Empty.
Nothing.
Void.
These were the materials that built Flynn's reality. An inky expanse... Lifeless and filled with nothing but sorrow. An absence went on for eons—a living made in the dark and a labyrinth of endless Stygian.
Tendril-like power radiated out from Flynn's consciousness, searching, but it was for naught. They were gone. The brilliant starlight that studded the sea of souls was gone. Humanity, their souls, had been snuffed out as if they were nothing more than a bedside lamp before rest. The man's soul churned power radiating out in desperate search as cracks of strain spiderwebbed across his being.
All that remained was Flynn—left to wallow alone in agony.
In the beginning, Flynn might have fought back. He'd have used the power he had come to know as his soul to push back against the pressure that was now baring itself down on his very being, but as time passed, so did his will rust. Over the years? Centuries? It had eroded from sturdy iron to little more than twisted scrap. He was a husk, hallow and ready for death.
Flynn had watched his kind die countless times. Over and over again. With always the same result. Death. He repeatedly watched himself make the same mistakes until madness had taken his mind. What had he done to deserve such a fate? Was his mediocrity truly punishable with this hell?
Each cycle gave him a glimpse into the soul sea, and every timeless and fewer soul accompanied him. At first, it comforted him, not all that fell with him were damned to the same Fate, but as time passed, he broke slowly, and the loneliness was too much for a single soul to bear.
Now, alone and in despair, Flynn found the aggressive power that threatened to destroy his very being as a relief. 'I can finally rest.' He thought as relief flooded his nonexistent bones, and the pressure around him grew to a crescendo. He looked out into the dark, ready to accept his Fate. Unfortunately, the gears of Fate had a far greater plan.
"I am truly sorry." A disembodied, ethereal voice echoed in his mind. It held pity and sorrow. It was a voice that carried guilt, and if Flynn had still had a mouth, a body, he would have laughed scornfully. He did not need this being's pity.
'What absurdity.' The agony within his soul grew as a boot flashed before his psyche once more. The voice, souls, and emptiness collided inside his mind, and something finally snapped. Flynn Blackwater, a man of meritocracy and fear, finally broke. Emotions and Truths he did not understand flowed around him as his soul fluctuated wildly. Power surged around him like the tendrils that had once desperately searched tumbled and flailed. Energy fluctuated as Flynn lost his mind. Screams echoed across the empty sea of souls. These were not screams of an anger-filled man. Nor was this the last stand of humanity.
No.
This was a soul mourning the death of its people. This was the song of a dying breed.
The energy that was Flynn Blackwater imploded, ripping his psyche into shreds as destruction far beyond his comprehension burst around him. A myriad of truths flowed through Flynn's mind as he was torn apart by the very essence of the world. In his last moments, all became clear. He understood. However, his unleashed power did not, and it surged towards its target. It did not attack the soul sea, the trials that held it, or the hypocrisy that controlled it.
No, The song of a dying breed targeted something far more ancient than mere ascended. The regret that powered this attack only had one target.
The essence of time and its fuel regret.
And somewhere far away across the endless plains, the first seal was broken.
The first Chain, Extinction, shattered, and the outer became in.