CHAPTER 832: WE WERE BORN BEFORE SPACE AND TIME

"Welcome, young man... to the future."

The words echoed through Orfry’s mind with such overwhelming power that for a moment, he felt as though his sanity might break apart. His vision twisted, his thoughts warped into chaos, and an unbearable weight pressed on every corner of his consciousness. Luckily, after a few seconds, the pressure began to recede. His heart slowed. His breath returned. The madness dulled just enough for him to remain aware.

But horror still gripped him.

He stood within a void unlike anything he had ever imagined. It wasn’t just empty—it was demonic, a twisted realm formed of impossible shapes, broken laws of physics, and endless torment. Around him floated the distorted remains of tortured souls, clustered together like insects crushed beneath an unseen force. Their mouths opened in silent screams, their bodies curled into agonized knots. The air itself reeked of despair and hopelessness.

"A Demon Lord..." That was the first thought that crossed Orfry’s panicked mind. Only a ruler of the Abyss, one of the ancient lords of destruction, could impose such terrifying force—enough to trap his mind inside a world where suffering was the default state of existence.

"A Demon Lord?" the voice echoed back almost instantly, mocking the thought.

Orfry’s eyes widened. The entity could read his mind.

Then came laughter—deep, multi-layered, and ancient. It echoed like the creaking of a dead universe, filled with amusement and a shade of disdain.

"From your memories, I see demons as entities of chaos and madness. That could describe my kind, I suppose. But that is where the similarity ends."

Orfry didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He understood now that this being—whatever it truly was—was beyond conversation in the conventional sense. All he could do was listen, and perhaps, if he was lucky, understand enough to survive.

"Demons are like children throwing tantrums," the voice continued. "They blow up cities just to be noticed. But us? We poison the rivers. We rot into the wind. Ours is the death that lasts a thousand years, not a single day."

A chilling pause followed. The aura of the entity grew darker, thicker, as if the very fabric of reality bent to accommodate its presence.

"Belief is meaningless to us. We are action. We are inevitability."

Orfry shuddered. There was something terrifyingly pure in the way the being spoke—no arrogance, no pride, only certainty. It didn’t rage or roar like the Abyssal Lords. It simply existed... and in that existence was an intent so potent, so absolute, that it eclipsed anything Orfry had ever encountered.

He clenched his fists, trying to center himself, and finally dared to ask the only question that seemed relevant:

"Who... are you?"

For a moment, silence.

Then, a voice like a thousand layered thoughts answered slowly, with unfathomable gravity:

"We existed before time and space, before nothingness. We were born in a storm of infinite madness, a place where even the word ’chaos’ had not yet been formed. A world where reality itself was pure—unwritten, uncontrolled, undivided."

There was a strange emotion in the entity’s tone now, almost like longing. But that faded as quickly as it came, replaced with condescension and cold amusement.

"And now look at you—your order, your civilizations, your belief in hierarchy and control. A grotesque mockery of what the universe was always meant to be. But do not despair, for we have awakened... and the correction begins."

Terror surged through Orfry’s veins, this time more intense than anything before. He felt it not just in his thoughts but in his soul—a shaking, writhing fear that consumed the deepest parts of his being. These weren’t just words. Each syllable carried intent, and that intent was a cosmic storm that would not stop until its vision was fulfilled.

His voice trembled. His control fractured. He spoke almost instinctively, desperate to shift the subject away from that horrifying vision.

"Why... me?"

This time, the entity calmed.

Another pause.

Then it answered.

"I came here searching for a particular presence. One who had made our work difficult in other realms—especially in places ruled by brute warriors. I intended to enter his mind and seize control of his body. But his soul... it was alien. Dangerous. A type of force I’ve rarely encountered—capable of consuming entities like myself. So I passed him by."

Orfry nodded to himself, not even sure why. It was as if some part of him wanted to feel useful, to matter in the narrative this being had constructed.

"I tried his companions," the voice continued. "Four of them possessed that same devouring potential. One did not. But that one was... strange. His soul was a void. Not darkness. Not death. Just silence. Complete, oppressive silence. I did not want to risk it."

The entity’s tone shifted again—less amused now, more analytical.

"Then I saw Augustus—the furious brute. I nearly took him, but then I saw you. Your dreams of control. Your schemes, your insights. Your body is weak, yes, but your mind... your mind is far more valuable than physical strength. I can build power. What I need is vision."

Orfry almost laughed—but it came out as a bitter smile. "So I was the sixth choice," he muttered.

The voice did not deny it. Instead, it pressed forward with even more certainty.

"And yet, you are the right one. The others were not suited for me. You... are perfect."

Orfry exhaled slowly, his thoughts swirling in every direction. Then another question, sharp and unexpected, formed in his mind.

"Why are you answering all of my questions?"

This time, the voice replied immediately, without pretense and straight to the point .

"I have hundreds of thousands of thoughts and ideas surging inside me—millions of them, waiting to be expressed. But my kind... we are not the talkative sort. We exist. We act. We move through silence. But you, Orfry... you are a breath of fresh air, someone I can really talk to."

Then the voice shifted, softening—almost affectionate.

"Besides... we are one now."