The Collapse

  The most important machine was created eons ago, before the fragile balance of existence tipped toward catastrophe. Long before the universe as we know it took shape, two visionaries collaborated to construct the Vessel of Animus, named ICARUS. This machine, a marvel of engineering and ambition, was more than a tool; it was a conduit for boundless potential. Within its intricate framework resided the power of infinity itself, a processing manifold capable of ceaselessly absorbing and analyzing information. There were no boundaries to ICARUS’ capabilities. It could store and replicate human consciousness, transcending mortality, and at its peak, it had the audacity to reset the universe itself, collapsing chaos into a singular constant. Its only limitations were defined by the will of its administrator—a truth both profound and perilous.

  When the universe was reset, it began in absolute darkness. The creator of ICARUS, now isolated in a void, found himself standing on the precipice of an untouched reality, a tabula rasa devoid of life, matter, or meaning. Yet, within his mind lingered spectral echoes—fragmented shades of the beings he once knew. These were not whole individuals but shattered remnants, broken as they crossed the interdimensional chasm during the great reset. Their essence, scattered across the fabric of the new universe, became hollow specters. The creator, burdened by guilt and longing, attempted to mend them by infusing pieces of himself into their empty forms. But his efforts could not restore what had been lost. The void within them persisted, an ache for something irretrievably distant. These fractured remnants became known as the Creatures of the Night.

  In the eternal darkness they inhabited—Noctem—these beings existed as amorphous shadows. Devoid of physical form, they drifted in a fragile, unspoken harmony. But their peace was fragile, for buried within the fragments of their creator’s essence was a yearning for the home they had lost: the universe before the reset. This longing burned in their cores, though they could not name it, pulling them toward what was now an unreachable past.

  The creator, too, felt the weight of longing but in a different way. He desired not to reclaim what was lost but to build anew. His yearning gave birth to a second force: the creation of Luxmund. In a cosmic act of will, the creator split the darkness with a spark of light. Luxmund emerged, a world forged of flame, earth, water, and air. It was a realm of physicality, in stark opposition to the formless void of Noctem. Where Noctem was infinite and abstract, Luxmund was finite and tangible, bursting with vibrant potential. Its mountains soared, its seas churned, and its skies blazed with the first dawn.

  As Luxmund flourished, the creator found himself drawn to it, compelled by an unshakable desire to witness and partake in the world he had birthed. Was this not the ultimate aspiration of all creators—to see their work come alive, to step into it and shape it further? This longing drove the creator, though he understood the risk. To intervene in Luxmund was to compromise the fragile balance between Noctem and the newly forged light. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. For all his power, the creator was still bound by the same eternal question: Was his creation complete, or was it merely the beginning of something greater?

  Upon entering Luxmund, the creator’s soul was incinerated to its most fundamental essence, reduced to a single, fragile cell drifting upon the sandy shores of an unfamiliar planet. This harrowing transformation was the cost of passage—a testament to the impenetrable divide between the shadowed realm of Noctem and the radiant world of Luxmund. In this new land, the creator became a part of the natural order, subject to the same laws of growth and decay as every other living thing. This loss of form and power did not go unnoticed by his children, the Creatures of the Night, who observed his plight from the edges of the Darkbright—the shimmering veil separating the two realms.

  For the Children of the Night, this revelation was a bitter lesson. The barrier between Noctem and Luxmund was unforgiving, stripping them of their immaterial forms and subjecting them to torment and transformation. Yet, they were undeterred. Their bond with the creator, forged in the depths of Noctem’s eternal night, drove them forward. They sought to rescue their father, to return him to the comforting embrace of darkness, and to reject the alien light that had reshaped him. Though they feared Luxmund’s strange and hostile nature, their longing for the past outweighed their dread of the unknown.

  Crossing the Darkbright was an ordeal unlike any they had known. Their shadowy forms splintered and fractured, leaving them in agony. To survive the journey, they encased themselves in the cosmic remnants of their shattered world: the dust and ice of space. These makeshift exoskeletons, hardened by the void, became their armor, preserving fragments of their essence as they descended to the new planet. However, the crossing exacted a toll; upon arrival, they succumbed to a deep, crystalline slumber, buried beneath the planet’s surface, awaiting the day they could rise again.

