The Gospel of Emptiness

Before floating islands sailed the skies and men raised prayers to gods who could not hear them, there was Perfection. Lucilius remembered that state not as a feeling, but as a mathematical frequency, a harmony that was shattered the moment the first beat of a mortal heart tainted the silence of the cosmos.

He now stood at the center of a ruined structure, where time seemed to have surrendered. His six wings, heavy as lead and dark as the abyss, trailed across the cracked ground, leaving a trail of purple static. He felt neither cold, nor heat, nor fatigue. He felt only the imperfection of his own body; those seams at his neck that reminded him that even he, the architect of evolution, was a piece of an incomplete puzzle.

​-What a waste of material- He whispered to no one, as he watched a speck of light vanish on the horizon. -To build a world only to then let it rot away in free will... is the greatest sin of creation-

​Lucilius closed his eyes and, for an instant, saw the end of all things. It was not a vision of fire and screams, but of absolute, geometric peace. A white void where nothing suffered because nothing existed. That was his gift, his gospel. He was not humanity's executioner, but its ultimate redeemer, the one who would erase the error of being and return it to the purity of nothingness.

​The air around him began to distort, the floating stones behind him pulverized without him even touching them. The great work was about to begin. The heavens would weep blood, the stars would fade one by one, and in the end, only he would remain, seated on a throne of silence, contemplating the beauty of a canvas finally cleansed.

​Lucilius opened his eyes, his pale blue gaze fixed on the reader of his destiny.

​-Let there be Nothingness-