Who is David?
Is it me?
No.
This is definitely not who I am!
But then... who is he?
Within the vast divine soul, thoughts sparked into existence only to vanish moments later, like fireflies in the cosmic night.
The Celestial's true self struggled toward awakening, its complete essence attempting to coalesce from scattered fragments. A process that should have unfolded over millennia now accelerated chaotically toward completion.
Yet fortune proved fickle. Perhaps the acceleration exceeded sustainable limits, or perhaps the accumulated spiritual foundation remained insufficient.
Each time the consciousness approached the threshold of true awakening, it faltered.
First attempt—failure.
Second attempt—failure.
The cycle of near-awakening and collapse repeated countless times. Fortunately, the divine soul possessed such immensity and strength that it could endure these repeated failures without compromising its fundamental nature.
Who am I?
Who is David?
Who is the Twilight God?
Is that my identity?
No, I am something else entirely, I am...
BZZZZZT!
Once again, the awakening attempt collapsed.
After this latest failure, subtle transformations began manifesting within the divine consciousness. Even an entity operating purely on instinct could learn from hundreds of failed attempts.
Was it lacking soul energy?
Impossible—the vastness of its soul exceeded comprehension.
What it required was...
True spiritual power!
Yes—it needed sufficient true spiritual essence to achieve complete awakening.
Though the divine entity lacked precise conceptual understanding, instinct drove it toward wholeness with overwhelming urgency. It began pursuing the spiritual essence that rightfully belonged to it—power accumulated across countless eons.
It pursued. It yearned. It struggled toward awakening.
Primal instinct confirmed that the captured divine essence sphere was its own—belonged with it—completed it. The soul-body needed that power to become whole.
________________________________________
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
Outside, the immense divine soul swept massive hands through the void, attempting to capture Mephisto and the imprisoned essence sphere.
Mephisto executed precise evasive maneuvers with supernatural speed. His compact size became an advantage, allowing him to avoid capture repeatedly.
Yet his expression grew increasingly strained.
He felt a mounting pressure—a cosmic weight steadily increasing around him.
This pressure affected his speed, restricted his movements, and constrained his ability to maintain control of the divine essence. Initially, he had resisted these effects with relative ease, but as time progressed, the oppressive force intensified until maintaining his freedom became a genuine struggle.
The source of this phenomenon was obvious.
The divine soul before them exerted its natural authority. They remained within the god's mental domain—its home territory where reality conformed to its expectations rather than their own.
As the soul-body's instinct and will focused on a singular objective, the surrounding space reinforced that purpose automatically.
The god's intent was profoundly simple: capture its essence and achieve wholeness.
Mephisto's escape route was equally straightforward—abandon the divine essence.
A soul operating purely on instinct would lose interest in him immediately upon reclaiming its missing fragment.
But surrender was unthinkable.
The divine essence represented the metaphorical emperor of a cosmic dynasty. Possessing this "Son of Heaven" meant controlling the key to both divine body and soul.
Its value transcended conventional expression. At minimum, properly utilizing this essence could create a divine puppet of immeasurable power. The Celestials outstripped even other cosmic entities of comparable standing.
Beyond raw power lay knowledge, resources, and divine authority of incalculable worth.
Dormammu observed Mephisto's increasingly desperate evasions with narrowed eyes, fully appreciating the essence's tremendous value.
For Dormammu, a being who had established the Dark Dimension as his foundation, control over a Celestial would grant him legitimate authority within Earth's dimension. Kamar-Taj and the Sorcerer Supreme would lose their primary justification for opposing his presence.
Yet this represented merely a fraction of the essence's potential applications. The possible uses for Celestial power would fill volumes.
Watching Mephisto dodge the soul-body's relentless attacks sparked hesitation within Dormammu.
If he intervened now, Mephisto would be vulnerable.
Yet the divine essence resembled a white-hot metal—desirable but dangerous to grasp. Mephisto's current predicament illustrated this perfectly. Initial greed had led him to claim sole control of the imprisoned essence, resulting in his present desperate circumstances.
He wished to release it, yet could not bring himself to surrender such power.
Indeed, who among them would willingly relinquish an opportunity that could fundamentally transform their destiny?
The fallen sorcerers, including Strange and Grindelwald, observed Mephisto's aerial evasions with calculated intensity.
Their unspoken consensus was clear—they would intervene to secure the divine essence, but only after Mephisto had been exhausted to his absolute limit.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
The cosmic pressure intensified relentlessly. Mephisto's breathing grew labored, his movements increasingly strained.
He desperately wanted to release the essence, yet no assistance came from below.
The assembled sorcerers appeared content to witness his humiliation.
Yet releasing the essence remained impossible. He felt the divine consciousness struggling violently against his restraints. The slightest relaxation of his grip would allow it to surge toward the soul-body and merge completely.
Should that occur, all would be lost.
BZZZZZT! BZZZZZT! BZZZZZT!
Apparently sensing Mephisto's weakening control, the divine essence's resistance intensified exponentially. Simultaneously, the surrounding dimensional pressures compressed with redoubled force.
Mephisto abandoned pride for pragmatism. "The divine essence resists too powerfully!" he shouted toward the observers below. "I require immediate assistance!"
The words seared his heart like acid. This admission would cost him majority control of the divine essence—he might even be completely excluded from its possession.
Hearing this capitulation, Dormammu stepped forward without hesitation. Strange and the other sorcerers likewise advanced.
"Master Mephisto," called one fallen sorcerer, "please share your method for restraining the divine essence."
Dormammu added his own urgent request, as if genuinely concerned for their collective success.
Their previous inaction served dual purposes—depleting Mephisto's strength while awaiting the necessary knowledge to control the divine essence themselves.
Mephisto, having mentally prepared for this inevitable concession, shared the mystical binding technique he had developed—though he prudently reserved certain critical elements as final leverage.
Everyone recognized this partial deception as characteristic of Mephisto's nature, yet none objected. They swiftly committed the binding method to memory, preparing to implement it.
In that crucial moment—
BOOM!
The amber-gold sigil on the divine soul's brow suddenly blazed with blinding intensity. With impossible speed, thousands of tendrils infused with twilight energy materialized and surged toward the captive divine essence.
Before anyone could react, these amber tentacles had already penetrated the divine essence sphere, voraciously devouring its power.