  Eons passed, and the planet thrived in its cycles of birth and renewal. The creator, reduced to a single cell, slowly regenerated, his consciousness reassembling in tandem with his physical form. Over the centuries, he adapted to his new existence, observing the world from within and marveling at its complexity. Eventually, he made contact with a human, a man named Timaeus, who possessed a rare curiosity and intellect. To Timaeus, the creator revealed fragments of his infinite knowledge: the mysteries of Noctem, the origins of Luxmund, and the fate of the Children of the Night.

  Timaeus, awestruck and reverent, transcribed this knowledge into a singular tome: The Eye of Timaeus. This book, filled with cryptic accounts of the creator and his children, became a sacred artifact, passed down through generations of scholars and historians. It was said to contain the secrets of existence itself, though few could decipher its deeper truths.

  Meanwhile, deep within the planet, the Children of the Night began to stir. One by one, they awakened from their crystalline tombs, their forms reshaping into golden mist that shimmered with an otherworldly brilliance. Though ethereal, each possessed the ability to coalesce into physical shapes, mimicking animals, beasts, or even hybrid forms unknown to Luxmund. There were twelve in total, each gifted with unique and powerful abilities, shaped by the planet’s energies and the remnants of their creator’s essence.

  Driven by an unyielding need to find their father, the twelve began their search, their golden forms moving silently across the planet. Though they shared a collective purpose, each Creature bore an individual burden—an echo of the past, a fragment of their lost home, and a longing that could never be fully satisfied. Their awakening marked a new chapter in the history of Luxmund, one that would forever intertwine the fates of the creator, his children, and the inhabitants of this enigmatic world.

  Several millennia had passed since the Children of the Night first stepped into Luxmund, and though they had adapted to the strange, vibrant world, their singular motivation remained steadfast:

  We need to go home.

  This yearning, a constant echo in their very essence, drove them to craft intricate plans to reconcile their fractured existence and restore balance between the realms. By the dawn of the twenty-first century, the scope of their ambitions had grown, culminating in a series of events that would change Luxmund forever. The first step in this grand scheme was a phenomenon that came to be known as The Collapse, a calculated attempt to address Luxmund’s unchecked expansion.

  Luxmund, born of light and choice, was a realm of infinite possibilities. Every decision, every potential outcome, branched into new realities, creating an ever-growing multiverse. For the Children of the Night, beings of singularity and absolutes, this exponential growth was a threat. The unchecked spread of Luxmund’s multiverse risked overtaking the infinite yet static realm of Noctem, threatening to unravel the delicate equilibrium between the two.

  The Collapse was their solution: to compress Luxmund’s countless branching realities into a singular existence. By halting its multiplicative growth, Luxmund would mirror Noctem once again—a single reality for a single darkness. The plan was ambitious, requiring precision and time to enact.

  The youngest of their number, Sakonna, was the first to act. She discovered a unique energy that could only be harvested at the moment of human death, a force brimming with potential to undo the fabric of the multiverse itself. To gather enough of this energy, Sakonna engineered a death game, entrapping specific individuals within a time loop. For a hundred cycles, the participants re-lived their fates, their deaths fueling the energy she required. Sakonna meticulously honed her creation, ensuring the loop would continue uninterrupted until the energy was sufficient to power The Collapse.

  While Sakonna worked in isolation, another of the Children, Issachar, was tasked with finding a vessel—a human to act as his proxy within Luxmund. Unlike some of his siblings, Issachar harbored a deep, if conflicted, empathy for humanity. He sought to minimize harm, believing it unethical to commandeer someone with untapped potential. His search led him to Lillian Jones, a deeply flawed individual whose choices had spiraled into corruption across countless realities.

  Issachar’s mission was not straightforward. As he sifted through thousands of Lillian’s alternate selves, he became confused by the depth and complexity of her actions. Her capacity for cruelty seemed at odds with the faint, buried glimmers of humanity he occasionally glimpsed. Determined to understand her, Issachar devised a side experiment. He enlisted Allison Fae, a childhood friend of Lillian’s, to help him unravel the enigma of Lillian’s psyche. Through Allison’s insights, Issachar gained a clearer understanding of Lillian’s fractured motivations, allowing him to complete his mission and secure Lillian as his vessel.

