YOTON.
A Cosmic Revelation
The weight of eternity pressed upon my shoulders as I wandered through the vast, unending expanse of existence. I had searched for days—days that stretched into months, months that bled into years—each moment a testament to my growing desperation. How could it be that finding a mere fragment of divinity, a whisper of the divine, could prove so impossible? The universe, in all its infinite grandeur, seemed to mock my efforts, its secrets buried beneath layers of time and deception.
As I traversed the mortal realm known as Earth, my mind, once unshaken by doubt, began to fracture under the weight of unanswered questions. The very foundations of my understanding trembled. I had been told stories—sacred, unassailable truths passed down through eons—of creation, of the birth of the verses, of the hierarchy of beings that governed existence. Yet, here, among the fleeting lives of mortals, I found contradictions.
They—the ancient ones, the architects of reality—claimed to have forged the verses, all but one: the Cronoverse, birthed from the Creator itself, a realm beyond comprehension, untouched by lesser hands. But as I walked among the ruins of forgotten civilizations, as I deciphered the riddles etched into the bones of the Earth, I knew. Something was wrong.
The universe was older—far older—than we had been led to believe. The tales of our fathers, the sacred doctrines of our kind, were flawed. Perhaps even lies.
They proclaimed that after the Creator, we were the next most powerful beings. But standing beneath the indifferent gaze of the cosmos, I could no longer accept this. The Earth, this fragile, teeming world, held truths that shattered my certainty. Its myths, its legends, its whispered histories—each one a puzzle piece in a grander design.
And among them all, one enigma consumed me: Hell.
I had sealed away mighty races within its depths. I had battled creatures that crawled from its abyssal fires. Yet, I had never set foot in its infernal halls, never unraveled its origins. Hell was a mystery, a shadow lurking at the edges of my knowledge. But here, on this planet, I began to see the truth of creation—not as it had been preached, but as it truly was.
The Earth was a crucible of revelation. Its stories spoke of realms beyond our own, of gods and demons, of cycles of destruction and rebirth. The more I learned, the more I understood: we were not the architects. We were merely players in a game far older, far vaster than we had ever imagined.
And so, my journey continued—not just a search for a lost god, but a quest for the hidden truths of existence itself. For if the stories of Hell, of creation, of our own supremacy were false… what else had we been deceived about?
The universe was whispering its secrets to me. And I would listen, no matter the cost.
The Eternal Conflict: Genesis of the Cronoverse
Before time began, before the first whisper of existence stirred the void, He was there—the Creator, a being forged from the absolute nothingness itself. He was not alone. From the abyssal dark, another emerged—a primordial entity birthed from pure, unfathomable darkness. Its name has been lost to the ages, but its presence was undeniable, a shadow coiled around the dawn of all things.
Their conflict was inevitable.
For millennia beyond counting, the Creator and the Dark Being clashed, their battle a storm of creation and annihilation. Stars flared and died in their wake; dimensions fractured under the weight of their fury. Yet neither could claim victory. Their power was too evenly matched, their wills unbreakable. And so, in the silence between their endless war, a pact was forged—not of peace, but of escalation.
They would create champions.
Servants of light and shadow, beings molded from the essence of their makers, would take up the eternal struggle. The victors would decide the fate of all existence. The throne of the Cronoverse—the dominion over every realm, every timeline, every flicker of reality—would belong to the last one standing. And thus, the first war of the gods began.
But there was another mystery, a whisper buried beneath the echoes of creation. The Rulers—those who shaped the verses, who sculpted the foundations of reality—did not act alone. Something aided them. A force, a presence, a race beyond comprehension. Who were they? What power did they wield that even the architects of existence required their guidance? The answers were lost, erased, or perhaps hidden.
And so, armed with these revelations, I sought the truth.
Why were the Rulers slaughtered in numbers beyond reckoning? Why did our kind—once sovereigns of the cosmic order—fall so utterly, so completely, while others endured? What crime had we committed in the eyes of the Creator or the Dark Being? Was it punishment? A purge? Or something far more sinister?
I scoured the Earth, searching every ruin, every forgotten archive, every whisper of the old world. But the planet was silent. Its histories spoke of kings and empires, of wars and miracles, but nothing of the massacre of the divine. Nothing of the annihilation of our race.
The answers were not here.
And so my journey continues—beyond the stars, beyond the veil of known creation. The truth is out there, waiting in the darkness between realms. And I will find it.
Or die trying.
NEXT CHAPTER ✓
ACT 17: THE CLASH OF CREATION AND LEGITIMACY.