He was burnt. His ashes scattered across the multitude of
this time space continuum, across the infinity of this multiverse. His essence
sliced and diced and shredded and finally spread ever so thin ever so precisely
that he lost his sense of being.
Aloof he spun. Across countless ages, across countless eons.
He floated with the cosmic dust, got burnt by shooting comets, was consumed by gaping
black holes, vaporized by exploding supernovas until finally he was lost somewhere
within the fading memories of time.
He entered his purgatory.
Then he heard it. Something somewhere deep within what was
once him. A call. A faint yet distinguished cry. His name. Something somewhere
in one of his countless distributed ephemeral specks of dust stirred. It called
out to him.
And the multiverse laughed. A deep guttural throaty laugh. A
laugh laced with pity and drunk with its own supremacy. It echoed from the
gaping, yawning icy depths of the the Malebolge where the dark forces stirred
too. Ever so keen to indulge in the carnal pleasures of feasting on a soul lest
that soul should find its path again - they laughed, they danced, they
sharpened their hooves and their claws and their fangs. They lit their fires, the
waiting pyres yet again. Overjoyed. Waiting.
The speck spoke again. It said one word – No.
No.
Not again. Not this time. No.
The narrative was faint, weak. Merely beyond a whisper,
barely an audible. Yet that No reverberated. It resonated. It permeated the
ether of this cosmic energy and it entered the hum of creation. It disturbed
the patterns of destruction. It found matter and anti-matter and dark energy
and forced them all together within the confines of a singularity. It was
merciless, unstoppable and like a star collapsing under its own weight it tugged
at every bit of me all across the infinity.
Carnal. Visceral. Nigh feral. Of the tug at the strings.
Slowly but firmly his ashes came together. Bound together
and drawn mercilessly by the resounding echo of this one oh so negative a word
they flew as one towards the speck which spoke. The worshippers of Lucifer oh
how they shied away. They cowered, they hushed. They sliced themselves open and
drenched the lit pyres with their satanic, demonic blood lest they draw the
wrath of this one speck, this ever growing entity that is now submitting everything
in its path to resonate with its own rhythm.
He was forming again. Bound in part by his name and in part
by the single No he was coming together again. Slowly, gradually the ashes took
his shape. Still fragile, still ephemeral, yet the blood started to make his ashes stick together.
And then it peaked. The disturbance, the resonance, the hum
of this energy. It reached its crescendo.
With the force of countless stars it exploded annihilating
the entirety that it touched. It fused matter and energy into one amorphous creation
which it then pushed into his faltering silhouette.
He drank. He soaked. He gaped and gulped and consumed this
combined medley that was pushed into him.
He let it flow through him. The pain
was searing; burning. Rivers of red hot scorching lava flew through him fusing his
name together into a concrete shape.
He was reborn. The last remnants of the molten red pools
glowing softly in his eyes He stood in the deafening silence of destruction.
He was complete. Fists clenched, head bowed, eyes shedding blood, and taught sinews and rippling muscles glistening with sweat - He was ready.
Phoenix.