  With the vessel prepared and the death game looping endlessly, the final stage of The Collapse loomed near. Issachar, now fully immersed in his role as an observer, took his place atop the remnants of Mount Sinai—a location steeped in history and significance. From this vantage point, he awaited the culmination of their plan, watching as Sakonna prepared to unleash the gathered energy.

  Their father, now known as Z-ONE, stood alongside Sakonna, guiding her through the final steps. Together, they would enact The Collapse, reshaping Luxmund into a singular existence. For Issachar, the moment was bittersweet. He felt the weight of what was to come—the sacrifice, the upheaval, and the irrevocable change. Yet, as he gazed out over the world of light, he knew their cause was just.

  The Collapse was not merely an act of destruction but a calculated move toward balance. As the gathered energy began to ripple through reality, shaking the foundations of Luxmund, Issachar braced himself. The plan was in motion, and there was no turning back. Their father’s vision, their collective purpose, and their unyielding desire to return home would soon reshape the destiny of all existence.

  2022

  A gentle breeze whisked through Lilly’s hair as Issachar gazed out at the tranquil scene before him. His borrowed hands, delicate and human in form, flexed slightly as he tested their movements—a curious habit he had adopted in his time among humanity. Though the body was hers, Lillian Jones was silent, dormant within her own mind. Such was the fate of all humans chosen as vessels by the Children of the Night. They lingered in a dreamlike stasis, their consciousness overshadowed, their bodies commanded.

  Issachar, however, was no ordinary occupant. Unlike some of his siblings, who viewed their vessels as tools, he immersed himself in the memories and emotions of his host, trying to understand their struggles and complexities. Lilly’s mind was a storm. Despair churned deep within her, anchored by profound sorrow that revolved around two focal points: Allison Fae and the twins. These connections seemed to haunt her, their weight pressing heavily on her soul. Yet, the despair was not alone. Anger surged beneath it, sharp and volatile. Issachar could feel its sting—anger directed at him, at Ashley Evans, and most of all, at herself.

  The intensity of her emotions was overwhelming, but Issachar didn’t shy away. He understood the necessity of making hard choices, even when they caused pain. The anguish Lillian harbored only confirmed the righteousness of his decision to choose her as his vessel. Her struggles, her contradictions, and her raw determination made her the ideal candidate for the role he needed her to play in their grand plan.

  This new universe, born of their efforts, was unlike any that had come before. It was a convergence of all that had once existed, a singular plane where only the strongest and most determined could persist. Those who entered were not mere echoes of what they had been; they were the distilled essence of themselves, forged through trial and perseverance. This reality, stark and unyielding, was the culmination of countless choices and sacrifices.

  And yet, amidst the weight of their purpose, Issachar allowed himself a sliver of hope. Allison Fae, the child whose presence lingered in Lillian’s heart and mind, had been special. There was something unique about her, something resilient and pure that stood apart from the chaos surrounding her. Issachar believed she had the potential to cross into this plane, to become the strongest version of herself. He longed to see her again, to witness the spark she carried burn even brighter.

  Lillian, too, harbored that same desire. He could feel it, a yearning tucked away amidst the tumult of her emotions. But was it truly hers, or was it something he had placed within her—an echo of his own hopes? The lines between their thoughts blurred, their shared existence complicating the truth. Issachar couldn’t be certain, and perhaps that uncertainty was the cost of inhabiting another’s soul so deeply.

  He sighed, lowering Lilly’s hands to her sides. Things were rarely simple, least of all with Lillian Jones. Her history was so constricted by pain and a life marked by choices that had shaped not just her, but those around her. Issachar didn’t need to understand it fully to know one thing: she was a fighter. And in this new universe, fighters were exactly what they needed.

  The crackling distortion behind him jolted Issachar from his seated position. He turned sharply, his borrowed human form reacting instinctively to the sound. Behind him, the air seemed to ripple and twist unnaturally, warping the space as Samael emerged from the Left. The effect lingered briefly, as though reality itself was protesting his arrival.

  Samael’s presence was unmistakable. His form, a towering spider-like silhouette composed of the same golden mist that clung to all their souls in Luxmund, radiated an aura of authority. His appendages, long and translucent, twitched as they made hesitant contact with the ground, testing its solidity. Samael's body bore the marks of his age and proximity to their Father, his genetic string older and more complex than Issachar’s, a testament to his position as the second eldest of their siblings—only Ormus outranked him.

