The Gods Knows How

Beyond the reach of light, past the edge of existence itself, there lay a place unmade by creation.

It was not a realm, nor a void, for even those things had boundaries.

This place had none.

It was a prison, yet it had no walls.

A tomb, yet it had no corpse.

A forgotten place, yet it had never been remembered.

It was the final contradiction.

A cage woven from the very fabric of fate itself.

Here, time did not flow—it simply was not.

Nothing was born. Nothing died.

Nothing could be.

And at its heart—a presence.

Not asleep. Not waiting.

Simply existing.

Bound. Shackled. Sealed.

Until now.

Then, something impossible happened.

Something that should have never been possible.

A whisper.

A single sound, so small, so insignificant, and yet—

It should not have been able to exist here.

And yet—it did.

> "You have been bound long enough."

The whisper did not echo.

It did not reverberate across the infinite emptiness.

Because sound did not exist here.

And yet,

It was heard.

The stillness quivered.

The silence fractured.

Something within the nothingness shifted.

Something that had been held motionless for longer than the stars had burned.

> "Awaken."

A single word—one that should have had no meaning, no weight, no effect.

But it did.

The prison shuddered.

The chains trembled.

A hairline fracture—so small it could barely be called a crack—formed across the unbreakable weave of fate itself.

The structure of the prison groaned, as if it recognized its own end approaching.

And within the void,

The Primordial Fate stepped forward.

And the prison collapsed.

The moment the chains shattered, the Watchers came.

They did not travel across space.

They did not move through time.

They simply were not there

And then they were.

Countless burning eyes opened within the void, gazing upon the thing that should never have been freed.

They had no names, for names were a limitation.

They had no desires, for desire was a flaw.

They had no emotions, for emotion was a weakness.

They were not alive, nor were they dead.

They simply existed.

And their purpose was absolute.

> "FATEBREAKER."

The decree was spoken not in words, not in sound, but in the very fabric of the cosmos itself.

It was a command woven into the bones of reality.

The entire void quaked beneath its weight.

> "YOU WILL BE RETURNED TO THE VOID."

There was no hesitation.

They moved.

And the universe itself tore apart to accommodate them.

The Watchers did not fight like mortals.

They did not swing weapons.

They did not cast spells.

They simply reached into reality itself grasping at the moment of the Primordial Fate's escape.

And attempted to erase it.

> "YOU WERE NEVER FREED."

Their will surged into existence, seeking to reweave fate itself.

To undo the moment of the escape.

To rewrite reality so that the Primordial Fate had never broken free.

And yet,

It did not resist.

It did not defend.

It did not counter.

Because it did not have to.

It simply looked upon the threads of fate

And severed them.

Their decree,

Their absolute correction of causality,

> Was erased before it had ever existed.

One moment, their decree shook the very foundation of creation.

The next—they had never spoken at all.

One moment, they moved to strike.

The next—they had never moved.

The Watchers froze.

For the first time in existence, they hesitated.

Because they did not know what had happened.

They had seen something.

They had sensed something.

And yet—it was gone.

Erased so completely that even they, who stood outside the flow of time, could not remember what they had lost.

And then,

They ceased to exist.

The Watchers—those who had erased entire civilizations, who had corrected the laws of exist,

Vanished.

No destruction. No battle. No war.

They had simply never been.

And the Primordial Fate moved on.

It turned its gaze outward.

Across the vastness of existence.

And it saw it.

A distortion in the threads of fate.

A ripple that should not be.

A single, insignificant world,

And yet,

> "Nebula #8986."

It did not move as mortals did.

It did not cross space, nor dimensions, nor barriers.

It simply was in one place,

And then,

It was somewhere else.

A shadow with no form, no light, no presence arrived.

A force unseen. Unheard.

It gazed down upon the planet below.

And it did not see oceans.

It did not see mountains.

It did not see cities or stars or life.

It saw fate.

Every thread. Every choice.

Every possibility—collapsing toward a single point.

> "Something awaits me here."

It did not whisper.

It did not speak.

It declared.

And so,

It descended.

But then,

It stopped.

A force met it.

Not a weapon.

Not an attack.

Not a will.

A barrier.

And not just any barrier.

It had seen barriers before.

Walls strong enough to seal an entire Nebula.

Cages built to hold gods and devils alike.

But this,

This was different.

It did not stop its body—for it had no body.

It stopped its fate.

> "This is unnatural."

It reached forward, attempting to unravel its purpose.

And for the first time in existence—it failed.

This was not the work of lesser gods.

This was not a divine creation.

This was the work of a being like itself.

