Her father chuckled. “Don’t worry, she’s in there, all right. 

Her mother went through the same process, and, well, just look at 
her.” 

His wife hissed in agreement, coiling her tail around him. 

| held onto her egg, unsure 

whether or not 

to put it back down. 

“Why so tense? Set her down; she’s not going anywhere. 

She'll have finished her transformation by tomorrow.” 

| put her egg down on the seat 

and continued to eat, 

savoring the taste 

of my own imperfections. 


She was born the next day 

at the dinner table. The egg cracked and then ceased 
to exist, shattered into infinitesimally small bits 
by a dragonfly of jade and gold. She buzzed 
contentedly as | held her in my arms, 

admiring the circuitry in her wings. 

| crooned to her 

to let her know that | was there. 

She brought her head to meet mine. 

We connected, man and beyond-man. 

| kissed her, savoring 

Complex mouthparts, dexterous legs 


Lithe exoskeleton, slender antennae 
Deep eyes, lofty wings 
A scent of perfection to which | could only dream to aspire. 


Just me and her now, 

man and beyond-man. What was she seeing, thinking 
in that body beyond my mere comprehension? 

The cybernetic capsule within her head, 

seat of her human emotions, that last 

Vestige of imperfection in a body 

that was above my own. How could | love her any less 
knowing that she was destined to surpass me. 

But for now, us together 

sharing the jointed metamorphosis 

of this body of hers, more beautiful than before 

a soft, wet, warm thorax 

wings ripe with the scent of ambition 

A mind built to perceive 

A soul meant to dream 

A body created to achieve 

A destiny within the stars. 


She left me the way she entered 
in a flash that changed my life 

| ate her and took her capsule 
Seat of her mind 

Seat of her emotions 

Seat of her previous imperfection 
why 

Why did | eat her 

what dream did | have 

that | would seek to ruin hers? 
Does she realize what has happened 
Is this a nightmare 

this impulse to consume 

This horrific imperfection 

How do | save her from myself 


Join her in the capsule 

connect to her mind 

Uploaded to her world. 

She tasted of everything | wanted to be. 


stars. a platform. the sea. 

just us. her imperfect body. the one we shared. 
what can | tell her 

how do i save her dream 

she knows 

she looks at me and 

the virtual ocean in her eyes 

the burning of a sun in her heart 
she knows and 

she still loves me 

is this a dream? 

despite my imperfection 

through the nightmare 

the nightmare i created 

she still loves me 

she was never imperfect 

she has always been perfect 

she has always been headed for the stars 
this is her dream 

so this is my dream 

she can have my body 
metamorphosize and find the stars 
i remain in the capsule 

stars. platforms. the sea. 


Sometimes she visits. 

tells me stories of the stars 

tells me of the metamorphosized body | once had 
and of the stars it visited. 

the stars she visited. 

They sound beautiful. 

| look at the false ocean 


and look at the virtual stars 

and wonder what might have been 
in this dream 

what we might have been together 
but 

she is happy. 

the stars are open to her. 

this is the dream. 

this is my perfection. 


1. 


That was the current population of beings inhabiting the entire, 
extended multiverse. One single sapient being lay sleeping on the 
last patch of solid matter, topped with the last gas left from what 
once was. To the left of the being sat two items; one, a small rusted 
water bottle filled to the brim with water; the other, a small cardboard 
pizza box belonging to a human shop that had long since been 
forgotten and destroyed. The entire scene existed within a sphere 
only ten meters in diameter, with another human construct - a 
strange machine designed specifically to ensure the continued 
existence of this place - located at the exact centre, lighting it all in 
an azure glow. This was all that remained, existence began and 
ended here. 


It awoke and rose. It felt as though there was no lapse in 
awareness, no significant feeling designating that it had awoken 
from a slumber, nothing. It went directly from unaware to aware, and 
wasted no time in obtaining the bottle of water in an appendage and 
pouring its contents into a certain orifice designed to receive such. 
After a time it was satisfied, turning its attention to the ham, 
mushroom and pineapple pizza located within the last pizza box in 
existence, and began consuming it slowly, savouring the taste as it 
looked at the boundaries of its home. 


It followed the lines and cracks of the bleak lunar stone, out to where 
they began to blur and fade, and then beyond. To say there was 
nothing but pure black darkness there was to imply there was 
darkness there at all, which there most certainly was not. It looked 
out (Out? At? Through? Into? It wasn't sure what description could 
be used, if something such as this could be described) to the void of 
nonexistence that permeated and ruled supreme beyond its home, 
silently waiting beyond invisible boundaries to complete its invasion. 