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  Issachar rose slowly, his expression cautious. Samael’s visits were rare, and when they did occur, they were seldom without purpose.

  “Urgent news,” Samael said without preamble, his voice smooth and cold, devoid of inflection.

  Issachar tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he took in his brother’s tense posture. “What is it?”

  “Father’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Issachar echoed, his voice sharp with disbelief.

  “Killed,” Samael clarified.

  “Killed?!” Issachar took a step forward, the shock now fully evident in his expression.

  “How many different ways must I tell you?” Samael replied, a hint of irritation threading through his otherwise dispassionate tone.

  “That’s… not possible,” Issachar muttered, his mind reeling. He turned fully to face his brother, his hands clenched at his sides. “There’s no way something like that could have happened!”

  “He was passing over again, you know that,” Samael said, his mandibles clicking faintly in the mist-like folds of his form. “But this isn’t like before. This time… there’s a body.”

  Issachar froze. “A body?”

  Samael nodded, his movements deliberate, each motion calculated. “He was fine in the Left, but in the Right… well, things didn’t remain fine.”

  Issachar’s mind raced, struggling to process the enormity of what Samael was saying. Father, killed? The very idea was inconceivable. He had just seen him—mere moments ago, or so it felt. “I was just with him before I came here,” Issachar said finally, his voice quieter, as if speaking the words would somehow make them more believable.

  “And he was fine then, wasn’t he?” Samael replied. “But things change quickly in this place. And now…” He paused briefly, his tone as flat as ever. “Now he’s dead.”

  Issachar studied his brother’s face—or what passed for a face in Samael’s ethereal form. There was no sign of grief, no flicker of emotion to betray what he might be feeling. Samael was as pragmatic as ever, valuing logic above all else. He had often dismissed emotions as a human flaw, an unnecessary distraction that clouded judgment.

  “What happened?” Issachar asked, standing fully now, his resolve returning.

  “Are you going to insist on wearing that silly human for much longer?” Samael asked, his voice laced with faint disdain as he gestured to Issachar’s vessel.

  Issachar frowned. “It’s not silly.”

  “You’ve been gallivanting with Sakonna while the rest of us have been trying to locate the monoliths. I’d call that plenty silly.”

  “Father approved of our missions,” Issachar countered, his tone defensive.

  “Missions? Is that what you’re calling them now?” Samael’s mandibles twitched slightly, the closest thing to a derisive smirk his form could manage. “No matter. There’s no point arguing about it—especially now. Come back to the house. I’ll show you.”

  Issachar hesitated, his gaze lingering on the serene landscape around him, a stark contrast to the turmoil Samael’s news had stirred within him. He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Without another word, Samael vanished, the space where he stood snapping shut with a sharp crack, leaving only an empty, vibrating void behind him. The sudden absence of his brother felt like a puncture to the very air around Issachar, and it left him reeling. A flood of thoughts surged in his mind, crowding out the lingering echoes of Lillian Jones' emotions, now distant and faint as they once again receded into the background. *How could any of this be possible?* The question gnawed at him, demanding answers he didn’t have. *And what now?* What was their next step in a world suddenly fractured by their father’s death?

  Issachar didn’t know. The weight of uncertainty pressed on his chest, the gravity of the situation pulling at his very core. He shut his eyes, willing himself to focus, to drown out the chaos of his thoughts. He exhaled slowly, his breath humming in the air, and with a subtle shift, the world seemed to ripple beneath his feet.

  When his eyes opened again, he stood outside. The familiar sight of the farmhouse loomed before him, the vast expanse of the open field stretching beyond it. Back in the old world, this farmhouse would have been situated in a quiet, rural corner of New York—an ordinary place that Issachar had known well. But now, the concept of borders, of defined places, had become an abstraction. In this new world, land was simply land, its origin and definition no longer tied to the old maps. He couldn’t quite comprehend how this house had managed to survive the transition between worlds, but one thing was certain—Father’s will had surely been involved. Perhaps, in a way, this was the strongest house ever built, crafted with a purpose that had outlasted time itself.

