The Primordial Lórd

If you notice any errors, please feel free to give me constructive feedback. English is not my first language, so if you notice any mistakes, please mention them in the comment section at the end of the chapter. Let's begin the story!

Word Count: 4270 Words

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Walking through the dimly lit streets, Williams spoke with a playful smile. "So, Katarina, as promised, we've made it to midnight. Let's truly get to know each other now."

She nudged him gently toward a nearby hotel. "Shouldn't we get to know each other first?"

"We will have time for it later.

He laughed softly. "Let's talk for a bit. Let's take a walk while we talk."

Sighing at his insistence, she relented with a faint smile. "If that's what you wish. Let's talk while we walk the streets."

---

"So, do you have any questions, Katarina? Let's make this interesting—each of us asks one question alternately."

Walking beside him under the crimson glow of the moonlight, she agreed. "All right, I'll go first. Can you really understand the code Roselle used in his writings?"

He nodded confidently. "Somewhat."

"Then, how long will it take you to decipher all of it?"

He stopped suddenly, turning to face her with a gentle sigh. "Hold on, it's my turn now." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, "But judging by your reaction earlier, I'm guessing you're quite devout—perhaps a follower of some god?"

She nodded slightly, but before she could respond, he raised a hand. "Wait, that's not my question."

Amused by his antics, she chuckled softly. "Fine, ask your real question, then."

Her laughter seemed to ease his nerves, and for a moment, he simply gazed at her. This was a rare, fleeting moment of peace for her—a break from the relentless tension of her recent battles.

Entertaining a powerless human like Williams had turned out to be far more enjoyable than she had expected. Initially, she'd planned to toy with him, and dispose of him afterward. But now, her plans shifted. He was intriguing, and his knowledge might prove useful. She resolved to keep him alive, at least for now, and spend what remained of the night with him.

Focusing her attention back on him, she caught the tail end of his question.

"...how do you contact your god or goddess?"

She blinked, startled. "What?" Lost in her musings, she hadn't heard him clearly. "Repeat that, will you?"

He sighed theatrically. "I'm fascinated by the concept of the Church," he began, his tone a blend of curiosity and exasperation. "But it's not like I can just ask anyone about it. Knowing these people, they'd probably burn me at the stake for being sacrilegious."

She nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips as he continued.

"So, here's what I want to know: how do you communicate with your deity? There must be some connection, right? Otherwise, how can you trust their existence? It's not like you can meet them whenever you want." He grinned suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "They're not like some fool who organizes a gathering every Monday for casual chats with their followers."

Her laughter rang out, soft and melodic, as she caught the jest.

"So, Williams, what brought on this curiosity?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I'm a part-time detective," he replied, his expression mock-serious.

"Oh, a multitasker, are we?" she teased theatrically, earning a sheepish grin from him.

"Yes, well... to be honest, the only reason I approached you tonight is because of a case I was given."

Her expression darkened slightly at his words, her instincts sharpening. She scanned their surroundings subtly, searching for any hidden threats.

"I was tasked with investigating someone named Cheek," he said casually, oblivious to her sudden tension.

Katarina's body tensed as realization dawned. Her instincts screamed at her to eliminate him, but she hesitated, keeping her expression neutral.

"You won't believe this," he continued, his voice growing more distressed. "But magical people—yes, magical—hired me to do this. They wanted me to get close to you, to learn something. They threatened to kill me if I refused."

He kept walking, seemingly unaware of her growing unease.

"They're insane," he muttered. "They wanted me to make you contact your goddess. I mean, how absurd is that? God is dead—or so I'd like to say. I even tried using that line to dissuade them, but they wouldn't listen."

"God is dead?" she echoed, her voice laced with curiosity and suspicion.

"Just a saying," he replied dismissively. "But they were relentless. They told me I wasn't a threat because I'm not a magician, so you wouldn't be wary of me. Can you imagine?"

Katarina forced herself to stay calm, though her mind raced with possible scenarios. "So, what now?" she asked, her voice steady. "Are you taking me to them?"

He stopped and turned to face her, his expression sincere. "No, of course not. I'm taking you to the Church. The Church of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom. Surely they wouldn't dare set foot there."

She narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze sharp and scornful.

He sighed. "Don't worry, Katarina. You're a believer of the God of Knowledge and Wisdom aren't you."

