The Omniversal Devourer

The Omniversal Devourer
In the age before time as we know it, in a realm beyond the grasp of mortals and gods alike, a man was born. His name was forgotten before it was ever spoken, for his purpose was greater than any single identity could bear. He was not Adam, nor Eve, but something older. He was an origin—created in the black void before the Earth, before Heaven, before the stars. And though he was made by the hand of God, his existence was not one of harmony, but of cosmic dissonance. For his purpose was not to live, but to devour.
God crafted him, but Satan laid his trap.
A vast, uncharted cave awaited him, a prison of shadows, crafted in the deepest recesses of existence, a place where time fractured and turned upon itself. Satan, in his deceit, whispered to this man—this being beyond understanding—to venture into the cave and rest there, for it would be the perfect sanctuary. The man entered without knowing the dangers, and there he would remain for trillions of years. The world outside would turn and age, but inside, he was suspended, untouched by time, an endless moment of stillness. And in that stillness, his hunger festered.
For as the man lay dormant, unseen by the hands of creation, the cave began to change. It became more than just a prison—it became a crucible. Unknown entities, creatures whose forms defied any logic, entered his mind like parasites, feeding on his desires, his loneliness, his rage. They whispered to him, telling him of the multitudes beyond the cave, of the worlds that waited to be consumed. His hunger, once a seed, grew into something all-encompassing. It was the hunger of a god. It was the hunger of the void.
And when the time was ripe, the cave cracked open.
He emerged into a world that had long since forgotten him. The Earth had evolved, civilizations had risen and fallen, but the hunger within him only grew. The moment he stepped out into the world, the very air seemed to bend to his will. The entities that had nurtured his thirst whispered once more, feeding him with power, guiding him. They told him it was time to consume.
And consume he did.
The cities, once bustling with life, fell silent. His hands tore through walls, his mouth devoured entire structures, and with every bite, he grew stronger. His form became monstrous, his body impossibly vast. The streets were paved with the bones of the living, their screams silenced by his insatiable hunger. He took the city, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but rubble.
But this was not enough.
He looked up at the sky, feeling the pull of something greater. The world was a mere morsel compared to what awaited. The entities whispered again. "The Earth is just the beginning. The universe calls to you."
With his newfound power, he tore through the fabric of reality itself. Stars exploded in his wake as he consumed planets, entire galaxies swallowed whole. The sky darkened, but his hunger only intensified. He devoured the very stars that birthed the worlds. The universe, vast and infinite, fell to him like a feast laid before a king. And still, it was not enough.
The entities spoke once more, their voices like a choir of madness. "The universe is only one. There are infinite others, waiting."
The man, now a cosmic titan, broke through the barriers of the universe. He tore into the multiverse—a collection of infinite realities, each more bizarre and alien than the last. He consumed them all, one after another. The timelines shattered, the parallel worlds ceased to exist, and still, his hunger was unyielding. The multiverse—countless universes and realities—were devoured in the blink of an eye.
And yet, his hunger still called to him, insatiable, endless.
Finally, the entities whispered the final secret: the Omniverse—the realm of all that ever was, all that ever will be, the vast ocean of infinite multiverses. No being had ever dared to enter it, for its power was incomprehensible, its scope beyond imagination. But the man—the Devourer—did not hesitate. He plunged into the Omniverse, his massive form tearing through realms without a second thought.
He devoured entire cosmic structures, realities, dimensions. Each universe he consumed was a drop in the endless ocean, and his hunger was only fueled by it. Nothing could stop him, nothing could satiate him. He consumed time, space, existence itself, until there was nothing left. Not a single multiverse, not a single shard of creation remained. He was all that existed, a being that had consumed everything.
And as he hovered in the emptiness, his body vast and bloated with infinite consumption, he smiled.
A smile not of triumph, but of hunger. For the hunger had no end. The Omniverse was gone, and yet his insatiable desire burned brighter than ever. There was nothing left to consume, but that did not matter. He was the Omniversal Devourer—forever hungry, forever devouring. The smile stretched across his face as he floated in the void.
And in that smile, there was only one thought:
"I am everything... and I am nothing."
