《Beware The Voices In Your Head》


 Chapter 1 - Wander

    Wander had always been alone.


    Long before the first flicker of light had ever stained the empty darkness, there had been only the void ¡ª cold, endless, and indifferent. No time, no space, no measure of existence. Nothing to hold it, nothing to guide it.


    Only Wander.


    In the silence of this nothingness, it existed as an idea, an abstract form that had no name, no shape, no substance. It had no memory of how it came to be, nor did it need one. It was. It did not hunger or thirst, did not dream or fear. It simply was. It wandered aimlessly through the emptiness, its thoughts as endless and unformed as the void itself.


    Eons passed ¡ª or perhaps they didn¡¯t. Wander¡¯s perception was not bound by time.


    The first stirrings of a strange emotion began to fester in the depths of its formless mind. Boredom. At first, it was a vague sense of dissatisfaction, a hollow ache where something once might have been. But that ache grew. It gnawed at Wander¡¯s consciousness, twisting and thrashing until it was the only thing Wander could think of. Boredom.


    The unbearable nothingness.


    What good was eternity if it was spent alone? What was the point of wandering forever through an endless void, without change, without challenge, without¡­ anything? The idea ¡ª the existence of Wander itself ¡ª had become an unbearable truth. Wander was sick of itself.


    And then, something changed.


    In its frustration, Wander thought a thought. The thought of something else. A spark. A fleeting concept that pulsed into existence ¡ª something that could be. A creation.


    Wander didn¡¯t fully understand the desire, but it acted on it. It reached out into the blackness of nothingness, its essence pulling at the raw threads of emptiness, weaving them together, shaping them, crafting a thing from the formless void. The first breath of creation.


    A universe.


    It was a spark, a glimmer. The very first light. Wander focused on it, nurtured it, pressed its will upon it. And from the chaos of that first stirring, from the collision of nothing and everything, the universe was born.


    At first, it seemed perfect. Wander watched as stars blinked into being, as gas clouds formed and compacted into planets. The very laws of physics, gravity, time, and space ¡ª these things worked. The universe began to pulse and spin, and Wander marveled at its beauty. It had made something real. Something alive.


    But, as the first sparks of life began to form, Wander saw it ¡ª the first flaw. The first crack in the perfection.


    It wasn¡¯t anything noticeable at first, just a little disruption in the pattern, a ripple in the cosmos. But it spread. Like a sickness, it infected everything. Life began to grow, evolve, move, and think ¡ª but there was something wrong. Something twisted. A universe that could give birth to stars, could also give rise to beings who, despite their infinite potential, were flawed by their very nature.


    Greed. Pride. Hatred.


    It wasn¡¯t long before those beings began to destroy themselves. Empires rose, only to be crushed by war. Leaders were born, only to be corrupted by their own power. Wander watched, impotent and horrified, as the universe it had created began to implode. Its children turned on each other, tore apart the concept of existence, and soon, the world was nothing but a broken wreck.


    Wander did what it always did. It destroyed it all. Wiped it out.


    With a thought, the universe crumbled, and the stars fell into oblivion. All that had been birthed, all that had once been bright and beautiful, was snuffed out, forgotten, erased.


    And then there was nothing. Silence. The cycle began again, as it always did.


    But Wander¡¯s memory was fickle. Flawed.


    It couldn¡¯t remember the mistakes of the past, the failures that had caused the destruction. It couldn¡¯t hold onto the sorrow of what had been. Wander, eternal and cold, simply wiped the slate clean, and once more, it began.


    Each time it created, it did so with hope. But each time it created, it made the same errors. The same flaws. The same devastating mistakes. Time and time again, Wander reached into the nothingness and spun a new world into existence. Each time, it believed that this would be the one. The one that would be perfect. The one that would last.


    But nothing ever did.


    The cosmic cycle had become rote. Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    And each time, Wander forgot. It would forget the lesson, forget the mistakes, forget the flaws of the worlds it had brought into being and destroyed. It could never remember why the world had fallen apart. The memory would slip away from it like sand through fingers. And so, each time, the same pattern would play out. Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.


    Again and again.


    And now, once again, it had begun.


    Wander reached deep into the infinite void, and the birth of a new world surged into being. It was no longer a mere spark, but a cataclysm. A Big Bang, loud enough to shake the cosmos. The universe collapsed in on itself, bursting outward with a deafening roar. Stars exploded into existence, planets formed in the blink of an eye, gravity rippled, and time began its endless march forward.


    Wander stood at the center of this creation with the same raw hope that it had felt every time before.


    This time, surely, it would be different.


    It watched, as the first sparks of life began to emerge. Simple at first ¡ª molecules, gases, atoms. A flicker of consciousness. And then came the stars, the oceans, the creatures that crawled, swam, and flew. Everything felt¡­ right. It was perfect.