For now, she followed, her steps deliberate and her senses heightened. Trust was a fragile thing, but for the moment, she played along, watching and waiting.

Earning a scornful gaze from her, he sighed, his worries clearly visible on his face.

---

Walking in hurried steps, Williams suddenly stumbled. His body went limp as he collapsed to the ground. Panic surged through him as he tried to stand, only to realize he couldn't feel his legs. Trembling, he followed Katarina's cold gaze to where she stood, looking down on him with an expression of disdain. His eyes dropped further, and horror overtook him. His legs—severed cleanly at the knees—lay a short distance away, blood pooling beneath him. Pain surged like fire, searing his mind, and he screamed with all the air his lungs could muster.

Katarina sneered, her voice sharp and unyielding. "I don't believe in the God of Knowledge and Wisdom."

Williams's face contorted in agony, a mix of confusion and fury. "That's no reason to cut off my legs!"

Her smirk widened, cold and cruel. "It's not about belief. It's about survival. Whoever sent you my way underestimated the stakes. A powerless mortal meddling in the Beyonder world? Foolish."

His body quaked with pain as he clutched at the stumps of his thighs, blood slick on his trembling hands. "They… they didn't tell me..." His voice cracked as he tried to form coherent words.

Katarina knelt before him, her expression a mixture of mockery and menace. "So, Williams Moriarty," she purred, "it would be wise to spill everything you know. Who sent you to me? I promise, you might live to see another day."

Her words carried a venom that only deepened his terror. Sweat mingled with blood on his pallid face as he gasped, fighting to remain conscious. "I don't know their names," he whispered through gritted teeth. "They… they all wore monocles."

Her sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease. "Monocles?" she repeated, her tone sharp. "A group of them?"

He nodded weakly. "Yes... a group."

Her mind raced. 'Amon?' The name reverberated in her thoughts, sending shivers down her spine. But no—if it were truly 'Him', this would be no petty scheme. Amon wouldn't need to rely on a hapless mortal. He'd either take control of the city or seize the man entirely for his own purposes. No, this was someone else, perhaps an imitator capitalizing on the chaos following the Fool's Apotheosis.

Moreover, from what she had heard, he had fallen, weakened.

She straightened, her decision made. Her gaze turned colder, sharper. Katarina reached into the folds of her clothing, producing a gleaming dagger that seemed to drink in the faint moonlight. She crouched beside him, her blade hovering over his chest.

"You fancy yourself a god, don't you, Williams?" she said, her tone laced with dark amusement. "Such arrogance doesn't suit someone as weak as you. And you were curious, weren't you? About who I serve?"

His face twisted with pain, but he forced himself to speak. "I know... I know about the Primordial One... the Primordial Demoness. I've done my research."

Her laughter was cold, biting. "So, they fed you even that much information," she mused, shaking her head. "Idiots. To plan this so sloppily, to hire a powerless human to meddle in such affairs—it's almost insulting. But I suppose this is what must be done."

She tightened her grip on the dagger, the blade now pressing lightly against his chest. His labored breaths came faster.

"You should pray to the Primordial Demoness, may be she would give you salvation. It's a pity, you would have turned into a fine young lady but we must depart."

"So," he rasped, "does your 'Primordial Demoness' have an Honorific Name like the others?"

Her body stilled, her eyes going blank for a fleeting moment. A wave of drowsiness overtook her, as if her thoughts were slipping through cracks in her mind. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head to dispel the strange haze. Her vision cleared, and her focus returned to the man before her, writhing in agony.

Without another word, she drove the dagger into his heart. His body jerked, then stilled, his eyes frozen wide with shock and pain.

---

Katarina disappeared into the shadows, moving swiftly through the city streets until she reached the safety of another hotel. Her senses were on high alert, scanning for any sign of pursuit or danger. Once inside her rented room, she locked the door and leaned against it, her breaths coming fast and shallow.

Peeling off her blood-stained clothes, she changed into something clean, her movements mechanical and detached. Walking to the window, she gazed out at the crimson moon that hung ominously in the sky. Its glow bathed the city in an eerie light, stirring unease in her chest. She sighed heavily, the events of the night replaying in her mind.