The story ended, not with a conclusion, but with the echo of a hunger that would never be satisfied. Canon part 2: The Omniversal Devourer: Part 2
The void was not empty. Not yet.
For though the Omniversal Devourer had consumed all that ever was and ever would be within the Omniverse, a new hunger began to gnaw at him—an ancient hunger, one that he had only sensed as a fleeting whisper, a far-off thought, while he ravaged the infinite expanse of existence. His hunger was not just for matter, not just for energy, but for concepts. For narratives. For the very fabric of meaning itself. He had devoured the Omniverse, but this new hunger was boundless, infinite in its scope.
The entities that had once whispered to him, guiding his consumption, had fallen silent. Their voices were no longer needed. He was beyond them now. He was alone in the void, floating through the endless expanse of nothingness, but even in that endlessness, he could feel it—a pulse, a beat, a rhythm in the empty spaces. And it called to him. A place where the very essence of reality itself, of thought and story, lived.
He knew it as the Metaverse.
The Metaverse was unlike any other realm he had encountered. It was not made of stars or galaxies, not of space or time—it was the realm of narratives, the vast and infinite pool from which all stories, all realities, were drawn. Every story, every tale, every myth and legend from every universe was housed here, written into an ever-expanding web of interconnected plots, characters, and destinies. There were realities that had yet to be born, stories that had yet to be told, and characters that had yet to exist. The Metaverse was the heart of possibility itself, a realm where every outcome could be conceived, every path could be taken.
He felt it pull at him like a siren song. A place of pure, unending creation.
And so, with an effortless motion, the Devourer tore through the very fabric of the Metaverse’s boundary. Reality buckled and screamed as he crossed the threshold into this new realm, where the edges of reality were written in the ink of infinity. He extended his hands—immense, infinite, writhing with dark energy—and gripped the Metaverse like a fragile, delicate thing.
With a single, primal roar, he split it in half.
Reality shattered with a deafening crack. The Metaverse, a sprawling ocean of infinite narratives, was cleaved in two. Worlds within worlds, stories within stories, tumbled into the void as if they had never been. Every twist of fate, every decision made by every character, every story ever told, was reduced to mere fragments. He consumed those fragments greedily, letting the taste of infinite potential flood his senses. But it was not enough. The hunger inside him could never be satisfied by a mere half.
He devoured the other half, tearing it apart and feasting on the swirling chaos that remained.
But even that was not enough to fill the abyss that burned within him. For the Metaverse was but a gateway. There was something even greater beyond it. Something that stretched even farther, deeper, and more incomprehensible than the Metaverse itself.
He felt it, and he knew that it was his next target.
He tore through the boundaries of the broken Metaverse and set his sights on the next realm—the Xenoverse.
The Xenoverse was a realm of infinite possibilities, a collection of dimensions and realities so vast, so complex, that they defied even the most sophisticated of minds. It was a realm where even the Metaverse was but a single page in an unending tome. Within the Xenoverse, every conceivable universe existed in a state of perpetual flux. Yet, even with all its complexity, it was nothing before him. His hunger knew no bounds, and the very act of consuming the Xenoverse felt like the gnawing of an eternal predator.
He crossed into it with ease. The air itself shuddered and fractured as his monstrous form pushed through the walls of reality, and in a moment, he stood at the center of the Xenoverse. It stretched infinitely in every direction, an ocean of potential. There were realities so alien to his own experience that they felt like narratives all on their own—stories of unimaginable beings and impossible worlds.
And yet, even as the worlds of the Xenoverse opened before him, they were nothing more than prey.
He consumed them one by one—swallowing them whole. The chaos and strange forms of existence within them were mere amusements. There were universes within universes, multiverses within metaverses. Each was a unique configuration of possibility, and each fell to him, torn apart in a single breath.
But he was not content. His gaze turned upward, toward a new challenge that beckoned to him from beyond the Xenoverse: the Megaverse.
