Before the birth of shape or song, before time had rhythm and gods had names, there were creatures that ventures outside of reality.

    They had no name, for names were a thing of inside-worlds—realms where meaning coagulated into sound, and where beings thought language could grant them power over things older than logic.

    And ''it'' is one of them.

    It came from a place that could not be spoken of, only fled from. A place beyond the veil of cosmos, where reality had no anchor, and thought dissolved into shrieks.

    It was a tiny, feeble parasite surviving due to the mere indifference of an incomprehensible creature.

    But one day, it was shaken off and drifted into countless universe.

    It continued to drift, going from reality to another.

    But soon, it became afraid because it had not found any universe for what seems to be an eternity.

    But

    then one day, as it drifted through the void, it saw a crack.

    A fracture in the seal of one of the infinite universes.

    It was not large—no more than a sliver, a moment of weakness, an exposed throat in the fabric of spacetime—but for something like The Entity, it was enough.

    The crack had been carved during an ancient battle known as Titanomachy, where Hades, the quiet and formidable son of Kronos, had clashed with Uranus, the Sky Father, on a plane near the very edge of Creation.

    Their divine might echoed into the seams of the universe like hammer-blows upon glass.

    And through this scar, a ripple had opened—a wound in the breath of the cosmos.

    A door, just wide enough for something to slip through unnoticed.

    So it came.

    A whisper, a flicker, a wrongness in the corner of the universe''s eye.

    No one saw it arrive.

    Even Nyx, who dwelled deeper than the roots of existence, barely felt its presence.

    The gods were too preoccupied with war and blood and thrones, and even if they aren''t , they are far too weak to sende it.

    And so the universe moved on, unaware that something entered and observed.

    And observe it did.

    The Entity did not act. Not yet. It was not foolish. It did not know this place, and its instincts—shaped over the deaths of ten thousand universes—warned caution.

    It began to observe.

    Centuries passed. And as it drifted in places no mind could map, it began to judge the threads of this reality.

    It found many beings—some arrogant, some proud, many loud with their light and fury.

    But of all the gods and ancients who bloomed from this reality, it marked five whose very essence repelled it.

    They are threats. Not in strength alone, but in influence, in insight, in instinct.

    Hades, the Silent One, whose domain stitched together the metaphysical laws of death. A terrifying opponent for the entity and considered as the number one threat.

    Nyx, the Primordial Night, who was born from Chaos itself and descended into this lower plane of existence.

    Erebus, twin of Nyx, a veil and a silence even The Entity found hard to pass through. Sёar?h the n??el Fire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Kronos, the Devourer of Ages, who once had teeth sharp enough to bite time itself.

    Gaia, the World Mother, who bore the shape of this universe, whose presence was too deeply embedded in its flesh.

    These five were problems. This realm had many gods, yes, but these were the ones who made it inhospitable to a creature like It.

    So it hid.

    It coiled into the cracks, the voids, the in-between spaces—where even Nyx''s senses thinned and Erebus'' darkness could not reach it.

    There, in the hollows between gravity and thought, it waited.

    But it did not wait passively.

    The Entity was a predator. A consumer. A farmer of cosmos.

    It had fed before.

    When universes matured—when their civilizations became bright and seething with energy and collective thought—it would harvest them.

    Civilizations made energy, and energy was life.

    The more complex the mind of a species, the more flavor it produced when consumed.

    It was not physical flesh it devoured, but essence—the culmination of philosophy, sorrow, invention, hubris, and ambition.

    In every skyscraper was a thousand flavors.

    In every monument, a century''s worth of hope.

    A highly civilised universe is the best source of food.

    But this universe?

    It was young.

    Despite its age, its timeline seemed strangely sluggish, like an organism stunted in its growth.

    The mortal species here—humans, primarily—had only begun to crawl from mud into myth.

    Their minds were still chained to gods and superstition. They had fire now, yes, and soon would have more.

    But they were not ripe.

    They wre not ready.

    And that disturbed The Entity.

    Why? Why was time so twisted here? Why did civilizations not rise and fall in great blazing arcs as in other realities?

    It studied more. Peered into the folds of time. And what it saw disturbed even It.

    This universe was being interfered with. Not from outside, like Itself, but from within.

    Something—or perhaps someone—was slowing time''s rhythm.

    Whether consciously or not, a force within this realm resisted advancement, shielding the mortals from ripening too soon.

    As if the universe had grown wise to predators like It… and was trying to delay the feast.

    But time, even when slowed, must flow.

    And so it waited. Patient. Impossibly patient.

    Because one day, Nyx would surely stop hunting it.

    She was tireless now, yes—forever gliding through shadow-realms and dreams, chasing flickers of foreign essence.

    But nothing could hunt forever. Even Primordials must eventually retreat into sleep.

    And when she did, when Erebus blinked away...

    Then it would move.

    Then it would begin to prod.

    To tempt.

    It had already planted seeds. Small ones. Whispers in the ears of gods. Whispers in the hearts of kings.

    It was subtle. A knowledge here. An inspiration there. A war that didn''t quite make sense. Monsters that killed not for blood, but to savor thought.

    Just to test the waters.

    And just like it expected, every seeds it planted was crushed before it could bloom.

    Making it sure that something was preventing this world from advancing too fast.

    But no matter, it can wait.

    And when the mortals finally reached the point where their minds could dream cities of steel and sorrow, where their towers pierced clouds and their science rewrote fate, when their gods no longer walked beside them—

    Then the feast would begin.

    Until then…

    It watches.

    It listens.

    It waits.