The tale of The Fundament, a deal made long ago, and a race long lost to entropy

A Contemplative Verse: My thoughts on the matter of existence Edit

What power drives me to this end that ends all?

What deaths will drive me down?

Call out into the night and ask it: What legacy do I leave?

I: The Power of Blades Edit

Long ago, when the light of a billion newborn stars burned bright, my people were at peace. We rose from the schism, fragmented by the boundless night. Yet we burned bright.

My brothers and sisters looked into the night and pondered. Were we always to be slaves to the cosmic predator? Silent and stalking, it would destroy us all. It would see us cast into a world without it, the greatest torture.

But we burned bright, and sought greatness. We sought logic through discovery. In return, we received logic through killing: The Power of Blades.

We reached into the night and grabbed blindly onto the Fundament. The core of being, the pinnacle of the universe. We were cut into a million pieces by a billion blades, cast through the Fundament and into a strange world.

Incomprehensible. Impossible. Yet right before us.

We slew a god.

In his realm, we inherited his throne.

This realm was his no longer. Comprehensible. Possible. Ours.

The Power of Blades consumed us.

We were no longer bound by causal closure. Our will defeats law. We killed a hundred of our children with a long blade, and observed the change in the blade. Observed how the universe shrieked from us in terror.

And so our existence begins to define itself.

You must obey your nature. So we did.

II: Eternal War Edit

This is the tale of our race. Its journey through dimensions. The Fundament pierced our plane of existence, breaking the laws of time and space. We were a single point on a single plane.

The Fundament was not bound as such. Not bound by the causal closure of our universe. And so we became gods and kings, many points on our plane of reality, vast and impossible. The blade cut us up, defined us anew. It was shaped like freedom.

The Fundament was not bound as such. Incomprehensible. Impossible. Yet right before us, it appeared again. Not bound by the laws of our throne. It appeared as many points on many planes.

The Fundament drove us on into the night which we once would not look. The blade defined us anew, granted us new life in a new mode of existence.

Our universe gutters down towards cold death. Life is an engine that burns up energy and produces decay. Life builds selfish, stupid rules.

In the beginning, the Fundament told us: These rules are impediments to great work. The work of building a perfect, undying creation, a civilization everlasting. Something that cannot end. Something like us.

If a civilization cannot defend itself, it must be annihilated. If a King cannot hold his power, he must be betrayed. The worth of a thing can be determined by that thing’s ability to exist, to go on existing, to remake existence to suit its survival in a cold, harsh night.

And thus we cut ourselves with the blade. We became the Fundament. We redefined ourselves. To survive the night. The blade was shaped like power.

We killed five kings, spilt their blood in their own throne rooms. They could not hold their power. We could. And by the logic of blades, we became perfection. We were legion. An unstoppable force, to ascend into infinity.

III: The Double Edged Sword Edit

We drove ourselves on. If we were to stop, we would die. The more we fed our blade, the more ravenous it became. We grew weary of the night. The blade was shaped like burden, heavy and dull, and we could not carry it any longer. We were kings, weary and old. Weighed down into nothingness by the blade we could no longer let go. And we fell into decay and entropy.
But there were more blades, with more shapes, still sharp, reaping civilizations like corn in a field. If we could not defend ourselves, it would have been necessity that we had been eradicated. Killed in our throne rooms, our blade to be inherited by future kings.
So we fought. We fought for our lives.
And we won.
We picked up our dull sword, heaving it into the air, cleaving ourselves apart on its rusted edge. The blade was shaped like fear. And in fear, we redefined ourselves. In necessity, we proved by the logic of the blade that we were worthy of existence. We pushed back our attackers.
But their blades had a million teeth, biting and chewing at our thrones until our blade snapped at its weak, dull seams. We had been Fundament. We had been free. Now, our blade was shaped like eternity, and we spent it alone.
We defined ourselves as worthy to exist by our existence alone. But our blade was shaped like torture, and it clawed at our throats. We had been sealed out of the logic of the blade, cursed to forever exist without it. Without purpose.
All alone without the cosmic predator that devours all.
All alone without time to kill us.

VII: Star by Star by Star by... Edit







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