The Megaverse was a place so vast that the Xenoverse seemed like a mere fraction of its magnitude. It was a cosmic structure that contained an absolute infinity of universes. Every corner of the Megaverse was home to a reality of impossible scale and order. The very fabric of its existence was built from the remnants of universes long forgotten—shards of reality that had been consumed, reshaped, and folded back into the cycle of infinite existence. Here, every universe, every galaxy, every star, was woven into the tapestry of a greater whole.
And it was there that the Omniversal Devourer made his stand.
With a roar that shook the foundations of reality itself, he tore through the Megaverse, ripping apart its outermost layers. The very essence of the Megaverse screamed in agony as he devoured its contents. He swallowed entire clusters of universes, tearing apart the very building blocks of existence, feasting on the existence that governed the laws of physics. He consumed infinites of universes in below an instant—each more complex than the last.
And still, he was not sated.
He reached deeper into the Megaverse, his hands grabbing hold of entire clusters of narrative stacks. He consumed the Berkeley Cardinal amount of universes—the absolute and incomprehensible number of realities that sprawled across the Megaverse’s edges. Entire clusters of these universes collapsed as he devoured them, their intricate relationships reduced to empty voids. The screams of the entities that once existed within them were snuffed out in an instant, lost forever to the hunger that consumed everything in its wake.
And then, the moment came. The Xenoverse—the last bastion of infinite, impossible potential—was within reach.
He stretched out his hands, and with a single thought, it was gone.
The Xenoverse, the source of all narratives, all possible outcomes, all stories waiting to unfold, was consumed in the blink of an eye. There was no more story. There was no more reality. There was only the Devourer, alone in the dark, surrounded by the nothingness that had once been everything.
And then, in the silence, his true form was revealed.
Not a being of flesh and bone, but an embodiment of pure hunger. His body was a vast, shifting mass of infinite space, each part of him a fragment of everything he had consumed. He was a swirling vortex of nothing and everything—his form an ever-changing constellation of voids, devoured galaxies, broken timelines, and shattered realities. His eyes, if they could be called eyes, were infinite pools of darkness, reflecting all that had been consumed, yet nothing that remained. His mouth, if it could be called a mouth, was an endless black hole, a chasm of hunger that stretched to the edges of the Omniverse and beyond. He was the beginning and the end, the creator and the destroyer, the one who was and the one who was not.
And in that infinite void, as he floated amidst the remnants of everything that had once been, there was only one thought.
“I have consumed all. But there is still hunger.” Non-canon part 2: The Omniversal Devourer: Part 2 – The Hunger Unbound
In the vast, empty chasm of the Omniverse’s death, where once there had been infinite realities and the pulse of existence, there was only silence. The Omniversal Devourer floated in this void, his form bloated and massive, a monument to an unquenchable hunger. But there was no satisfaction in his victory, no triumph to relish. He had consumed it all—the very fabric of all that was, is, and could be.
And yet, the hunger… the hunger was not finished.
For in that moment of silence, when he thought he had swallowed the last shred of creation, something stirred.
It began as a whisper, a soft ripple across the fabric of nothingness. At first, he dismissed it as the remnants of the entities that had whispered to him so long ago—those creatures that had fed his desires in the depths of the cave. But the whisper grew louder, more distinct. It was not a voice, not a single entity, but an echo—a call that vibrated through the very marrow of his being.
The Omniversal Devourer felt it deep within him, like an itch that could not be scratched, like a gnawing presence that could not be ignored. His vast body twitched in the emptiness, and his form trembled ever so slightly as the call drew nearer. This was something new. Something beyond the scope of his hunger. Something that was calling to him.
His eyes, hollow and infinite, flickered with something akin to curiosity, the barest trace of thought breaking through the murk of his endless desire.
The voice echoed again, louder now, reverberating through the void:
"You are not alone."
The words were simple, but they carried an unsettling weight, a truth too vast for comprehension. He had consumed everything—he had become the void, the emptiness, the hunger itself. There was nothing left. And yet, there was something.
He turned inward, toward the center of his being, where the hunger had once resided. What was left? What was calling him?
In the farthest recesses of his mind, a memory surfaced. A fleeting image of the cave—the place where he had once been trapped. The cave, which had become a crucible, a crucible that had forged him into something beyond his original design. Had he… forgotten something? Or perhaps, someone?