It lazily, vainly searched for another speck, a sign of anything within 
the formless form of its timeless enemy, but it knew it would find 
nought. Even if by some immense chance, an astoundingly 
convenient stroke of luck ensuring that another such device 
preserving its home somehow became synchronised with the 
timeline and remnant spatial rules with that of its own, it would never 
be able to detect it; even mere centimetres away, there were no 
rules of physics or logic in the space between them, and thus 
nothing through which light, sound or even thought could travel 
through to reach each other. 


It paused on its current slice of pizza, idling before it had taken its 
first bite. It moved its food away from its orifice, out towards the 
edge of the island of existence, stopping with the tip of the slice 
flopping lazily just before the edge. The entity knew what would 
follow, but it enjoyed doing it nonetheless; there was little else to do 
here anyway. With a slow motion the slice was forced half-way 
beyond the boundaries of existence, before being withdrawn to 
reveal that all exposed to the void was gone, having been erased 
well below the subatomic level, below the quarks, beyond even the 
level of simple, raw energy. It was gone forever, erased from reality 
forever, impossible to recover by any means. With no interest in 
continuing the half-wasted slice, the entity carlessly tossed away the 
remaining piece, watching it briefly before it vanished. 


The sight reminded it of a story formed by a human many eons ago. 
The entity was not new to the universe, oblivious to the degree at 
which reality had been perverted; no, it was old and timeless, hiding 
beyond the view of watchful eyes, reaching out and listening quietly 
with its mind, learning of all that happened within its reach. Even as 
the holes began to tear open wider and wider, birthing untold new 
horrors and mysteries that could never feasibly be explained, it 
listened and learnt how these things had come to be, and planned 
for the inevitable time to come. It waited until the time was right, and 
took the three items it needed - items which once would have been 
protected and revered had lost importance and lay discarded by 
their owners, lapsing from their minds. 


The first was the pizza box - a simple little thing, capable of 
generating endless supplies of food whenever closed and opened 


once more. The limitation of such food always being a form of pizza 

was acceptable, especially considering how the generated food had 

eventually come to be randomised when the entity grew bored of the 
same repetitive flavours. 


The second appeared as simple as the first, a mere canister forged 
by the humans that had slowly yielded to time and age, but still 
retained its ceaseless supply of water that required only a motion to 
utilise. The water was good too, the mindless bottle ensuring that 
only liquid fit to nourish and sustain a jewelled regal flowed from its 
neck. 


With endless nourishment ensured for the entities’ own health, only 
One item remained; something with which to protect the final vestige 
of reality, an anchor to hold the ship of logic and sanity steadfast in 
the storm of chaos and destruction. The machine was used 
frequently by the humans to try and save themselves, but overuse 
and recklessness weakened them until they could do nought but 
bow beneath the foot of the invading destruction. This one, however, 
stood strong and alone. Though it never ceased function, endlessly 
grinding away to hold the spokes of physics together around it, its 
own solitude strengthened it tenfold as it used the force of 
nonexistence to hold the small sphere together in spite of it. With 
these three items the entity knew it could survive indefinitely and as 
such waited until the inevitable time came when their use was 
necessary. 


The entity recalled the story it brought to mind; one of a single, lone 
human fighting against a seemingly unstoppable force to save the 
universe from it. A perfect acid known only as Nothing, capable of 
consuming and erasing all it touched regardless of what it was, but 
capable of being used for endless possibilities to be achieved. It 
recalled how the tale had ended, with the human seemingly failing in 
their endeavour, becoming the final remaining component of its 
existence but being granted the power to undo almost all the 
damage that had occurred. The entity gave its closest analogue to a 
smirk, realising how similar the story was to his own predicament. 


But such were mere stories - such a rebirth was impossible here. 
Who was left to serve as the new architect? Nobody had made it but 
him. 


The dreamwalkers? They didn't make it, mischievous and cunning 
as they were. The bastards tricksters had likely realised their realm 
was crumbling around them and pulled some sly trick to try and 
preserve themselves, perhaps by sleeping themselves. But there is 
only so much of itself an ouroboros can eat before there is no more 
to feed on, and so the dreamwalkers would have died, taking the 
dreamlands with them. Dreams were no longer empty for the entity; 
there were simply no dreams. 