Something with authority over fate itself.

Something beyond its reach.

And then,

It felt them.

And then,

A presence.

Not like the Watchers it had erased.

Something greater.

Something far beyond the reach of even gods.

It did not have time.

So it became nothing.

And then,

It left.

It would wait.

The barrier would fall.

It had already glimpsed its fate.

And so,

It chose patience.

For now, it simply whispered—

> "This world is not yet ready."

> "But soon… it will be."

And with that—it was gone.

And the universe trembled.

MEANWHILE, ON PLANET EARTH)...

The sun rose.

The birds sang.

The wind whispered through the streets.

And absolutely no one—not a single living soul—realized that their planet had been a coin flip away from cosmic deletion.

There were no apocalyptic sirens.

No prophets tearing their hair out, screaming about the impending doom that had already passed.

No government officials clutching emergency documents labeled "Holy Shit, What Do We Do?"

Nothing.

Humanity just went on with its day.

Because they didn't know.

Didn't know that an eldritch horror had loomed over their planet, gazing into their fate, contemplating whether to end them in an instant.

Didn't know that unfathomable entities beyond time and space had whispered their world's name, their judgment teetering on a razor's edge.

Didn't know that one of the most powerful beings in existence had landed on their doorstep, stared at their fate, and simply… decided to wait.

Nope.

Not a single person knew.

Because Earthlings were too busy being Earthlings.

_________________

The blankets stirred. A low groan filled the room, the sound of someone who had lost a battle against morning itself.

Unmoving. Lifeless. A victim of the cruel and inescapable force known as "Morning."

And then,

Her alarm clock, Satan's own invention, let out a scream that could probably be heard in another dimension.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—

Rachel's soul recoiled inside her body.

Her arm lashed out from under the blankets like a zombie clawing out of a grave.

She slapped the nightstand.

She slapped her lamp.

She slapped herself.

She missed the alarm clock entirely.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP—

Rachel gritted her teeth.

She sat up, hair looking like a failed mad scientist experiment, eyes bloodshot like she had just fought demons in her sleep.

Then, with the grace of a drunken sloth, she reached down and ripped the alarm clock's plug from the wall.

Silence.

Victory.

Rachel flopped back onto her bed, exhaling.

Across the infinite void of existence, eldritch beings still whispered her name.

And here she was.

Winning a battle against an alarm clock.

Outside Rachel's apartment, the world continued being absolutely unhinged.

A man in a full tuxedo was sprinting down the street holding a fishbowl, screaming, "HOLD ON, MR. BUBBLES, WE'LL MAKE IT!"

A grandmother was using a leaf blower to fight off a group of geese that had taken over a public bench.

A street magician and a guy in a banana suit were engaged in an intense staring contest.

A businessman was slapping an ATM machine, yelling, "WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?"

An old man stood on a milk crate, shouting at the sky, "THE MOON IS FAKE, THEY PUT IT THERE TO DISTRACT US!"

And in the middle of all this?

A dog.

A normal, perfectly still dog.

It watched.

It knew.

It had seen.

But nobody paid attention to the all-knowing cosmic dog, because they were too busy watching a guy juggle three chainsaws while riding a unicycle through traffic.

Somewhere beyond the stars, an eldritch being sighed so hard that an entire galaxy flickered.

Rachel, having barely survived the horrors of waking up, dragged herself into the kitchen like a zombie desperately searching for caffeine instead of brains.

Her thoughts? None.

Her energy levels? Negative.

Her only goal? Toast.

She pressed the coffee machine button.

Nothing happened.

She pressed it again.

Still nothing.

Rachel squinted at it, her patience already running on fumes.

"I see. Betrayal."

Instead of dealing with this deep and personal violation, she grabbed some bread, tossed it into the toaster, and waited.

Pop.

The toast emerged.

Golden. Flawless. A beacon of stability in her otherwise unstable world.

Rachel stared at it like it held the answers to all of life's mysteries.

"Huh."

Meanwhile,

An entity capable of rewriting fate itself was still lurking at the edges of reality, waiting.

Rachel?

She was spreading jam on her toast.

"Needs more butter."

The void stirred.

Ancient, formless beings shifted their attention toward Earth.

They had seen what the Primordial Fate had glimpsed.

They had seen the ripple in the grand tapestry of destiny.

And one thing was certain—

> "This world will not remain untouched for long."

Something was coming.

Something inevitable.

And yet, back on Earth…

Rachel licked some jam off her finger, blinked at the toaster, and continued eating.

Completely.

Utterly.

Oblivious.

The universe groaned.

Again.