Theta's Nulls always knew existence was a sick cosmic joke created by his race—he just didn't expect to wake up as the punchline.
Theta's Nulls was the last. The only one left. And in a creation where there were countless cataverses stretching forever in the void, he had been a force—a being whose very thoughts could twist the laws of existence, reshaping reality itself.
He had been the apex of his race, the most brilliant and brightest among them. There was nothing he couldn't alter, nothing he couldn't change. And yet he was still alone, not because he was, but because he chose to be. He had outlasted the others, burned brighter, thought faster, reached higher. Theos had devoured gods and made them tools. Nulls had mastered Theos, then outlived them all.
Now, he stood alone.
His feet barely touched the space beneath him, his vessel a silhouette against the dark sky of a creation that had forgotten what it meant to be real. Time and space, the very concepts he had once molded at will, were obsolete in this place. The ghost of his civilization echoed in the distance—a dead signal humming in a static void. They had perished, consumed not by weakness, but by arrogance. His arrogance. Their certainty that existence could be tamed.
"If only I'd engineered those two concepts to survive this crappy condition. But, no, here I am—stuck trying to make it work like some kind of failed experiment," he muttered, a dissapointed sigh escape his mouth, if it can be called one.
His thoughts, fragmented and elusive, swirled in the dark expanse like a broken machine that had lost its gears. "If only," he thought again, the weight of the possibility pressing down on him with the same suffocating force as the void itself. The concepts he'd once forged, brilliant in their inception, now seemed laughable.
The environment around him—chaotic, fractured, a realm where the laws of physics were more suggestion than rule—had eaten away at everything he thought he understood. It was a mockery of his genius, a cruel joke at the expense of his race's once-unquestioned mastery of reality. He could feel the cracks in his own mind, the subtle unraveling of ideas that had once seemed impervious, immutable.
"If only."
The thought gnawed at him, a constant companion in the endless solitude. "If only I'd seen this coming, if only I'd crafted those concepts with the kind of resilience to survive this place in creation. But no, here I am—just another victim of my own laziness." But the truth was: even his creations had their limits. And this place, this void, was beyond those limits.
There were no planets left to shape, no stars to sculpt. Not even a single whisper of life remained. Except them. Only the endless expanse of quiet nothingness, like a cosmic graveyard for all the echoes of what had been.
Nulls took a long drag from his cigarette, watching the glowing ember flicker in the silent void. The smoke swirled in patterns, not because there was wind—there was no wind here—but because the force of the nothingness itself refused to allow the smoke to vanish entirely. It hovered, thickened, became a drifting reminder of something real in a place where nothing had any claim to such an illusion.
He stared at the trail of smoke and spoke softly, more to himself than anything else. "What's the point of bending reality if there's no one left to impress, huh? No one to do anything for? Except, of course, them. But because they're midly entertaining."
He exhaled, the smoke curling around him in defiance of the cold emptiness. In this space, there was no 'up' or 'down.' There was no direction—only the weight of silence pressing on his chest, a crushing reminder of how far things had fallen.
"I don't need to be a god," Nulls continued, his voice hollow, almost amused. " Not anymore. What's the point? I could mold multiverses if I felt like it, twist timelines until they bleed into each other, create life—destroy it all with just a thought. But here I am. Alone. The last of my kind. The last member of Theos. And for what? To stare at the nothingness I helped create?"
He spat the cigarette out, watching it float lazily in the vacuum. It turned end over end, no gravity to guide its fall, and disappeared into the shadows of the void. His fingers, once so powerful, twitched in frustration at the endless quiet. It was the kind of silence that gnawed at him, a hollow noise that wasn't really silence at all, but something much worse. The absence of sound. The absence of anything at all.
Nulls turned his eyes towards his ship, floating silently in the distance, its sleek hull an eerie contrast against the backdrop of emptiness. The vessel was designed by his own hands, its construction bending the laws of space, time, and physics. It was the last remnant of a race that could bend and shape existence, now forgotten in the waste of what had once been a thriving cosmos.
"This ship?" Nulls muttered, almost to himself. "It can outlast creation itself. Burned it. Destroyed it. Over and over until it was barely a memory. And yet, here I am, talking to myself, with no one else around. Except… them."
He chuckled, though it was a bitter sound, a twist in his chest. The last of his kind—no gods, no sentient life to challenge him, no civilizations to raise or destroy. Except them. He could do whatever he wanted. Anything.
But what was the point?
"I could summon entire worlds," he said, his voice almost playful, though the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "I could breathe life into a thousand species, make 'em bow to me, build empires just for kicks. But who the hell am I supposed to rule? There's no one left. Not a single spark of intelligence. Just me, alone. Except… them."
A long silence followed, thick and suffocating. His fingers twitched again. He could feel the weight of eternity pressing on him, a constant reminder that he had no one to share it with. No one to talk to. No one to be with. Except them.
