Way Shaper

Consciousness flickers, a dying star reigniting in the vast emptiness of space…

Where… where am I? The veil of oblivion parts, and I behold… Cryonica. Yes, Cryonica. The day of ascension is upon us.

I am Ver’athar, Chroma Lord, Shaper of Ways. Before me hangs a crystalline orb, pulsing with the essence of millions. How long have I waited for this moment? It matters not. Today, this cesspool of primitive life will serve a higher purpose.

My will extends, tendrils of pure Chroma energy caressing the planet’s surface. The great Kessalar chamber awakens, its crystal spires singing in resonance with my touch. Yes… feel the power flow through every facet, every imperfection of this world.

The ritual begins. Reality buckles as I channel the planet’s core. Crystal formations erupt from the ground, skewering cities and turning verdant plains to glittering wastelands. The sky tears asunder, and I revel in the screams of millions as their pitiful forms transmute into pure Chroma essence.

Witness, O Fey’Ren, how I reshape this world in Your image! Souls pour into the growing rift by the millions, their final moments of terror feeding the Abyssal Gate. Soon, so very soon, You shall stride forth and bring Your perfect order to all of Hyperion!

But wait… what is this disturbance? My omniscience falters, unable to pierce a bubble of… interference. Impossible! I focus my will, and there – in the heart of the Kessalar chamber – stands Kol’tur’s avatar, the lowborn Pa’ther, and his band of insignificant worms!

Rage builds within me, an inferno of Chroma-tinged fury. I lash out, but these heroes (the word tastes like ash) deflect my assault. The warrior Pa’ther, his blade singing with stolen divinity, strikes at the chamber’s focal crystals. No! The delicate harmonic matrix – it’s destabilizing!

I pour more of myself into the ritual, trying to brute-force the gate’s formation. The planet’s crust buckles and heaves, continents shattering like dropped mirrors. But it’s not enough. The finely-tuned resonance is lost, and the awesome energies I’ve unleashed turn inward.

The Abyssal Gate warps, inverts, becoming a maelstrom of uncontrolled Chroma. I feel its pull, inexorable as the march of time itself. No! This cannot be! I am Ver’athar! I am destined to—

A blinding flash of every color imaginable, and then… void.

I stand before Fey’ren, my god, my master. Shame courses through me, hotter than the core of a dying sun. His presence fills the infinite expanse, a being of pure chroma. Each facet of His form reflects a different future, his mind a different battle plan, all converging into perfect, terrible clarity.

“Great Fey’ren,” I plead, my voice a mere whisper in the cosmic din, “I was so close. Give me another chance, I beg You. I can still bring You into our realm, still reshape Hyperion in Your image!”

His voice, when it comes, is not a sound but a shattering of realities. “Silence, Ver’athar. Your failure is absolute. You sought to wield powers beyond your comprehension, to play the game of gods when you are but a pawn.”

“But my lord,” I protest, desperation clawing at my essence, “I am Your most devoted servant. My every action was in Your name!”

“And that devotion shall be your eternal burden,” Fey’ren intones, each word a death knell for my ambitions. “You wished for mastery over fate itself? Then witness all of Hyperion’s myriad futures, knowing you can never again reach out to shape them.”

As the weight of His judgment crashes down upon me, my awareness explodes outward. Suddenly, I see… everything.

I see a single crystal on a barren world, glinting in the light of a newborn sun. I see that crystal grow, multiply, become the foundation of empires. I watch civilizations rise from dust, reach for the stars, and crumble back into oblivion.

The scope of my vision expands exponentially. I witness the dance of galaxies, the birth and death of universe upon universe. The wars of gods play out before me, cosmic beings battling across eons for supremacy over realms beyond mortal comprehension.

I see Hyperion’s beginning – a spark of potential in the primordial void. I watch it grow, change, become the tapestry of worlds and lives I once sought to control. And I see its end – death, rebirth, endless cycles of creation and destruction stretching into infinity.

Empires that once seemed mighty now appear as fleeting as mayflies. The grandest achievements of mortality are but grains of sand on an infinite beach. And I… I am less than nothing in the face of this cosmic vastness.

The knowledge expands, filling every corner of my being. It tears at the very fabric of my identity. Who am I? What am I? The concept of “Ver’athar” seems meaningless, a label applied to an insignificant mote in the grand design of existence.

I scream, but there is no sound. I try to close my eyes, but there is nowhere to hide from this all-encompassing awareness. I am undone, unmade, yet unable to cease existing.

As my sense of self unravels, I feel the pull of oblivion once more. The void beckons, promising a moment’s respite from this torment of knowledge.

No… please… not again… I cannot bear this weight…

Awareness fades, only to inevitably stir once more in an endless, maddening cycle.

Where… where am I? The veil of oblivion parts, and I behold… Cryonica. Yes, Cryonica. The day of ascension is upon us…