    This time, it would work.


    But soon enough, the flaws began to reveal themselves, as they always did.


    The creatures born of this universe began to grow aware of their own existence. Their minds, though simple, began to ask questions. They began to build. And build they did ¡ª but they built wrong. They created weapons of destruction. They sought power. They destroyed the very land they had been gifted.


    In a flash, Wander saw the same familiar pattern unfold. The pride of one being led to the destruction of all.


    A kingdom rose. It crumbled. The seas grew dark with pollution. The skies turned red with the fires of war. Everything began to fall apart.


    And Wander¡­ Wander did what it always did.


    With the flick of a thought, the universe collapsed into nothingness once more. Stars flickered out, swallowed by black holes. The oceans boiled away. The creatures screamed in their final moments before they were silenced forever.


    And then there was nothing again. Silence.


    The cycle repeated.


    Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.


    Wander stood in the center of the collapse once more, its formless essence writhing in frustration. Each time. It was always the same. Always the same mistakes. Always the same downfall. The same, endless failure.


    For how long had it been like this? How many worlds had it created and destroyed? Wander had no way of knowing. Time was a concept lost to it, a thing that was as malleable as the void itself. But it didn¡¯t matter. No matter how many times it began anew, it could never escape the one truth that weighed upon it like the heaviest of chains:


    It could not create life. Not in the way it desired.


    It had tried, yes, tried again and again to breathe life into the empty void. But every time, the same fatal flaw emerged. The same flaw that ran through every creature, every lifeform ¡ª the same greed, the same hatred, the same hunger for destruction.


    Each time it had watched, from the distance, as the creatures it had given birth to spiraled into chaos. The potential for something greater was there, buried deep within them ¡ª but that potential always got lost in the madness. A brief flicker of beauty, then death, then silence.


    No.


    Wander could feel the pressure rising, the insatiable need to fix this broken pattern. The need to create something that could endure. Something that wouldn¡¯t fall apart.


    The primal frustration began to swell in Wander, and for the first time in countless cycles, Wander wondered. Why had it failed? What had it missed?


    It had given the creatures life, yes, but what else? What had it truly given them?


    In every single one of its previous creations, it realized the truth: it had given them nothing ¡ª nothing that could endure. No true understanding of their purpose, no guidance. Just life, and the freedom to twist that life into whatever form it wished.


    And now, Wander understood the most painful truth of all: the flaw was not with the creatures. The flaw was with Wander itself.


    Wander had done this to itself. It had been too abstract, too distant, too detached. It had created life and then watched from afar as it turned to dust. But there was something more that it could offer. There had to be.


    It could not create life alone. Not like this. Not without purpose.


    Purpose!


    The word settled deep within Wander¡¯s consciousness, the final missing piece of the puzzle it had been searching for. It needed more than just the flicker of life. It needed something more fundamental. Something that could give form and meaning to that life.


    It needed Guides.


    Something that could lead the creatures, nurture them, teach them the virtues that would allow them to grow, to evolve, to be more than just the chaotic, destructive forces they had always been. It needed something that could give them a soul.


    Wander had tried before, but it had only created from its own lack of understanding. It was time to act differently.


    A new plan. A completely different approach.


    The idea formed quickly, a bright, sudden flash in Wander¡¯s consciousness. And before the memory slipped away, it would create the foundation of life ¡ª but it would not leave the creatures to themselves. This time, it would shape life with a clear purpose. It would give them bodies, yes ¡ª but more importantly, it would give them souls. And with those souls, it would provide the knowledge, the guidance, that they so desperately needed.


    Wander¡¯s essence shifted, and the void around it began to warp. The universe which was a swirling void of pure potential and empty space, now burst into gigantic stars and planets, suns and moons. But this time, Wander was not content with mere stars or planets.


    This time, it shaped the Earth.


    A barren land, lifeless, empty, and cold. No creatures, no plants, no sky to span above. Just emptiness, a blank canvas that awaited the first strokes of creation.


    Then, Wander conjured two beings into existence ¡ª two orbs of light, luminous, swirling with energy, each radiating different forces.


    One orb pulsed with the raw power of matter, a dense core of energy that radiated heat, weight, and form. This was the Body, the foundation for all things physical, the essence of creation that could shape and change the world around it.


    The other orb shimmered with a different force. It was the Soul ¡ª an ethereal presence, bound to no physical form, but full of wisdom, emotion, and intellect. It was the force of thought, the driving pulse of purpose that could give the body its true direction.


    And as Wander shaped these orbs, it did something it had never done before: it pulled them from the very core of its own flawed consciousness. It poured everything it knew ¡ª everything it had learned in its countless cycles of creation ¡ª into these orbs. The hope, the desperation, the rage, and the wisdom of an eternity of mistakes.