The priests of steel and bone? They didn't make it. They were too 
blinded by their furious rage for each other, trying to resurrect their 
own deity while destroying the other to think of their solutions to the 
problem. Even if the two had miraculously cooperated, worked 
together to birth and forge a combined deity of unrivalled might, it 
would have been unable to prevent the reverberating destruction 
that approached it. The entity wouldn't have been surprised if the 
two religions finally died with their leaders in each other's arms, 
clutching at the daggers each had pierced the other with. 


The Factory? It didn't make it. It likely never considered destruction 
as a threat, just a way to turn a greater profit before it was finally 
killed. It certainly made sure its walls didn't fall unnoticed, producing 
more and more flaws and errors in logic and causality as the end 
approached its borders, screaming louder and louder as the 
distance shortened until its maw was finally silenced like it should 
have been long ago. Perhaps the Factory was a small part of 
nonexistence, working to further its own spread? It didn't matter now 
- none of the Factory's machinations or products stood anymore. 


The Toymaker? He didn't make it, but he helped lessen the pain. 
While he was viewed as warped and insane by others, his motives 
were pure hearted and true, wishing only joy and happiness to those 
who needed it. Even as their parents became unspeakable 
monsters right before their eyes, the toymaker ensured they had 
some pleasant item to think back to before their end came. Not just 
children, no. Any who saw the wave approaching and were 
despairing were serviced by the toymaker, getting gifts of impossible 
puzzles and helpful dolls and the like. And though even the 
Toymaker met his end eventually, he passed peacefully 
remembering the smiles he granted to those who suffered. 


« SCP-695 | SCP-696 | SCP-697 » 


The sisters? They didn't make it. No number of fathers, timelines, 
events or plans had saved them in the end. No magnitude of 
revenge was enough to scare the destroyer from them. No 
desperate pleas brought divine protection to them. No, they passed 
without a thought or heed, their own secrecy preventing their story 
from being brought to mind, even by their father. 


The librarians? They didn't make it. Endless access to unlimited 
knowledge, countless burrows and trapdoors to sneak through, 
infinite supplies to anything they wished, and yet still they too fell. 
Their books shattered like glass, their legacy melted like their bones, 
and within moments they were gone as though their own book had 
been burnt. They knew what was coming and how it was coming, 
and so they knew more than any other how futile it was to resist a 
primordial force without mind or emotions. Their stories remained 
though, remembered by the few who encountered them and 
remained, and were told as legends and myths to entertain the 
babes and wives. But even they fell in time, knowledge itself 
becoming corroded and worn with time. 


The godslayers? They definitely didn't make it. In a way they were 
the lucky ones, being spared from viewing what their thoughtless 
actions had wrought. The entity didn't entirely know what became of 
them - were they slain early and mercilessly? Or did some of them 
remain long enough to view the feedback of their mindless 
destructive nature consume them whole? Did they see as their rivals 
became powerful and corrupted in their obsessive motives and 
involuntary actions? Could they scream as the world shattered and 
melted like ice around them? Did they hear their legacy crumble and 
burn beneath the weight of their sins? The entity did not know. It had 
been too fearful of its own demise to connect with them and learn. 


The Foundation? They didn't make it. They thought they were the 
stonework, the base of what would be normal and not paranormal. 
They thought they were the ones who could be depended upon to 
preserve their world from the horrors beyond. They thought they 
knew enough to turn the inexplicable into tools, to use them to save 
the world. They thought they knew how to abuse certain flaws in 
logic to further their goals to protect everyone. They thought they 
would be the steadfast ones, the reliable ones, the justified ones, the 


ones that could and the ones that would. 


But they weren't. They had lied to themselves until they thought it 
was true, but inevitably it was still false, still a lie. They never 
realised what was happening when the foundation beneath them 
buckled and crumbled. They never realised how warped and 
distorted they had become from the madness of the world. They 
never realised how badly their machines and tools were treated, 
rendering them useless. They never realised how badly they had 
failed not just themselves, nor their world, but all life. Even the 
legendary Foundation had fallen, the supposedly prophesied 
saviours. Even they didn't make it. 


Nobody didn't make it, but the entity did. 
Alone. 


Only the entity remained to rebuild the universe, but it knew it 
couldn't. It didn't know how to, or what to do. It didn't have the 
cunning of the dreamwalkers. It didn't have the passion of the 
priests. It didn't have the audacity of the Factory. It didn't have the 
hope of the Toymaker. It didn't have the determination of the sisters. 
It didn't have the knowledge of the librarians. It didn't have the focus 
of the godslayers. It didn't have the resolve of the Foundation.