footstep failing to take it further away. It stared ahead, eyes wide and loud.
"I don't understand!" she yelled.
The adult made no noise. Its lips stayed shut.
"What did I do wrong?" she demanded.
It slowed to a stop and turned to face her, empty eyes in an empty skull. "Why dress it up?" it said. "Why pretend? How often must we do this dance?"
"I don't understand," protested the child, hands stained red raised defensively.
The other laughed. "You do. You just don't want to."
"Tell me," begged the child desperately. "Please."
But the adult's fingers out of its hand and fell to the ground. Its arms broke next, dissolving into a mass of darkness. The child screamed and tried to cover her eyes, but despite it, she felt the flesh between her fingers. She felt the meat between her teeth. She screamed.
A spider crawled out of her mouth, limbs forcing their way between her teeth. Another one followed behind and she plucked it from her lips and threw it away. But another came from her throat, forcing her to gag over its hairy body, choking her as they poured up from her lungs to rip out of her nose and ears and from behind her eyes, pressing their way out of her flesh in any they could. They burst from the holes from which her hair grew, the space behind her tongue, the gaps under her nails. Bleeding darkness, she tried to scream but there was only the mass of flesh bursting from her body. It consumed her the way she consumed worlds, drowning her. There was nothing but the darkness. Nothing but the total corruption of existence.
And the planet fell into her head and everything burst.
They darted between burning buildings and the falling rubble. There were as bees on the wind, as behemoths drifting over oceans, as gods taken wing. Her every move tore the lightning from the air, splitting the atom as every stroke bent reality around it. Her swipes would've broken the world in two if there was still a world to break.
The chase lasted all of a day and a year. And when he lay there beneath her, finally defeated, finally dying, she felt no satisfaction. She'd always known she could kill him. She'd always known she could kill anyone.
But as she stared down at his dying body, there was no joy.
She dropped the axe, the chain looped roughly in her hands. Silently, she stretched a hand downwards. He took it carefully, the blood form his wounds flowing over her. She pulled him to his feet and they began to walk through broken street.
The axe sent sparks flying as it scraped the stone. It dragged loosely behind her hand, the chain bound into the handle clutched tightly between her fingers. Her face was carved into an ugly grimace. There was fire in her eyes. The sun burned high in the sky, too close, too bright. There was no one screaming. Everyone was already dead.
She glanced sideways. He took steps slowly, his arm wrapped over her shoulders to keep him up. He was dying.
"Why didn't you just leave me alone?" she asked. "I didn't want to."
He glanced at the broken buildings, at the corpses surrounding them. "Then why did you?"
"You made me a weapon" she whispered. "It's not my fault."
He slowed to a stop and turned to face her, gentle eyes behind a pained expression. "No one said it would be easy," he said. "No one said it was be your fault. But the crimes done unto don't justify the others. The beasts were innocent, just as innocent as you were."
The force of that 'were' hung in the air. She glanced down at her bloodstained hands, each strong enough to punch through a star. "But what do I do after I stop?"
He sighed, a single tear rolling down his face. "You could have done whatever you wanted. You could have taken a century and slept on it. Walked every world. Learned to sing, to paint, to draw. Laughed and cried and lived. You could've done anything else."
"I'm scared," she said. "I don't know if I can."
His fingers slipped out of hers and he fell to the ground, wincing at the pain. "I'm so sorry," he said. "But it's too late." They both looked at the chaos, at the broken world, at the weight of what their clash had wrought. He frowned ever so softly. "Your final mercy is that you get to understand before you die."
Her derisive laugh echoed. "I won. What more can you do?"
A spider crawled from the rubble behind her. Without even noticing, she stomped on it. But there was another and another. Her feet began a frantic dance, then her hands, then her fire and blades. But there were more and more, a mounting cloud descending from the skies above, a darkness that blotted out the stars.
Backing towards where he lay, she licked her lips unconsciously, the taste of rubble and blood fresh on them. "I can change," she whispered. "I can stop. I can still learn."
His hand stretched up into empty space, almost threatening. "How many worlds have you eaten?"
The serpent's mouth burst through the cloud and closed around her. And then there was silence.
In the darkness between the cosmos, the egg cracked itself open, birthing new life. The serpent, already the size of a gas giant, twisted slowly, pleasurably. It smiled. There were already friends here. They were small, almost too small for it to see.
But see them it did and it cooed thankfully as they showered it with gifts. And the people cheered.