The light of ten thousand Origin Realms, backed by the growing power of Existence, he was grasping against the weight of a hundred dead Existences.
It was a clash of creation against envy… Hope against hate.
"I made the Ancient Primordials to wipe everything from the board," Enoch said, and he grinned, exposing blackened fangs the size of Realities. "I filled them with hunger and rage and the desperate need to consume everything that was built. And when they failed, I came myself. Because I will not let you surpass me, I will not let you create what I could not, I will not let you win."
On one hand, the soul of Existence was multitasking, conducting a grueling fusion while fighting against the power of Enoch that was endlessly growing. It was inevitable that he was going to lose.
Enoch's hand tightened, and the light of the soul of Existence dimmed as if it were being drowned in the weight of a hatred that had been accumulating for longer than Existence itself had existed.