He raised his hand to his chest, feeling the pulse of his heart—if it could even be called that. What was left of it? The Celestis Theos were gone. The advanced civilizations that had thrived under his influence had all vanished, wiped from existence as if they had never been. And Nulls, who had once stood as the arbiter of creation itself, now stood as nothing more than a hollow shell.
I've always been the one in control," he mused, his voice quieter now. "I shaped existence like a damn sculptor with clay. I've made cataverses, worlds, lives—all from my own thoughts. I was the peak. The apex of what it meant to be. But... I guess that doesn't mean jack now." He paused, his gaze drifting to the empty space around him, the cold void stretching on without end. "Nothing matters anymore."
Nulls took another drag from his cigarette, watching the ember flare brighter this time, almost as if it were a defiant spark in the face of oblivion. "Maybe I was wrong," he said softly. "Maybe the joke is on me."
His voice echoed in the nothingness, hollow and distant. He didn't expect a response. No one ever did, anymore.
"I was the one who shaped existence," he continued, his words slowing down as though each one carried more weight. "The one who could rewrite reality itself with a single thought. I had all the power. All the control. But now, with nothing left but a void, what am I supposed to do with it? What's the point of being at the top if there's no one left to mock? Except them."
A faint bitterness slipped into his voice. "I don't even care anymore," he muttered. "I could remake this creation, wipe it clean, hell, turn it into something worthwhile—something I could actually stomach. But… why bother?"
His gaze shifted to the dark horizon, the edge of the void where nothingness met nothingness. "I guess that's the worst part of it all," he said, the corners of his mouth curving into a grim smile. "I can do anything. But there's nothing left to do it for."
Nulls exhaled, his breath a vapor that danced for a moment in the cold, empty air before disappearing. "What a joke. A god with nothing to control. A creator with no creation. A king without a kingdom."
His shoulders slumped, the weight of solitude pressing him down. He was the apex, the last of his race, but what did that mean when there was no one left to witness it? No one to marvel at his power, to challenge him, to push him beyond his limits?
Nothing.
Nulls looked up again, his gaze piercing through the infinite blackness. There were no cataverses. No multiverses. No photon. Just the infinite, oppressive quiet of a creation that had long since forgotten what it was to live.
"I guess I'll just have to make my own company," he whispered to no one, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips. "After all, I've been the last of everything for so long. What's one more solitary eternity?"
And then he remembered.
Them.
Theta's Null stood in the center of his void-chamber, the only sound in the emptiness the faint hum of his own thoughts. His eyes were fixed on a point that wasn't there—no universes, no multiverses no cataverses. Just the infinite blackness where time and space had long since grown irrelevant.
He was alone. But his mind—his mind—was anything but empty.
"I could do it all at once," he murmured to himself, pacing slowly in the silence. "Tear everything apart. Rip the fabric of this creation wide open. Watch it scream. But that's too easy. Too fast."
He paused, a small, self-satisfied smile curling at the corner of his lips.
"No, no, no. What would be the point? It's not about the destruction. It's about the delay. The anticipation. The slow, inevitable slide toward disaster."
He tilted his head, considering. What if?
"What if I could just... push them? All of them. Humans, to be specific. To see how far I can go before they break. They think they know everything, but they don't know shit. It'd be entertaining to watch them try to figure it out, to think they're on the verge of something great, all while I sit back and let their little world crumble under its own weight."
He chuckled darkly to himself.
"Let them play god with their inventions. Let them build their little pieces of greatness, their tiny victories. I'll be the shadow over their shoulder, watching. Let them think they have control, let them think they have time."
A small spark of malice flickered in his eyes.
"They're so damn fragile. One mistake, one wrong move, and the entire system collapses. And I get to watch them scramble like rats in a maze—like pets."
He drifted, not walking, but simply existing in that space where even gravity was a suggestion, not a rule.
"What if I give them just enough hope to keep going? Just enough success so they keep building their little empires of knowledge. Then—then—I pull the rug out from under them."
Null smiled, slow and deliberate.
"Maybe I'll show them a glimpse of something far beyond them. A breakthrough they can't understand. Something impossible. And then, I'll let them chase it. Watch them burn through their resources, their minds, trying to figure out something that will never work. No matter how hard they try, they won't reach it."
His voice was quiet, his thoughts now turning darker.
"It'll hurt. The agony of chasing something they'll never touch. The confusion, the frustration as they come closer and closer to the truth, only to find out it's completely out of their reach. They'll break themselves. And they won't even know who to blame."
Null paused. He savored the thought, a cold glee building in his chest.
"Maybe I'll make one of them believe they're special. The chosen one, perhaps. Let them think they have the key. Maybe I'll even plant the idea in a few minds that the universe is calling to them, begging for them to save it. They'll build up their delusions, their trust in their own brilliance."