Turning from the window, her eyes fell on the tall, ornate mirror that adorned the far wall. She approached it, smoothing her hair with trembling fingers. But as her hands moved to her reflection, she froze.

Her heart skipped a beat. There was no reflection.

Her fingers trembled as she reached toward the mirror again, her breath quickening. She stared at the empty glass, the absence of her image staring back at her like a void. Fear wrapped itself around her heart like a vice.

Desperation clawed at her. She reached into her bag, pulling out the idol of her Goddess with trembling hands. Kneeling before the mirror, she began to pray, whispering the Honorific Name of the Primordial One over and over again. Her voice quivered, rising with panic as she sought the connection she'd always felt—an unshakable tether to her Goddess.

But there was nothing.

The silence was deafening, the emptiness suffocating. Her prayers echoed in the stillness of the room, unanswered. The idol felt cold in her hands, lifeless and inert.

Katarina's gaze shifted back to the mirror, the void where her reflection should have been filling her with dread. Her lips trembled as the whispers of doubt and fear crept into her mind. For the first time in years, she felt truly alone.

---

Her head snapped toward the window as a low, chilling laugh echoed through the room. Sitting on the window frame, legs swinging leisurely, was none other than Williams Moriarty. Her breath caught in her throat, her gaze involuntarily drawn to his legs—whole and unscathed, as though they had never been severed. The sight left her speechless, her mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before her.

Williams stood slowly, stepping into the room with an eerie calm. The air shifted. A suffocating force, overwhelming and oppressive, bore down on her. It drowned her in its weight, leaving her mouth to open and close wordlessly. No sound escaped her lips, no cry of defiance or denial.

He seemed unbothered by her stunned silence, his voice resonating as though addressing an unseen audience. "The God of Knowledge and Wisdom is dead. The God is dead—not just Him, but all of them. Some are gone in the truest sense; others are simply dead to you. You, who have been severed from all that is divine. Your strength as a Demigod? Stripped away entirely. Yet you never noticed. Fool that you are, fooling you was almost too easy."

His words cut through her like shards of ice. His footsteps were deliberate, each one echoing louder than it should. He stopped in front of the table where her trembling hands had placed the idol of the Primordial Demoness. His gaze lingered there before drifting back to her.

"Praying, are we?" he murmured, almost mockingly.

Williams turned to the mirror on the far side of the room, inspecting his reflection with the casual air of a man unconcerned with the chaos he had sown. Dusting imaginary specks from his coat, he adjusted his hat, turning back to face her. His gloved hand reached for the mirror, his fingers brushing its surface as he spoke, his tone dripping with irony.

"My lady," he said, his voice smooth, "there exists no mirror in this world that could hold your beauty. Even the finest or the crudest glass fails to reflect what lies before me. Your splendor transcends the bounds of this reality."

His words rang with a peculiar duality—half-flattery, half-condemnation. She tried to discern his Pathway, her thoughts a chaotic tangle, but the crushing pressure he emanated kept her paralyzed.

Picking up the idol of the Primordial Demoness from the table, he held it delicately, like a relic he both revered and mocked. Her instinct was to lunge for it, to reclaim it, but her body refused to move. The invisible force weighing her down only intensified as he held her goddess's symbol aloft.

"The source of all catastrophes;

The symbol of destruction and the apocalypse;

The Demoness who controls Chaos," he intoned, his voice carrying an almost reverent cadence.

He moved to the center of the room, retrieving a bowl from the historical void—a vessel that seemed to shimmer with fragments of forgotten time. Placing it on the table, he climbed atop it with an almost childlike ease, sitting cross-legged as if preparing for some sacred ritual.

With a snap of his fingers, a bracelet formed from black snakes appeared within the bowl, coiling and twisting around other scattered Beyonder characteristics that materialized alongside it. Katarina's breath hitched. She could *feel* their pull, the distinct allure of each item calling to her very essence.

Williams poured an unknown potion into the bowl, its shimmering liquid merging with the items inside. The air crackled with energy, thick and suffocating. He set the bowl aside and stepped down, his movements fluid and unhurried.

Walking toward her, his expression was devoid of pity, his voice carrying a calm finality. "God is dead, after all."

In a single swift motion, he drove a dagger into her chest, piercing her heart. Katarina's world turned cold as darkness enveloped her. Her body slumped, lifeless, onto the floor.

