An agent.
That's what I am.
Agent of what, you ask?
Well, that's not such a simple question. But I'll try to explain it the best I can.
I am an Agent of the Universe's Will.
Strange? You think, well I too thought so, when I was offered the path. I didn't believe it myself at first. But once the truth hit me, there was no going back.
If you ask me how I got here or What I do?
You'll probably laugh at my answer. Once, what feels like a lifetime ago, I was just a regular middle-aged man living on a planet called Earth. A normal place, really. One of the countless little worlds spinning around their suns in the corner of space.
Huh, i remember the old saying from Earth 'Ignorance is a bliss'. Why you ask, because what is considered as home by billions living creatures, is nothing but a farm. Yes, you heard me right the first time. Earth is home only for creatures living within it, but to universe its a Farm. Yes, a soul farm. One of many across the galaxies.
You see, the universe doesn't just sit around watching things happen. It cultivates. It grows. And souls are its crop.
Every soul carry something you might call weight. Karma. Some people collect too much good. Others drown in the bad. And when the balance tips too far in either direction, a soul becomes too heavy and that's when it gets harvested. Pulled out of the cycle.
Where do those souls go?
They're given to the Old Ones.
Not gods. Not demons. Just beings. That's the only word that fits. They're older than time itself, older than thought. You don't measure their age. You don't even try.
And you ask why the universe feeds them souls? Why keep them alive?
Because everything, every soul, every planet, every war and whisper—is part of something much bigger.
It's called the Game of a Billion Years.
Fourteen universes exist side by side. And once every ten billion years, they compete. Not in politics, not in trade but in war. In raw, unfiltered power. It's a game of bloodbath, of survival, of superiority, and of cosmic dominance.
Each universe sends one hundred champions to represent it, on a battleground that are craved on planets that does not support life, illuminated by the stars around them. The rules are cruelly simple: win and live. Lose and die.
No second chances. No coming back.
Each universe's one hundred warriors are divided into five ranks:
Five Paragons – the strongest. Beings of legend and destruction.Ten Saints – wielders of deep, ancient power.Fifteen Emperors – rulers of chaos and law, masters of domains.Twenty Sentinels – warriors, guardians, balanced in might.Fifty Seekers – the rookies new bloods with potential but little experience.
And what do they fight for?
The winning universe the one that stands above the rest claims three priceless rewards, from the rest of 13 universes:
First, the right to devour one of the oldest galaxies, absorbing its stars, knowledge, and essence into its will becoming more unfathomed than it is.
Second, it takes a dying star, filled with raw and collapsing power perfect to gifts its champions.
And third, it gets to absorb a newborn galaxy not a random one, but one should have potential for bloom a planet that can sustain life.
But that's not all.
While the top universe claims these three prizes from each of the other thirteen. Second place takes from twelve. Third from eleven. And so, it continues.
The universe that finishes last?
It gets nothing.
No gifts. No chances. No glory.
It becomes the Empty One.
Now, as you can imagine, champions fall all the time. They die in battle, vanish from existence, or get erased by something too big to name. And when they do, the universe must fill the gap. It needs new champions. New souls.