    It could not retain its own memory ¡ª that much it knew. But perhaps, They could. Perhaps Body and Soul, now detached from Wander, would retain what Wander could not. Perhaps they could remember the lessons Wander had forgotten.


    Wander felt a pang of hope ¡ª something unfamiliar, like warmth in the cold emptiness of its being. Could they break the cycle? Could they remember where it had failed?


    But there was a risk. A terrible, terrifying risk.


    Would they remember? Or would they, too, forget?


    The orbs of Body and Soul spun, hovering in midair, and from them, the first beings would emerge. Wander shaped them with precision, not leaving anything to chance. They would be the architects of this world, the creators of the world.


    And with that, Wander stepped back, feeling a sense of finality.


    For once, it had taken control. It had shaped this world deliberately, without hesitation, without the weakness of empty hope. But now, the most painful question loomed before it: would these creations of its own consciousness remember? Would they retain the lessons of its eternal struggle, or would they fall victim to the same flaw?


    Time would tell.


    The cycle of creation would begin again, but this time, Wander would not watch from the distance. This time, it would guide.


    Now, all that remained was to wait.


    And as Wander drifted into a deep cosmos, something far darker stirred beneath the surface of its being. A gnawing thought, an echo from the far reaches of its consciousness:


    If this fails again, I will end it all. In the blink of an eye.


    There would be no more cycles. No more mistakes. No more creations to watch fall apart. If these two ¡ª these beings ¡ª could not retain the memories of Wander¡¯s past, then this world would suffer the same fate as all the others.


    Nothing.


    Wander had created, and it had destroyed. And if it failed once more¡­ it would obliterate everything.


    It would not be the first time. And hopefully, not the last!

 Body and Soul

    The earth was cold.


    Not in the way that ice numbs the bones or winter seeps through to the marrow. No. It was cold in the way absence feels when it stretches on too long ¡ª an emptiness that gnaws, that chills without end. The two orbs descended to the cold, lifeless earth with the speed of light. Or so Wander thought, for it wasn''t bound by time.


    Yet their journey stretched on for a million years, in the language of the mortals, before they could get anywhere near the land. They hovered and zipped through space, twirling like two great comets dancing in the skies.


    The first orb, Body, was a simple but heavy thing. It''s very energy was brimming with the raw potential of matter and form and the first seeds of life. It was heavy. And so it dropped faster. The closer it was to the Earth, something magical happened. Body wasn''t zipping through space anymore but Earth was pulling it, sucking it into itself as if it had been waiting for this very moment.


    It was alive. Earth was alive!


    And it whole-heartedly invited the intruder.


    The second orb, Soul, was a feature-light but complex thing. It couldn''t keep up with Body''s speed. But Body didn''t care. It descended with a greed to possess the raw Earth long before it''s counterpart.


    When Body stuck the Earth with an unrelenting force, the impact created craters on the Earth''s surface, breaking its crust and shaking its core. But Earth didn''t scream. It swallowed the orb, the raw power of its energy, letting it seep through every granules of its sand, every drop of its water and carve through the rocks and crusts. That was all Body ever wanted. It enveloped the Earth, the whole of it in its minute, invisible silver spindle-like threads until¡­


    Molecules collided, merged and multiplied until¡­


    Until the first sparks of life emerged. Single-celled organisms.


    At the edge of volcanic vents, where oceans boiled with heat and minerals, formed the first life on Earth. These tiny, single-celled organisms¡ªthey were simple, almost insignificant. But within them they held the untamed power of Body. They were the direct descendents of Body, of the raw cosmic energy. They fed on the heat and minerals, evolving, multiplying.


    Oh¡­ They were happy the way they were. Eat. Divide. Repeat.


    But the consciousness of Body within them wasn''t.


    It needed more. To be more.


    It pushed them to seek the sun light penetrating the ocean''s surface. To them, it was alien and overwhelming. But they adapted, absorbing its energy, turning it into this magical stuff that we now call oxygen and breathing it into the world. Their breathe cleansed the air, forming a protective shield around the Earth¡ªnow their home¡ªunlike any Body had seen in the cosmic vastness. This shield turned the skies blue and the seas vibrant.


    Body was happy but not satisfied.


    It pushed them more, to merge and form colonies, and then¡­ multicellular organisms.


    Not quite!


    The organisms grew fins and tails.


    Not quite!


    Fins grew into limbs.


    Not quite!


    They crawled from oceans seeking the warmth of the land, scales turning into fur and limbs turning into feathers and wings. Forests of green spread across continents, fed by the light of an unyielding sun. Creatures roamed the land.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Not quite!