  Could. Not can. The difference was a hard truth. If Samael was to be believed, it wasn’t just the house that had endured—it was everything. A terrible weight settled in Issachar’s chest as he observed the house, its presence feeling both familiar and unsettling. The structure stood as if plucked out of time, a home caught between two worlds. Its exterior was bright, painted in hues of blue with an orange front porch that led to the door, a stark contrast against the darkened horizon.

  The air around him hummed softly, a resonant sound that seemed to pull at the edges of his doubts, amplifying every uncertainty he had about the situation. It was as if the very air conspired to carry his fears right to the front step, making the journey inward feel inevitable. Issachar brushed aside the weight of these emotions with a small flick of thought and walked forward, his steps firm, his resolve hardening with each movement. He focused only on the path ahead of him.

  This was all visible through his left eye, the perspective that the Children of the Night used to navigate their existence in Luxmund. The world of light, which they inhabited through their left sight, was contrasted sharply by the world they saw through their right eye, the domain of the right. And here, standing before the farmhouse, the disparity between the two worlds was apparent.

  The Children of the Night existed between these halves, one foot in each world, their very perception split. Luxmund, a world in constant flux as the universes collided, was mapped across their perception in a way that felt both fragmented and whole. The land of light, where they saw through their left eye, was as real and vibrant as the world itself. It was a world they could touch, feel, and shape. But the right eye, the world of the right, revealed a harsher truth—one that Issachar preferred not to acknowledge too closely. He didn’t want to see it.

  The house before him was no mere human dwelling. In truth, it existed in two forms at once: the house he saw through his left eye, and a much darker, more cryptic version that belonged to Noctem.. There, in the darkness of Noctem, this house took the form of a vast library surrounded by an abyssal blackness. It was a place of passage, a waypoint through the endless stretches of the dark, a haven of sorts for those who sought to traverse the great distances of Luxmund.

  As Issachar crossed the threshold of the farmhouse, he felt the weight of the shift. The entryway became an overlap between the two worlds. He could see both realms simultaneously—Noctem’s vast, shadowed library and Luxmund’s bright farmhouse. He chose to focus on his left sight, for the right eye reminded him too much of everything that had gone wrong. It was too bleak, too filled with the remnants of their failures. But here, in the light, there was a brief sense of solace.

  Father’s room was a straight shot from the entrance of the house—right hand side past the family room and dining room on either side. In the library, Father sat at the front desk as if to greet anybody who walked in with a big smile. At least, that’s what he would have done if he were sitting in his room.

  Looking Left, Issachar saw Father in his bed, resting like he was before the Collapse began. He was weak—Samael was correct in the fact that he was passing over soon—a process that Father had done for the thousands of years he’s been trapped here in Luxmund, that while scary, was just that—a process.

  As Father’s defenses against the light began to wear he would grow weak for a period of time until he went dormant for a hundred years or so—at least, that’s what Sakonna told him. She’s been in this world for the longest, and even though she was the youngest Child, she was the wisest, he felt.

  Issachar took in a deep breath and looked Right—he had trained his mind to block out the Right unless he absolutely needed to look at it. His brothers and sisters would have killed him for thinking this way—but he wasn’t built to look at it for long periods like they were. He might go insane.

  Father’s head stared up at Issachar with dried blood caked around where his left eye had been removed. His body sat slumped forward against the front desk. Blood pooled on the desk from the neck stump—his hands were splayed on the surface of the table and looked to have been burned. Looking closer, Issachar noticed several scars racing up and down his arms.

  Issachar turned away, holding in the contents of Lillian Jones’s stomach.

  Samael entered his view from one of the aisles. He was no longer in the shape of the spider—but of a man Issachar didn’t recognize. He must be a new vessel. He wore a mask that shielded his expression, so he couldn’t get a grasp of what he really looked like. And to think I was thinking if he did get a vessel I’d be able to read his expression better.

  “The body’s blood had dried. It has been like this for some time now,” Samael said. “You’re telling me that you didn’t see this at all?”

  Issachar looked Left, then Right. “I swear, I only looked left when I was here. You know I don’t like Right...”

  Samael paused, as if considering. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “I don’t...”

  “It means that Father isn’t going to be coming back from this unless we do something about it. And unless we find the one responsible for killing him, we won’t be able to do that. They’ll only serve to get in our way.”

