Thera'mire, a realm without laws at which matter would abide by, where gravity pulled in no one direction. It was to be my kingdom, my realm, the land of the dead for mortals to cross over. There was no footing to take step on, no sense of direction nor light. It was like being lost in space, with no stars to guide you, yet, the elements that had been sucked in from the mortal world. With a thought, I bent and warped space. Everything fell in south as I decided. In this vacuum of emptiness, all matter would have continued forever, but I could as well create, blinking, and thus reality was altered. I had created ground. My imagination at the time was simple, thus I created a floor of grass. The darkness bore me, and as such, I made light. The realm shaped as I wished it, taking form as I willed it, and becoming reality as I saw it. I had formed a mountain with expansive skies, a light that resembled the sun, so far and so distant, that it would span across a worlds. Yet, yellow I disliked, thusly I decided upon green, and then red, and then orange, back to yellow, until finally I decided to go with a mixture of white and blue.
This realm would be my kingdom, my new home with all of the souls of the dead to become my people. They rose all around me as nothing more than whisps of their former selves, spectral humanoid forms of light. Their faces up close were unrecognizable, yet I did not question it. They took form as the land expanded ever so, the embodiment of those who had died of my faith. Of course, among them, shone the brightest of them all, the most faithful and zealous follower to have ever graced my temple halls, my very wife.
The sight of her youthful beauty made me utter her name without thought. "Ilyia." I fawned over her, reaching out to her in grasping of her waist. I pulled her close to me, she who resembled my wife on the day of our marriage. She was beautiful, mesmerizing, a sight that brought me to tears for the first time in decades. "I have missed you so..."
Her touch was like warmth in the winter, and her comforting voice was like a sunset over a fogged meadow. "My darling... You have suffered long, but I have watched over you in all. Rest now... ...Rest." Her dainty fingers pressed against the back of my scalp as she pulled me into her warm embrace. For so long, I had felt a lost in my own mind, but in that moment, all such feelings disappeared as though all my worries were no more. I was in other words, happy, and from there on, spent my moments building my realm from the ground up.
From the palm of my hand spilled out soil and roots that grew branches and and leaves. I did so from a moment's thought, yet clearly as I laid my eyes upon my creation, did I see its imperfections. The leaves were misshapen, vibrantly green to the point of being a sickening neon color, and were not connected properly to any of the wood. It was as though they were fake, plastic made to resemble the real thing. My ability to create was clearly subpar, and that sat unwell with me. I took this moment to understand that though I had believed my abilities had come far, I was still far from perfect. Though I had settled my mind and moral, my intelligence was not that of a genius. I held the power to shape the world and destroy on a large scale, yet I could not achieve the opposite on equal terms. What god was I who could not make as I destroyed? Thus, I had a new goal, a new pass time that would entwine itself in my every second spent not laying with my wife. I would start small, beginning with water, cupped in my hands. It was simple, something that was all around the mortal world, be in the air or earth. What I had made resembled it, yet failed to fully replicate its properties. It was like jello, yet fluid. Viscous, it was. Drinking it left a sour taste in the mouth, and swallowing it was like swallowing sand for some odd reason. I needed more practice to say the least.
I was not alone. I had my wife and the souls of my fallen worshippers to keep me company. I granted onto them wings to fly so that they may navigate my boundless realm. I created for them platforms and biomes. Entire mountain ranges and plains. My ability to create became something I could will into existence without fault. I would bring order, creating the eleven realms stacked atop each other. They were like entire worlds, with the lowest being the hell I had made for the lost souls. Each one was flat with an edge at which one could fall off. I would spend years, indulging in my peaceful life with my wife, continuing to expand Thera'mire down to the detail. I could create suns, entire worlds, shape the forms of matter and souls into whatever I saw fit. This realm was of my creation, and I had mastered my grip on it.
The afterlife, only for my worshippers, heaven and hell at the same time. I knew this without ever having to put it into words, and I also knew that the very realm's laws were dependent on my will. Still, I was stumped; at a loss on how to proceed. I could have disintegrated every soul that found its way into Thera'mire, given them a form of my choosing, or left them to float in the void of Thera'mire for eternity. Of course, the paths that lay before me each had their flaws, with little benefit I could think of. It was my own morality that kept me from ridding of them all.
Ultimately, I chose the just path, but said path would not be reward sin. I decided that I would allow only the worthy to join me in Thera'mire, the loyal and strong, while those who were weak and cowardly, I would regard as unworthy. Within the eleven floors of Thera'mire, I would see fit that each one would be the home of souls befitting its clutches. Those who sinned, but still prayed, would find themselves in the darkest, deepest world, clipped of their wings. Those of intelligence would have their own place, those of valor, those of compassion, those of lust, each would have their own place in Thera'mire.