---

The room dissolved around him as he reached into the historical void once more, retrieving a spoon with an air of nonchalance. Sitting at the table, he stared at the potion he had created, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Fooling her, stealing her thoughts, corrupting her soul by planting seeds of corruption, to using Evil Words—what a mess," he muttered, stirring the concoction absently. With another snap of his fingers, a white snake, its mouth fused to its tail in an eternal circle, materialized beside him. The snake began to separate the Beyonder characteristics and Uniqueness from the potion, each fragment settling into neat order.

"Perhaps I shouldn't," he mused aloud, his gaze faraway. "I wonder... would consuming all these Beyonder characteristics and Uniqueness finally decide the eternal battle between the Original Creator and the Miracle of my Transmigration?"

The scene shifted abruptly, and he found himself in the midst of ruins. The land was barren, its buildings toppled by an earthquake or some other catastrophic force. The table remained before him, untouched by the devastation, as Beyonders of various pathways approached.

One by one, they crumbled to dust before reaching him, their Beyonder characteristics appearing on the table like offerings. Williams tilted his head, watching the process with mild curiosity.

"Parasiting Beyonders," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Convenient. No wonder Amon used it so much."

The table now overflowed with characteristics and Uniqueness, a chaotic symphony of power waiting to be claimed. He poured another potion into the bowl, transforming the disparate fragments into a single, viscous elixir. Pouring it into a colossal glass, he downed it in one gulp.

Slouching in his chair, he gazed at the crimson moon hanging low in the sky. Its ominous glow bathed the ruins in a blood-red hue.

"How times change," he murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy. "Once, the Outer Gods sought to break into this world, and it was the barrier of the Original Creator that held them back. Now, they've trapped me within this cage, fleeing into the void. They sacrificed the Sefirots to escape... such cowardice."

His hand brushed the table, revealing the Uniqueness of Mother, Moon, and Demoness, each radiating an otherworldly power. He chuckled softly.

"All Uniqueness combined," he mused, "yet they remain the ones capable of turning me into a woman. I've gone mad, become an Eldritch God beyond mortal comprehension... but even that doesn't justify it. I've become crazy but not enough to change my gender. I am not taking any chances with this."

His laughter echoed into the crimson night, a sound that lingered long after he fell silent, lost in thought beneath the bloodstained moon.

---

His gaze lingered on the Crimson Moon, its haunting glow filling the void around him. With a slow stretch of his right hand toward the celestial body, he snapped his fingers. The moon's crimson hue faded, reverting to its serene, silvery-white glow.

"Now, this," he murmured softly, "this is what I longed for—to gaze upon the beautiful moon I once knew."

He massaged his temples, but a sudden shift within his form caused his focus to waver. All across his body, eyes—unnatural, pulsating, watchful—began to open, born from the raw convergence of Beyonder Characteristics and Uniqueness that coursed through him.

"I already house nineteen Uniquenesses from the Blasphemy Slate," he mused. "With three others also in my grasp, what more is left? I wonder…"

Yet as he contemplated, he felt it: the Will of the Original Creator stirring, attempting to take control. The Miracle from his transmigration fighting it off. It was like an ancient hourglass, but one not intend to measure time. Instead of sand, it was his body—the damage inflicted upon it—that drove the glass toward emptiness. His Miracle of Transmigration, once boundless, was now nearing its end. The Creator's Will, relentless and insidious, encroached further. Only fragments of the Miracle remained, locked in a ceaseless battle to stave off oblivion.

"So," he whispered, resignation in his voice, "it's time."

With deliberate care, he gathered the table and his items. A door materialized before him, silent and ominous, shimmering with the light of stars unseen. Without hesitation, he stepped through, vanishing into the vastness of the Cosmos.

---

On a barren, forgotten planet, a lone figure wandered aimlessly. The air was still, the silence oppressive, yet Williams Moriarty moved with a strange purpose. His steps carried him to the summit of a hill, where a simple, weathered lamp lay buried beneath layers of dust. Kneeling, he lifted it and brushed its surface with almost reverent care.

"Oh, Genie," he said with a wry smile, "let's play."

The lamp trembled in his hands, and a deep, resonant voice emerged. It was neither welcoming nor forgiving. "So, you've finally come to keep your end of the bargain. Not only did you destroy the planet where my other self resided, you injured it, chased it into exile, and sealed me here on this forsaken rock. Now, you return—not to apologize, but to kill yourself... and me."

