The universe used to be so simple.
The makers spinned life into existence, the weavers crafted the threads that would twist and shape their destinies from their very first breath to their last and then the destroyers clipped it from the very fabric of fate.
There were patterns, a simple set of rules, an order that was upheld. Occasionally the threads would knot and twist but these were easily untangled and reset back on the correct path before they could intercept and infect the entire tapestry.
And then a maker decided that the rules were meant to be broken. That making sure the destiny of his precious humans was fair is more important then ensuring the universe didn’t collapse in on itself.
And now thread that should have been snipped long ago has been allowed to grow wild and tangled, dozens of destinies that were never meant to intersect now twisted into an abomination.
A thick, unbreakable knot that no one alive knows how to even loosen let alone undo. A blockage in the tapestry that threatens existence itself.
For where there are Knots, Chaos reigns. And at the epicentre of it is the precious temple he didn’t have the heart to let burn.
Where a hollywood star found a second chance to prove he’s the real deal without realising the price was everything he held dear.
A prophetic legacy dragged from his reality and twisted into becoming something those he loved would despise.
A manifactured boogeyman never meant to see the light of day has turned from a child to a sociopath and in the process has cut the threads of fools, monster and heroes all before their time.
Mountains meant to protect the last bastion of peace eroded by failures they could not control, the mystical becoming mundane as darkness, light and everything in between carve a scar through what’s left of this universes psyche.
Whole graveyards filled with those not meant to fall, as I have not enough breath in my lungs to honor those of which reality is far worse off without their existence.
All this because Yahweh couldn’t let the few suffer so the rest could thrive.
And where is he now? a pile of dust in a rubble of ruin while his undoer hides away in terror, fearing for his very existence from the monster he created.
All while the tapestry barely clings together as threads erode and decay all around.
So I will do what Atropos will not and cleave the rot once and for all.
I cannot change the past, the damage Clotho weaved will forever tarnish this universe but at Pandemonium it ends.
No more fractured paths.
No more senseless deaths.
No more stones, or gods, or judgement days.
I will reset this temple back on its path and reweave the ending it has avoided for too long.
Because I’m not a Bad Mother Fucker. I don’t hide behind a mask or laud a failure.
I’m the Morai and as long as I control Fate,
My past will never repeat itself.