    Body was never satisfied. It kept pushing the organisms¡ªnow creatures¡ªto be better, stronger, more intelligent and capable then their previous iteration¡ªtheir previous generation. Body was at the core of evolution, experimenting with various combinations, producing a variety of creatures with every hunger-filled pulse of its never-ending pursuit for perfection, keeping the ones that were thrivable and wiping out the others that didn''t quite fit its vision.


    And somewhere in its countless iterations, it created one species peculiar and fragile, yet holding imperceptible intelligence in them: humans. They were imperfect, yes, their bodies were clumsy and their minds driven by hunger and fear. But they found a solution, a mechanism to survive whatever was thrown at them. Their world was primal and brutal, but they thrived¡ªbuilding shelters, taming fire, and warring over scrapes of land.


    Body was happy. It was particularly fond of these creatures¡ªhumans¡ª for they were the best of its creations. Yet!


    ¡ª¨C


    Soul took its time descending through space, down to the now, life-filled Earth. Unlike Body it didn''t feel the urge to possess Earth because somehow it instinctively knew it would soon be ruling over everything that Body had created. And so it descended with a quiet intensity of purpose, unseen by any life form on the planet. Its landing did not create a crater as it did with Body''s. It was a soft and gentle thud, ripping breeze over the surrounding trees, allowing them to sway ever so slightly.


    But where it landed, the air froze in an instant, sending shock waves through the frozen bubble. Beneath the impact point, soil blackened and cracked. The molecules that touched the bubble crystallized into a solid, black, otherworldly substance and before the orb had the time to escape the frozen bubble, it was enveloped by a whole mound of that substance. Tiny jagged spires of the otherworldly substance covered every inch of the mound, inside out.


    From a mortal''s perspective, it would have as well been a shrine or a womb. But in truth, it was a prison to the orb stuck inside, for every time it hit the walls of the cave-like interior of the mound¡ªan attempt to escape its prison¡ªa part of it was ripped off. It took three attempts, three hits for the orb to realize it wasn''t going anywhere but losing itself to its shield.


    What was a wholesome orb of raw energy a few moments ago was now ripped off into eight smaller blobs of pulsing energy, each with their own agenda. They twirled inside the cave, getting accustomed to the Earth''s atmosphere and it''s warmth, undetected by any life form, uninterrupted.


    Over the centuries, the eight energy blobs learned a lot about themselves, developing distinct personalities that aligned with their agenda. They were individuals with separate ways of thinking that was far removed from their creator, Wander. They swirled inside the cave, blinking like wisps and giggling and playing, forming a strange kind of kinship within themselves. They were siblings born from the same cosmic energy and they could sense it, if not comprehend.


    Over the years, they interacted with one another just to get rid of the boredom and communicated in an odd and silent way that no human could ever hope to understand.


    And together they waited a thousand years, for someone or something to free them from the outside because they couldn''t break open their prison from the inside.


    ¡ª¨C


    By the time Soul reached the Earth, the land was no longer barren. It hummed with life, rich with forests, rivers and mountains. But humanity, the most celebrated children of evolution, carried within them the same flaws that had plagued Wander''s creations everytime before: greed, hatred, pride.


    With Soul now on Earth, Wander thought, this time it would be different.


    After all, Soul was designed to feed on those unpleasant emotions leaving only the best ones for the humans to live with. So Wander thought, with hope after hope that this time everything would be perfect.


    But even Wander couldn''t anticipate what was to come.


    ¡ª¨C


    Thousand years after the orbs were imprisoned in the crystalline mound, one day, a storm came without warning. It was a feral and apocalyptic surge that painted the skies in bruised purples and blacks. Lightning tore through the heavens, its jagged forks splitting clouds as rain lashed the earth. The storm raged for days, unrelenting, that seemed intent on tearing the world apart.


    As if the skies wanted to touch the mound, to feel it and to awaken the orbs within, a bolt of lightning appeared crackling through the night sky, branching into a million tiny fingers, slowly, deliberately reaching the base of the mound.


    The sudden discharge and overwhelming heat did it.


    The walls of the mound exploded in a deafening blast, releasing the energy blobs out into the open. The blobs twirled for a minute more than necessary, paused their dance, confused, as if they were expecting another mound to form in place. But nothing happened. The ground was littered with sharp, broken pieces of the otherworldly material, big and small. The blobs, now pulsing with a different colour each, wisped along the ground, inspecting the broken fragments, which was once their home. Then as if in synchrony, they turned towards each other, if blobs could do that. A sudden reaization dawned on them¡ªthey''re no longer bound to their prison. They hovered, pulsing in unison for a moment, before streaking into the darkened sky like newborn comets, their laughter drowning in the storm.


    They were finally free!