Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

I

It began with light.

That's what they said, wasn't it? That all of creation—every speck of matter, every whisper of existence—was born from a single point of blinding brilliance. A bang. An eruption of light so pure and powerful it shattered the void, scattering colour and life into the endless dark. It was a story told by those who dared to speak of beginnings, the ones who tried to understand what should never have been understood.

But for you, it wasn't a myth. It was the first thing you ever saw.

Your optics flickered on—a symbol briefly glitching—and the world came into being with an explosion of luminance, searing through the emptiness, colours dancing in a chaotic symphony. Reds and blues swirled like thick strokes of paint in water, blurring together into something both beautiful and unknowable. A cascade of hues, twirling, merging, stretching out into infinity until the universe itself seemed to breathe. For a moment, it was everything. A vision of life and creation compressed into a heartbeat, a divine gift delivered to your awakening consciousness.

Then, as quickly as it began, the light dimmed. The colours bled away into heavy clouds, and the first sound you ever heard was the slow rumble of distant thunder, rolling across the expanse like the breath of an ancient god. The patter of rain followed soon after, soft at first, growing stronger, until it became a deluge, hammering the ground and drowning the silence.

It was beautiful.

Even in those first fragile seconds of existence, you knew. You understood. Life was a gift. Not just the life that filled you with awareness, but the essence of it, the spark that flickered in every living thing. You felt it in the pulse of the world around you, the hum of creation that resonated through the rain, through the air, through you. It was precious. Sacred.

But that realisation turned bitter when you sat up, your movements stiff and mechanical, and the truth hit you harder than the rain falling from above.

You were surrounded by death.

Drone bodies—cold, lifeless shells just like yours—piled in disarray around you. Broken limbs, shattered optics, twisted frames. Some were still intact, others mangled beyond recognition, but all of them shared one undeniable fate. You were born into a graveyard.

The gift of life? It was fragile. So very, very fragile. And From that second, you knew what your purpose was.

Your gaze lingered on the fallen drones, their darkened optics staring blankly into nothing. What had they seen when they first awoke? Had they marvelled at the beauty of the world too, only to meet this end?

The wet squelch of mud sounded to your right, drawing your attention. You turned your gaze, optics focusing, and saw her—a girl, no older than sixteen, standing a few feet away. Her wide eyes, full of awe and curiosity, locked onto you. Beside her, another figure—a drone with sleek, silver twintails, holding an umbrella over the two of them, shielding them from the downpour.

For a long moment, none of you moved. It was as if time itself had slowed, the rain cascading down in sheets, creating a curtain of white noise around you. The girl stared at you, while the drone beside her remained tense, optics narrowed, scanning you for threats. The three of you stood frozen, as if waiting for some unseen signal to break the tension hanging in the air..

And then, slowly, you began to move.

With a deliberate effort, you pushed yourself free from the pile of bodies, mechanical joints creaking and clicking as you rose to your feet. Mud and debris clung to your form and tattered clothes, dripping off you in slow rivulets, but your focus remained on them. You took a step forward, the sound of your foot sinking into the wet earth barely audible over the rain.