In the Void, seconds stretch into centuries while eternity collapses into heartbeats.

Time does not simply pass in the Void—it devours.

First comes the fracturing, when your consciousness splinters across a thousand moments at once. You are child and corpse, sinner and saint, experiencing every choice you’ve ever made in the space between one breath and the next. Your mind becomes a shattered mirror, each fragment reflecting a different when.

Then the weight settles—millennia of memory pressed into your skull like lead. You age ten thousand years while your body remains unchanged, an ancient soul trapped in flesh that remembers nothing of time’s passage. You feel the dust of civilizations in your bones.

But the cruelest punishment is the hope. The Void whispers of infinite futures, shows you every path to freedom, every moment of redemption glittering just beyond reach. You live your escape a million times, only to realize that hope itself has become your cage.

Some say that in the deepest chambers of the Void, where he writhes in temporal torment, you can still hear him screaming—not from pain, but from rage. Rage at the love stolen from him, at the worlds too cowardly to accept the glorious transformation he would grant them, at his own helplessness as he watches the cosmos decay through natural entropy rather than his purposeful design.

The gods built a bridge between worlds and accidentally created the perfect hell.

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