The Genie's voice grew sharper as it observed the myriad eyes on Williams' body.

"I understand your frustration," Williams replied, unbothered by the accusation. "But let's get to our deal. I return your Sefirot, and you comply with my requests."

The Genie chuckled bitterly. "A deal is a deal. Fate would have brought you here eventually, even if you had forgotten. The time is near—the Original Creator's Will stirs within you. When it awakens, the Universe will unravel. All will converge. Not me, nor you, nor any other deity will survive."

"I understand," Williams said simply. "As per our deal, you will strip the Earth of all Beyonder-related power and bestow it upon me. Since I already hold all Sequence 0 positions on Earth, there's no threat remaining. Next, I will release all the Sefirots into the Cosmos, far from Earth. Lastly, you will help me open a portal—one that leads outside the Universe, away from the Original Creator."

The Genie's voice turned grave. "I remember our deal, even after your betrayal. But let me remind you—there is nothing outside this Universe. All that exists was created by the one you call the Original Creator. Your optimism is foolish, though fascinating. And when you fail to escape, the Creator will awaken fully. That is inevitable."

Williams gave a faint smile. "I know."

"There is still time," the Genie offered, almost pleading. "You could separate the pathways, stall for years. What you're attempting... it's impossible. The place you seek doesn't exist."

Sitting cross-legged on the ground, Williams gazed at the twinkling stars above. "It exists, Son of Chaos. I know it does. After all, I come from beyond this Universe. I've been trapped here, shackled to this existence, and I refuse to die within it."

The lamp grew silent, its presence heavy. Moments later, the first wish was fulfilled.

---

As Williams sat, blood began to stream from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, pooling on the dusty ground. The eyes across his body wept black ichor as well, each droplet a testament to the toll he bore.

"Ah…" he laughed softly, glancing to his side. "So, this is how it is, Genie. How poetic—so many Outer Deities have come to witness my farewell."

In the distance, dark shapes loomed—monstrous entities, each more grotesque than the last. Their forms wavered between reality and nightmare, their numbers stretching into the thousands. Yet none dared to draw near.

The Genie remained silent as Williams tossed the lamp aside. With blood seeping from every pore, he staggered to his feet. His skin began to crack and peel, revealing the writhing mass of worms that formed his true body. Each step he took left a trail of decayed, lifeless fragments of himself.

Many a worms died falling off his body, weakening him.

Breaking free of the planet's atmosphere, he faced the Outer Deities encircling him. Most were mere Sequence 0 entities, yet scattered among them were Great Old Ones—pillars of power rivaling the likes of the CW or the God Almighty.

---

The battle was brief yet catastrophic. Williams crashed into the planet's core, shattering it into oblivion. Floating amid the debris, he turned his gaze toward the encroaching Mist, his lips curling into a bloodstained smile.

"Let's end this," he murmured.

With a snap of his fingers, he summoned all the Sefirots once sealed by the CW on Earth. He had housed them within himself, propelling him beyond anything he could have ever imagined. Yet it was too much. The ravings of the Original Creator tore at his psyche, increasing hundred fold, fracturing his mind and robbing him of even the simplest coherence. While he failed to perform even simple act of walking or standing.

He had sealed the Sefirots, the only way to stave off their maddening influence of the excess powers. But now, summoning them all at once together with the millions of stars in Universe, he collided them all together. The resulting explosion tore a rift in space—a Supernova fueled by collapsing stars and the destructive force of the Sefirots.

As he fell through the tear, Williams reached out and ripped the Uniqueness of the Villain Pathway before falling into the crack, but the effort stripped him of his strength. The worms that made up his body fell away, leaving behind only his battered soul. With many worms dead and lost, he remained a shell of his past self.

With half closed eyes he stared at the explosion he had created, as he mused. "Now, I've become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds."

Drifting through the crack in space, he finally allowed himself to rest. His Miracle of Transmigration, the final fragment of his will, continued to battle the Creator's influence within his soul. Weakened and scarred, he succumbed to sleep, floating through the endless void. With the miracle finished, the Will of the Original Creator lost, leaving behind fragments of its will in his Soul.

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**The End**

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