For some time, I would fiddle with possibilities. The laws of Thera'mire were not much different than the mortal world's. There was gravity, matter, space. I could not perceive molecules or atoms at the time, my ability had not become so perceptive yet, but the forces at play still existed, a bend of exception being that I would create something from nothing. For example, magnetism still existed, with metals I created being of no difference. It was from realizing this that I began practicing control over magnetism. It was almost like I had a talent for it, as though it was so closely related to my capabilities already, that it was almost second nature that I was able to grasp it fully within moments. Levitating spheres of metal, different densities, weights, sizes, was of little difficulty. Shaping them, however, proved to be more of a challenge.
'Interesting...' I thought, as I began to imagine the possibilities of being able to manipulate metal. It was like trying to pry open a ball from the outside with my bare fingers, difficult, and yet with a good grip, I managed to do it as though I were cracking open an egg. From there, I would shape it into a rod, fining out its curvature and sharpening its edges. Failure brought me to begin anew until I was eventually able to create a simple looking blade. It required much mental fortitude to be able to succeed in such a simple task, and while I had previously come close, I did not accept the win until it was perfect. Scraps of at least three hundred littered the ground around me, but with just a thought, they all disappeared.
From there on, I would continue to dabble in this ability, shaping weapons and armor, eventually trinkets and gears, until I was able to mold meteorite sized clumps of dense metals into statues of my likeness. A pass time to say the least. My most perfect creation would be made eventually after decades, a blade of pure energy that maintained its form without my constant supervision. It was complicated and intricate, a handle of metal that I could not say truly existed, at least not naturally. In its normal state, it would be a sword made up of hundreds of small, individual pieces that were locked into place, much like a puzzle. When powered by my energy, it would ignite into a blade of pure white, the metal heating up to the point that it became a liquid, a magma or plasma that was as though it were lightning itself. Still, it would hold its form into that of a blade with a sharp edge; a divine blade welded together through powerful and an intricate balance of temperature, magnetism, properties of metal, and interlocked pieces that made it as unbreakable as it was unstoppable. It was something that took years of practice and effort to piece together, a divine artifact that would never see use, as I would realize, that in my isolation, I had no enemies. None to wield such a weapon against, none to slay and bathe myself in their blood.
"Hmm..." I grunted, taking to thought in acceptance of my circumstances. 'I suppose I would rather have peace, than a constant war.'
I would extend my abilities and skills, finding much time to craft and practice. I would forge more than weapons, trinkets and tools. At one point, I would have been happy with a blade in my hand, but now, I realize I would need more. I would do more than just create landscapes and mountains, I would build cities, not simply out of stone either, but cities that were of an advanced level. Buildings that stood strong and tall, with glass to fill its walls, and marble to fill its floors. I would create statues out of boredom, molding and carving without rest. I would enjoy my time, at least until I didn't. At some point, I sort of seemed to, simply put, continue out without excitement, but rather to stay busy as to not sit idly in waiting for time to pass.
With so much time, I would go without rest as I indulged in lust, laying with my wife to the point that I would lose my sight. The next, I would spend an entire decade throwing a single punch, over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again. I had done it so much,it was as though my punch was without limit, without restraint. I would crater mountains and punch holes in the sky, only to restore them in a moment's notice. Decades I would spend doing one thing or another. I spent some time staring off into the distance, only to then to suddenly start painting without a thought to what I was intending to paint. I took to creating different kinds of birds, then I grew fruits and vegetables. Time passed to the point that I had no idea how long it had been. A hundred years? Two? Three A thousand? Perhaps more. I do not know.
Hah...
"Ilyia... How long has it been?" Upon the bedside, I would await an answer, but one would not be returned. "Ilyia, my love. Why do you not answer?"
Perhaps I had lost my mind long ago, stuck in a delusion where I had forgotten the sound of my wife's voice. Lifeless, her corporeal form turned its head to me. Yet, as I turned to look at her, I saw a blank face.
'Strange. What did she look like again? Did... She have eyes? How many?'
I was happy. Eternal bliss with my love, eternity.
I could do anything I wished, anything at all.
'How long have I been keeping myself occupied? How long will I continue? What even was my name?'
Perhaps a part of myself refused to lose my self to insanity, a stubbornness that kept me the same as I was, and yet still, I began to lose myself. I did not change, but rather, I became lost in my environment, not even realizing the passage of time or the reality of my situation. Even at that moment, I did not realize, for I was so lost in the dream I was living through, that I could not wake up.
'What was the world I left behind?'
'How long has it been?'
'When...'
'When did my heart stop beating?'
'How long...'