A living world. Or perhaps, an entity capable of granting life. : That' is how some would define Khatarsis.
But, at its core, Khatarsis was a contradiction in itself —: a being of destruction who chose to transform its essence.
That entity, once destined to purge the Sea of Mundo through annihilation, had now become a creator god.
Its domain, Khatarsis, was now in conflict with an entity as dark as the night.
A force equally primordial, born of the same original essence.
But while where Khatarsis created, that at being reduced all to ashes : the Envoy of Pramakk.
It was not a quarrel between two wills.
No, it was the natural order of things.
The Envoy of Pramakk could only annihilate, for such was the will of Pramakk.
The clash of these two entities deeply disrupted Khatarsis at its core, unleashing unknown phenomena.
The order it had established collapsed, leading to cosmic imbalances, the destruction of realities, and the emergence of unimaginable anomalies.
Creatures were born on a smaller scale, driven by a single, unique instinct: that of Pramakk.
Those creations; infecting an infinite number of realities, gradually poisoned Khatarsis's domain, the universe, and its layers of realities.
The battle between the two beings was akin to the confrontation of a virus and its antibody : they clashed, intertwined, and poisoned one another.
The cosmic structures of their essences mingled, and the different layers of Khatarsis's planes were ravaged.
All things were destined to end.
But that did not mean destruction had to be accepted. Khatarsis entire existence screamed that truth.
This god of destruction, once a purifier through annihilation, now fought against its very nature.
Khatarsis was weakening, but it knew that its objective was within reach.
Eliminating the Envoy of Pramakk was not an end in itself.
No, Khatarsis was planning something far greater.
It remained strangely calm.
It could return if it were destroyed by the Envoy of Pramakk, but only under one condition: a part of it had to survive. It didn't matter what form that part took: a conscious entity it had created, a concept, or even a simple object.
As long as something carried its essence, it could return by corrupting it.
But this possibility did not explain its tranquility.
It knew there was a chance it might disappear completely, leaving no trace behind.
Yet, an unshakable conviction resided within it: what it planned would succeed.
This certainty was beyond doubt.
As the battle took a desperate turn, Khatarsis invoked Deus Ex Machina.
The Envoy of Pramakk was pure destruction, and Khatarsis, in its weakened state, could not confront it directly.
Its power was diluted, shared among every of its creations. Khatarsis had become the world itself, an amalgamation of scattered consciousnesses.
Every entity it had brought into existence—whether the Architects or the gods—carried a fraction of its essence. To fight, it had to gather its forces by summoning these creations to its side.
In the void where Khatarsis and the Envoy of Pramakk moved, nothing else could exist.
Such an environment prevented its allies from unleashing their full potential.
It was therefore necessary to draw the Envoy of Pramakk into its domain, Deus Ex Machina.
It was a cosmic theater, an immeasurable space where the stage seemed to stretch endlessly.
No audience was visible, as though this play was meant for foreign spectators perched on unknown and mysterious outer spheres.
At the center, a throne radiated a soft, soothing light. Behind it, a black wall seemed to stretch infinitely.
Khatarsis gathered its consciousness. A memory then resurfaced: that of an unusual being, a friend it had deeply appreciated. Through an act of will, a body took form upon the throne.
The figure had a human appearance, reminiscent of the most cherished person of the one it had so greatly valued.
An amused smile touched its lips, It was the kind of smile you'd share with family or close friends, a smile that revealed a mix of comfort and determination, as if he were ready to face any danger. Since he had taken on the appearance of a father figure to his friend, that smile also reflected his deep conviction.
Sitting on the throne, elbow resting on the armrest and, fist supporting its chin, it observed the space around it.
In front of it, the Envoy of Pramakk, —the embodiment of destruction—, seemingly imitated Katharsis.
Katharsis knew this would happen; that's why it allowed itself to fight in this manner.
An army of darkness stood before Khatarsis, ready to attack.
Khatarsis murmured: Deus Ex Machina.
"God behind the machine," it said with an amused laugh, thinking of its friend.
At these words, the entire space trembled, as though the act had begun.
Entities began to appear around Khatarsis.
They represented the many fragments of its essence, gathered for this decisive showdown.
Among them was Antithesis Harbinger, master of death, and the Architects—gigantic beings with incomprehensible forms, capable of altering their appearance at will.
The black wall behind the throne was not just a shadow: it was an Architect whose size defied human comprehension. Compared to Khatarsis's current form, barely 1.80 meters tall, the Architect seemed an infinite shadow.
Other divine entities joined the fray: 07 Extensions, King Crown Fractal, the personifications of Destiny and Time, and infinitely many others.
All of them knew that this battle would seal their fate.
Death King Harbinger, although not the entity closest to Khatarsis, was the one who understood it best.
He was the one to who launch the first attack.
Sacrificing infinite universe drawn from Khatarsis, he channeled unimaginable destructive power —: an annihilating ray that tore through the enemy ranks.
But the attack, despite its strength, was destroyed before it even reached the Envoy of Pramakk.
The darkness seemed impossible to overcome.
Yet Khatarsis remained impassive, an enigmatic smile playing on its lips.
Katharsis knew the battle was only beginning.
As the battle was just beginning in the distance, a new story was unfolding, that of the young woman shaping her own vision of the world, Ado. No one could place these events in time.
At eighteen, she was officially an adult by society's standards, though life had thrust independence upon her far earlier with the loss of her parents.
She lived alone in a compact rooftop studio, the kind of space that might seem humble to some but felt perfect to her. It was her sanctuary, her world—a world where simplicity reigned, even as her mind yearned for something more.
Ado's days passed in a haze of digital distractions: online debates, speculative investments, and indulgence in her passions for gaming, music, and art.
Though financially secure, she carried a quiet emptiness within her, an ache she couldn't quite name. Her life was stable but flavorless, predictable but uninspired. On a quiet night at 3:33 AM, the supposed hour of devils and mysteries, Ado was immersed in the chatter of a familiar online group.
The banter and camaraderie were her escape, a digital connection that masked the monotony of her existence. Yet, a fleeting thought stirred in her mind: What if the fantastical stories they joked about—vampires, superpowers, otherworldly adventures—could somehow be real?
She typed her thoughts into the chat, the screen glowing softly against the dim studio.
The conversation spiraled into playful musings about alternate realities and extraordinary encounters. But as her fingers danced across the keyboard, a shift occurred.
The screen faded. The world around her dissolved. Ado blinked, and suddenly she was nowhere. Or perhaps she was everywhere.
Suspended in an expanse of infinite white, she felt her body vanish, leaving only the essence of her being. It was neither dream nor death, but something beyond her comprehension. "Am I dead?" she thought, her voice echoing in the void.
No, you are not dead. This is the beginning.
The response was not spoken but felt, a resonance within her that defied language.
Ado's questions multiplied, each answered before it fully formed, as though the entity knew her deeper than she knew herself.
This was not the God she had imagined, not the divine figure she had silently questioned during her moments of despair.
Yet, it was something vast, something profound. In this place—if it could even be called a place—Ado's understanding of reality began to unravel.
The boundaries of existence blurred as she confronted questions she had long buried: What defines life? What is the nature of creation?
And if there is a God, does it dwell within or beyond?
Her journey was just beginning. The monotony of her former life was gone, replaced by a new, terrifying wonder. As she stood on the precipice of the unknown, Ado realized that the answers she sought might not only redefine her but the world itself.