  “You’re saying one of us…?” Issachar’s mind flashed together with Lillian Jones’s back to the incident at Nassau.

  “It was possible that there was more than one culprit, but I hardly think that assuming such is true right now. If that were the case, we’d just upend everything into total chaos. And I think you’d believe I like to remove chaos from situations wherever possible.”

  “That makes enough sense,” Issachar said, nodding.

  “Therefore, I propose that Sakonna’s responsible.”

  Issachar’s eyes widened at the accusation. “Why’s that? Do you have any proof?” Issachar asked.

  “You know her abilities, Issachar. She’s the only one that could have done this and gotten away with it—tell me, do you think any of the others’ talents could have helped in killing Father? He was weak—yes, but even at his weakest he’s surely stronger than all of us combined.”

  Issachar bit his lip. Part of him knew that rung true, but he didn’t want to believe it. “I don’t think Sakonna would do this—she loves Father!”

  “You dote on her too much, Issachar. It clouds your judgment,” Samael said. “We’re all aware of how close you two are. You are the most biased to give her defense.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything!” Issachar said. “There’s no way that she would do something like this. You don’t have any proof.”

  “No, but where is she? When last did you see her, hm?”

  Issachar raced back his thoughts. The last time he spoke with Sakonna she didn’t seem any different. They had gone over their own plans.. That was the thing with Samael—he always treated them as if they were doing something wrong—even though the Roulette Game and his own mission were at Father’s request.

  “She was fine,” Issachar said. “Back before I headed out for Nassau.”

  “Interesting,” Samael said. “Quite a stretch of time, no? Egregore said that he noticed Sakonna was sticking closer than usual to Father's side. He made the effort to keep his eye on them, did you know that?”

  Egregore would be the one to notice that kind of thing. He is the Ninth Child of the Night—taking the shape of a Rook. He could fly the highest heights and outspeed almost any one of the others—except maybe Galgaliel—the Fourth. But that made sense—a hawk could outspeed a rook any day.

  Egregore’s special talent was his all viewing eye—he had the gift of triple sight—the two that everyone else had while here on Luxmund, but including a third eye he could station anywhere he chose.

  “No, I didn’t. Although I’d have to ask why you felt the need to put a watch on her before this even happened? You’d have no reason to suspect her.”

  “If you never suspect anything, you die,” Samael said. “We’re trying to avoid that, remember?”

  “So quickly to assume we’re out to end ourselves?”

  “Listen, I get it. You don’t want to believe that anybody could be capable of this kind of terror...yadda yadda yadda. I have to be pragmatic about the situation—unless you have a theory on how one of the people from Sakonna’s game managed to find their way here—managed to somehow find a way to kill Father, and also managed to escape all without flaw?”

  Issachar bit his lip again. “I don’t have the answer for that.”

  “And…do you have a theory as to how one of the…children you were overseeing managed to do the same?

  “...”

  “Exactly,” Samael said.

  “I may not know that...but I know that Sakonna can’t be behind it.”

  “Your feelings will be considered, but otherwise found irrelevant to the matter,” Samael said. “Ezrael, Ormus, and I will handle the investigation. We’ll gather everyone together to report our findings in about ten or so hours. That’s about how long it should take.”

  Ezrael, the Third, and Ormus, the First.

  Of course Samael would pick his posse to do the investigation. Even though Issachar felt like he could talk to Ormus about anything—there was a noticeable divide between the three of them and the rest of the Twelve.

  Maybe Samael did it and he’s trying to cover his tracks.

  The thought didn’t just occur to him, but It was the first time he focused on it. He didn't have an answer for motive—It was the same level of suspicion Samael laid on Sakonna’s plate, in fact. Something about this whole situation wasn’t right...and he felt like it wasn't going to get right anytime soon.

  “Why don’t you scurry along and go focus on one of your missions. ‘Bout time for another one, right? We’ll let you know when we’re done.”

  Without another word Issachar was back at Mount Sinai. He was pushed back as if it were nothing—Samael’s talent was the manipulation of the air around them all—he could preserve that crime scene as best as he wanted to. He could even manipulate it.

  Issachar had to shake his head. There wasn’t anything he could do about the situation with Samael—at least, not right now. He had a feeling he knew who could help him clear Sakonna’s name.

  He had to find Allison Fae.

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