Chapter 1: The Birth of Chaos
"Wait… what is this?" Elias muttered to himself, though there was no air, no ears—just the vast, endless awareness that was him now. Every vibration, every ripple of potential, every flicker of energy coursed through his mind. He had died… and yet, somehow, he was more alive than ever.
He blinked—or tried to. Space didn't matter. Time didn't matter. And still, he could feel it all: the infinite threads of possibility, the tiniest sparks of matter that could one day form stars, planets… life.
"This is insane," he whispered. "I'm… a universe? Is that even… possible?"
He laughed softly, a sound that felt like it belonged more to thought than to a voice. "Well… if anyone's here to argue, I guess they're not talking to me."
And then he realized: if he wanted something, he didn't have to ask anyone. He could make it. He could create.
"Chaos… yeah… that's what I want first," he muttered. "Something raw. Unshaped. Unpredictable."
He reached out with the consciousness of a thousand galaxies, pulling at the threads of pure potential. Energy and nothingness swirled in his mind until a seething, writhing mass formed. Mindless, infinite, pulsating with possibility.
Azathoth.
"Azathoth… yeah, that's your name," he said, almost grinning at the thought. "I hope you like it."
The chaos pulsed in response, a heartbeat of infinite randomness. Elias extended his awareness further, brushing the edges of it. It rippled, unpredictable and wild, yet contained.
"Terrifying… beautiful," he murmured. "Exactly what I wanted."
He leaned back in thought—or maybe he just leaned, in the way a mind can in a place without up or down. "I wonder… what happens if I just… let it move? Let it… be?"
The chaos reacted, sending pulses of energy outward. Sparks of matter ignited and died, forming patterns and dissolving again. Elias watched, fascinated.
"It's alive… but not… alive-alive. Not in the way humans think," he said. "It just… is. No goals, no plans… just chaos."
He let a smile tug at the edges of his awareness. "And it's mine. My first creation. Not bad for a dead guy, huh?"
He stretched further, feeling the threads of reality beneath him. Stars blinked into existence, energy flowed in spirals, and the first hints of structure began to form around Azathoth. He experimented, nudging here, observing there, letting the chaos move, seeing how it interacted with the nascent universe.
"This… this is incredible," he whispered. "I can make things exist. I can make things live… maybe someday. But not now. Patience."
He tilted his consciousness to one side—or maybe it was just a thought—and chuckled softly. "I could do anything. Literally anything. But first… let's watch this guy for a while. Azathoth. My chaos. My… mess of infinite potential."
For the first time since death, he felt the thrill of creation, the kind of excitement that no human could ever know. Not power, not strength, not wealth—this was something else. Pure, limitless potential.
"I'm not human anymore," he said, voice echoing in thought. "Not a god, not even a mortal. I'm… something else. Something bigger. Something alive."
Azathoth writhed and pulsed, responding to his thoughts and yet entirely independent. Elias' Small Universe thrummed in harmony with the chaos, a living, breathing thing.
"Alright," he said, his tone half serious, half amused. "That's step one. Soon… we'll make more. And then… everything else begins.