[spoiler] Hadn't posted anything here—or written literature, for that matter—in quite some time, so I decided to have a go at what I would do were I to conduct a large-scale event like Poly or Nil. Apologies if you feel deprived of them, as I doubt I have the motivation to do one. I do like to think it is set up quite well, though; the considerate reader may note that my lore functions so as to accommodate a wide variety of events and ideas as well as provide reason to many paradoxes and logical errors. :) [/spoiler] In the fathomless depths of an endless aquatic tomb just below the horizon of reality, a boy sat in meditation, floating cross-legged just above the lowest limit of his halcyon environs. His white hair drifted ethereally outward, unseen in the dark and empty, even the glow of his crystalline eyes entombed behind gently yet consummately closed lids. Though massive, the depths rested undisturbed by any other, its once-great denizens long dead, and their gray bones petrified as looming spires to the sea floor. No ancient predators remained to hunt. No prey remained to die. Regardless, the significance of the interloper’s undertaking drew Fate into lock-step, its cooperation ensured unto the mission of its avatar. Hollow had come here on little more than whim, following his own vague notion of amiss within the weave of Fate. It had begun as an almost imperceptible discomfiture but had steadily grown into concern, then upon vexation and paranoia. He had noticed a pattern in the grand weave, far larger than should be dismissible but so subtle as to be accounted to the effects of one’s own cognition. His whims, however, had always served him well, and so he found himself in this abyssal graveyard. Trying to follow that pattern—if it even existed—had been a taxing tribulation, like trying to scoop water with a fork. Hollow had prodded at Fate, seeking to ascertain aberrations in the ripples he provoked. He’d “officially” given up several times, but each time was drawn back by compounding discomfort. It had taken months for him to piece together a mere inclination, like the preternatural understanding of the qualities of a dream. Whim had guided him several times over on that inclination until he was able to fortify its clarity. He had come to this place not because of its relevance to the pattern, but because of its resemblance to his velleity. He was certain, now, that he was onto something. The conceptual proximity had unveiled the twisted weave which he knew well to be a corruption of Fate. As a hunter he would seek it, and as a gardener he would see it culled. His calculations upon Fate proceeded until the quantum possibilities began to cascade into a finite picture. Foresight, prescience, orphic knowledge began pouring forth, and Hollow bled it for everything it was worth, drawing from the weave until, abruptly, there was no more to draw. It was as if the pattern were incomplete; it had been only sparingly imparted upon reality. This was no comfort, however. Echoes told him that this pattern had been growing. Ironically, he could not use Fate to look directly upon changes to Fate itself, but he was skilled, and even a base augur could determine that whatever was happening here was building to a crux. What Hollow learned also served to further disturb him. Powerful concepts swam in his mind, seeking to overwhelm: wrongness, deep, prison, oblivion, end. Not exactly warm, pleasant feelings. Most of all, he had a place—a direction, more so, or a vector. It pointed him in several dimensions on a path more complex than even he could directly interpret. But the direction was enough, and it would only become more certain as he drew closer. Hollow opened his imposing eyes upon the towering bones surrounding him and reached forth to rend reality with surgical precision. He stepped out of the water, expelling it immediately, and into the void below the universe. The rift closed presently, leaving him alone in Null space. He rolled his neck, turned, and set out in a direction indescribable by basic means. Each step took him through myriad realms of limited scope, occasionally slipping in and out of the greater crucible that is the universe itself. His path was uneven, looping in a way that doesn’t correlate to physical orientation. As he proceeded, his unsettlement grew—and with rational cause. The extent of the aberration expanded in his mind like a spider’s web over the tapestry of Fate, wrapping over events and binding them in inevitable non-being. Hollow’s concern grew to panic as the twisted pattern unveiled further. His perception of Fate began to distort like he was peering through honey, warping the great, changing design until… He took another step and—as if rounding a corner—the void shifted. Out of the nothing, something appeared. Hollow gasped lamely as he saw it, unexpected even to him. To such a degree was he affected that he drew his attention totally away from Fate. Before him floated a serpent—rather, an eel, for its smooth skin and deep, black eyes. Its width was huge, it’s head ponderous yet predatory, but these qualities dwarfed by its length, coiling endlessly into the abyss to such obvious infinity that Hollow feared to comprehend it. Everything about it was the very wrongest extent of wrong. In his panic, he threw himself backward, putting unfathomable distance between himself and that [i]thing[/i], but going effectively nowhere. When he failed to step into reality, he cast his perceptions back into Fate, and perhaps would have screamed were he not so preoccupied. What he saw was the opposite of Fate. It was after the end and before the beginning. It was oblivion. He had survived the Trial of Nothing and the Trial of Everything, but this was different. Hollow was certain that he was witnessing the very end of existence at that moment.