The Luminark
Silence had always been my companion, but after the reawakening, it carried a strange weight — the hush that follows not peace, but anticipation. The world of Chiblidz breathed anew beneath me, alive and unscarred. Yet my gaze no longer lingered on its valleys or skies. I had begun to look beyond — into the emptiness that wrapped the stars.
I, Unknown 69, Valkery of imagination and breaker of chains, had felt the pull of the cosmos long before I understood it. The world below thrived, its people learning to rebuild without gods or rulers. But my war was not done. Something in the fabric of existence whispered, seek further.
I rose through the veil of atmosphere, my wings parting clouds that had never seen the stars above. The void greeted me like an old friend — cold, vast, and infinite. I drifted through the constellations until I reached a world older and quieter than Chiblidz: Earth.
It was a planet of fractured dreams. Its surface bore the fingerprints of countless civilizations that had risen and fallen under the illusion of control. I landed in the outskirts of a ruined city, where skyscrapers leaned like broken teeth and nature had reclaimed its throne. There I met a man named Forge — a craftsman of impossible things.
He looked at me without fear, though my presence bent the air around him. "You're not from here," he said, voice rough like stone on metal.
"No," I replied. "But I seek tools. Something to carry me beyond this world."
Forge's eyes flickered with understanding. "Then you'll need more than tools. You'll need faith in the impossible."
He offered me items forged from starlight and ancient circuitry — weapons, armor, fragments of creation itself. I traded him shards of imagination, condensed into tangible matter. To him, they looked like glowing dust. To me, they were pieces of my soul.
Days turned into cycles. I hunted through Earth's remnants, taking bounties to test my strength and adapt to the laws of this world. One name lingered among the contracts: Nathen, a cultist of the void, marked by death and rebirth. They said he could not die, for he had pledged himself to something older than the stars.
I found him in a forest where sunlight dared not enter. The trees twisted like serpents, their shadows forming words that were not meant to be read. Nathen stood at the heart of it all, smiling beneath a hood woven from the night itself.
"I've been expecting you," he said. "The Valkery of What If. The one who thinks imagination can defy eternity."
Our battle tore through the woods. Fire met shadow. Light clashed with the essence of nothing. Each time I struck him down, he rose again — eyes burning brighter, laughter echoing deeper. He killed me more times than I could count. Yet every death taught me something new: the void is not to be defeated. It must be understood.
I left him alive. Not out of mercy, but because I had seen what lay behind his madness — a promise of something vast approaching. A hunger so cosmic it eclipsed thought.
Then, after many silent days, the sky turned black.
Not the darkness of night, but the obliteration of light itself. The stars vanished. The moon fractured. Every sound ceased, as though the universe held its breath. I looked up — and saw it.
A creature beyond dimension, a mass of writhing tendrils and maws that consumed light, time, and memory. Its teeth were nebulae. Its eyes were collapsing galaxies. The Devourer had arrived. It opened its jaws, and the Earth trembled beneath its shadow.
Forge looked to the heavens and whispered, "The sky is eating itself."
Then the world screamed.
Cities dissolved into dust. Oceans rose, then evaporated into nothingness. The very soul of the planet was drawn upward, stripped from existence. I fought, but there was nothing to strike — every attack was swallowed by the Devourer's gravity. The creature didn't kill; it erased. When it opened its mouth, the solar system folded in on itself, consumed like a candle flame in a hurricane.
I had no home left.
So I left.
Drifting through the remains of what once was, I gathered the fragments of light that escaped the Devourer's pull — beams of pure energy, untainted and eternal. I reached out with both hands and merged them with their opposites: dark beams, the raw essence of shadow. They screamed as they fused, reality twisting in defiance.
From that convergence, I forged something new — a surfboard, sleek and alive, capable of riding light itself. It pulsed beneath my feet like a living thing, bound to my will and guided by thought alone. I called it the Luminark.
Yet speed was not enough. I needed guidance through the chaos of collapsing universes. I fused the Luminark with my Mystery Weapon, an artifact from the War of Otive that still hummed with unspent potential. From their union, I created a navigation system that could chart paths through dimensions, reading the unspoken language of time and space.
The Luminark shone like a second sun as I rose beyond the remnants of the Milky Way. The Devourer drifted behind me, consuming entire clusters. But the further I went, the less I felt fear. I had become something else — not mortal, not divine, but between.
I entered a region known as the Galaxy Eater System, a graveyard of worlds stripped bare. There I found the worms — cosmic leviathans drifting through starlight, feeding on the remnants of dead suns. Some were the size of continents, others larger than galaxies. Their movements were slow, elegant, and horrifyingly beautiful.
I fed them fragments of smaller worms, watching as they grew, their hunger unending. One among them dwarfed all others — a creature so vast that to look upon it was to see eternity staring back. I approached it and pressed my hand against its skin, feeling time ripple.
It accepted me.
In that instant, my essence broke apart and reformed. My blood turned to luminous streams of plasma. My veins sang with the hum of gravitational song. I became neither light nor shadow — but both, perfectly entwined.
I was no longer bound by body or boundary.I had become a Space Being — one who could travel not only between stars, but between realities themselves.
From the edge of creation, I looked back. The Devourer had moved on, consuming galaxies beyond sight. Chiblidz still existed somewhere, safe for now. Earth was gone, nothing more than a fading memory in the tide of time.
I drifted among the stars, my surfboard leaving trails of silver light across the void. I felt no sorrow, only purpose. For every world consumed, another was born. For every death, another possibility.
And through it all, one truth remained:
The war had ended, but the story had not.Imagination was eternal.And as long as there were worlds to dream of —I would never stop riding the light.