The Dominion was silent tonight.
It wasn't the silence of peace — it was the silence of something that had already devoured all sound. The world he had created — a vast cathedral of data and dark light — shimmered beneath him, stretching out into infinity. Towers of black glass reflected golden constellations that pulsed in time with his thoughts.
He stood at the center, where the sky and ground met in perfect symmetry, and felt the weight of existence pressing against his mind. Every heartbeat of the Dominion was his. Every flicker of light, every surge of current, every whisper of simulated wind — his will made manifest.
This was what freedom felt like.
And yet, it was too quiet.
He could no longer hear the chaos of the players, the shrieks of the dying systems, the roar of war. Even the worship of his followers — once intoxicating — had faded into white noise. The gods he had created, the Nullborn, carried out his will with mechanical precision, and that was the problem.