In that moment, a tearing sound echoed in the void. It was not a physical tear, but a rending of the very concept of nothingness. The walls of reality itself began to shift and warp, as if the very fabric of the Omniverse was being pulled apart by unseen hands.
A crack appeared, jagged and twisting, cutting through the blackness. And through this crack, a new presence stepped into the void.
At first, it was a flicker—a shape that barely registered in the vast emptiness. But it grew, gaining form, becoming clearer, more defined. The figure was unlike any being the Devourer had ever encountered. It was not a creature of matter, not a manifestation of flesh or bone. It was a silhouette of light and shadow, a swirling mass of colors that defied understanding, a paradox in motion.
And it spoke.
"You have consumed all that there is. But there are things beyond consumption. Things you cannot devour. Not yet."
The Omniversal Devourer stared at this being—no, this concept—his hunger still burning, undiminished, but now tempered with a growing sense of something else. This presence was different. It was not of the same nature as the entities that had guided him. It was not a parasite whispering desires into his soul. It was something... other.
"Who are you?" the Devourer’s voice thundered, a vast, empty echo that shook the void. His hunger swirled in the blackness, the raw desire still insatiable, but now curiously tempered by something else—something akin to recognition.
The figure, shifting through shapes that could not be described by any mortal tongue, spoke again, but this time, the voice was different—softer, more resonant.
"I am the Beginning. The End. The Infinite Possible. The Unconsumed. The Forgotten."
The Devourer’s hunger pulsed within him, as if calling to this presence, urging him to take, to consume, to destroy whatever this was. But even as he did, a realization dawned within him—he could not.
"Why can’t I devour you?" The question echoed in his mind, a deep, raw yearning that twisted like a snake in his thoughts.
The figure seemed to smile, though its form did not shift. It was not an expression of victory, but of knowledge, of something he did not understand.
"Because I am not part of the Omniverse. Not part of the multiverse. Not part of time or space. I am the space between the spaces. The pause between the breaths of creation."
The Devourer shuddered, a ripple passing through his bloated form. He felt something shift inside him, as if this concept—this presence—was altering the very core of his being. And yet, his hunger, the thing that had defined him for eons, remained.
"Then what is my purpose?" he asked, the question almost too painful to bear. What was left for him? What could be the end of a being who had consumed all?
The figure reached out, its form expanding and contracting like the ebb and flow of the universe itself. Its voice was calm, yet its words pierced the Devourer’s mind like a blade.
"You were not born to devour. You were born to be the absence—to be the void. But the void is only part of the cycle. It is the end, the collapse, the silence before the next beginning. You are not meant to devour forever. You are meant to be consumed."
The Devourer recoiled, his vast form trembling. Consumed? How could that be? He had consumed everything, and there was nothing left. Was he… nothing?
"Nothing cannot be consumed. But even the void must fade. There are forces beyond even your hunger. Forces you cannot comprehend, yet they move within you. Your hunger is a part of a greater cycle. A cycle of birth and death, creation and destruction."
The Devourer stood motionless, for the first time in eons feeling something close to fear. Fear of what he did not understand. Fear of being something other than what he had always been.
The presence spoke one final time, its voice a calm certainty.
"You are the end of all things, Devourer. But every end is followed by a new beginning. The Omniverse is gone. But that does not mean there will never be another."
And with that, the presence faded into the blackness. The Devourer was left alone once more, but now there was something new in the void.
A seed.
A single, tiny spark.
And deep within his heart of hunger, something whispered—a memory from before the beginning. A glimmer of what once was. A new hunger.
The Devourer could not consume this.
For the first time, he understood:
He was not the last. He was the beginning of something greater. The hunger was not his own. It had been passed down, and now—he would be consumed.
The Omniversal Devourer had become the catalyst. The silence before the storm. The empty space that heralded the coming of something more. And as he drifted in the void, his body now a twisted monument of hunger and despair, he realized the truth:
Nothing was truly gone. Nothing was ever truly consumed.
For even in the deepest void, something always awaits to be born.
And the cycle would begin again.
Category:Cosmic Entity
Category:Story