He laughed again, low and soft.
"And when they fail... I'll be right there, watching them. Watching as their world crumbles. Watching as they realize they were never meant to succeed."
His eyes flicked toward nothing, the faintest trace of amusement dancing across his face.
"I think I'll wait. Let them get comfortable. Let them believe they've cracked the code. Let them start building their little future. And when they're so sure of themselves, when they're ready to reach the heavens... I'll show them just how far they can fall."
Null leaned back, as though reclining in an invisible chair, the plan already forming in his mind. It wasn't about power. Not anymore. It was about control. About the long game.
"I don't need to rush. Time's nothing to me. But... when the moment's right, when the clock's ticking down and they're too far gone to stop, I'll let them see the truth."
He smiled, a dark, predatory grin.
"The universe doesn't give a damn about your will. It only takes what it wants. And I'm the one who decides when to collect."
Theta's Null stood motionless in the center of his chamber, his hands clasped behind his back, staring into the nothingness. He wasn't truly looking at anything. He was thinking. Calculating. He could have pulled any number of human minds to torment, but there was only one who intrigued him enough to warrant his attention.
Sinclair.
Null's lips twisted in an almost affectionate sneer.
"Sinclair… you're good. Too good," he muttered to himself. "I can feel it. That brilliant spark of potential. You're the kind of mind I could appreciate. But there's just one little problem."
Null's gaze grew cold.
"You're... still human."
The word was almost an insult, spat out like it held no weight. Humans. Fragile, fleeting things. Yet Sinclair wasn't just some ordinary scientist. No. She was a force. The kind of force that could be... manipulated.
Null flicked his fingers, bringing up a digital dossier of the woman. Her achievements, her accolades, the countless papers, the theories, the grand successes that had made her a name above all others on Earth. His mind skimmed over the details effortlessly—data he had already memorized a thousand times over.
She was brilliant. Unquestionably so. She'd solved problems no one else could. She'd broken barriers, unraveled mysteries in ways that made the most ambitious geniuses of the last millennium look like toddlers. And yet...
Null's eyes narrowed. "Ohh..... Nulls you are fucking sick," Suddenly Nulls get an idea, a sick twisted and terrible one, He chuckled, voice low and dark. "And im loving it."
The screen in front of him flickered, showing Sinclair in her lab—working, thinking, creating as she always did. Her mind moving faster than her body could keep up with. She had already created devices that could alter quantum states, theories about time dilation that approached the impossible, and yet...
"She doesn't even know what's lurking just beyond her reach"
He slowly turned, pacing once more in the dark chamber. His thoughts spiraled, each idea more delicious than the last. He knew exactly what he'd do. What he wanted to do. And Sinclair? She was the perfect target.
"I'll give her a puzzle," he whispered, barely audible, the sinister idea forming in his mind. "A perfect puzzle that will stretch her to her limits. A discovery that seems like it's in her grasp, but the moment she thinks she's figured it out, I'll make sure it's just... wrong. She won't know why it's wrong. Not at first. She'll keep chasing it, thinking it's just another corner she hasn't turned yet."
Null's smile grew darker.
"Let her chase. Let her fail. She won't even realize how much she's destroying herself along the way."
He paused in front of the floating projection, eyes gleaming as he watched her scribble down equations and theories—so confident, so sure of herself.
"I'll make sure she believes she's on the edge of the greatest discovery of all time. The kind of thing that could make her legendary. But I won't let her see the strings I've tied her to."
Null's voice took on a mocking edge, like he was already speaking to her.
"You think you've figured it out, Sinclair? You think your mind can solve everything? No. You'll think you're about to rewrite reality itself, but you won't even know why you're failing. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it? Watching someone brilliant drown in their own brilliance."
A cruel, cold laugh bubbled from his throat.
"I'll give her just enough hope to keep her going. I'll make her see the potential. The future. I'll let her build something that seems so real, so alive, that she'll become obsessed. The closer she gets, the further away it will seem."
He clasped his hands together, staring at the projection of Sinclair again.
"Then when she's deep enough in the labyrinth, when she's twisted herself into knots trying to solve it... I'll let her see the truth. And it'll break her."
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with malicious satisfaction.
"There's nothing more satisfying than watching the smartest human on Earth get trapped in a riddle of their own making. They think they're the ones in control. They think they're making progress. But in the end... they're just ants in my hands. A puzzle piece I'm pushing around just to see what happens."
Null's grin widened.
"Sinclair, my dear... you're about to become the most brilliant failure in history. And I'll be here... watching it all unfold." He laughed and laugh and laugh. His laugh echoes throught the vessel. it was a twisted laugh of a man that will give everything for a little entertainment.