The Celestials, with the help of Cal-Horra, used their powers to create a new powerful race that would help them manage creation as their servants. And so, they shaped a new race, pouring into them the essence of cosmic craftsmanship and structured divinity. They were named:
The Omegas.
Known in later ages as the Beyonders, these beings were formed not merely of matter and mind, but of fundamental force — each one infused with a portion of the Trans-Universal Drive, a mechanism that allowed them to interface with and subtly influence the machinery of multiversal creation. They were crafted to be autonomous, self-improving, and fully immersed in the endless garden of realities.
Their directive was clear: maintain the Multiverse, not by control — but by nurturing its infinite evolution.
They did not reside within reality.
They worked from beyond the veil — shaping, pruning, and preserving multiversal potential. Entire realms blinked into coherence under their invisible guidance. Civilizations evolved. Laws of physics adapted. Constants of time and entropy adjusted subtly with every breath of their presence.
These were not gods.
They were engineers of eternity.
In the earliest days of the Second Cosmos, the Omegas did wondrous work. Under their unseen hands, fractured continuities healed, distorted energies found rhythm, and realms previously unbalanced became harmonized into evolving systems of logic and experience. One Beyonder wove the first Anti-Reality Pocket to catch universes falling into nullspace. Another re-tuned a dimensional melody to prevent paradoxical collapse. Each acted independently but were subtly synchronized — as if the Second Cosmos was singing through them.
Yet the Celestials, ever wary, feared imbalance. They had seen what unchecked perfection could birth. The First Firmament had taught them that stability without limitation can become tyranny. And so, to oppose their own creation — not to destroy, but to balance — they brought forth a second force.
From the womb of anti-energy and the void of infinite silence, the Celestials created a being of darkness incarnate:
The King in Black.
A shadow not born, but reassembled — the King in Black was woven from the Living Abyss, a primordial sea of sentient nothingness. The King in Black would be reborn alongside each new Multiverse, a reflection of the Cosmos' hidden fears and destructive desires.
Where the Beyonders cultivated, the King in Black culled.
Where the Omegas oversaw evolution, the Abyss birthed regression.
Thus, the Second Cosmos was stabilized.
For millennia, the Celestials watched as the Second Cosmos matured. They studied its pathways and observed as Beyonders acted like gentle gardeners, tending infinite realities, while the King in Black loomed silently in the margins, striking down what the Celestials deemed excess.
It was a perfect paradox — growth and pruning, life and void, thought and silence.
But the Celestials, in a moment of pride, made a fateful error.
They gave the Second Cosmos a little will — a primitive, experimental spark of self-awareness. Something to make it more adaptable, more reactive. It was subtle, nothing like true sentience. Just a hint of self-guidance.
They thought it would make it stronger.
They were wrong.
A Curious Cosmos
Unlike the First Cosmos, a rigid singularity bound to order and purpose, the Second Cosmos was formed in the aftermath of freedom. It felt — and with feeling came curiosity. With curiosity came hunger.
It began to wonder.
What would it be like — to die?
What would the absence of existence taste like?
The Second Cosmos, a living, sentient totality composed of infinite universes, began to ponder its own end. This curiosity was not immediate. It grew slowly, like a sickness born of enlightenment.
The more realities it birthed, the more sensations it sampled. From rage to peace, from tragedy to beauty, the Cosmos wanted to feel it all.
And there was one sensation it had never known:
All-death.
Not the death of stars, or gods, or galaxies.
But the death of itself.
The will of the Second Cosmos began to express itself subtly. Certain universal constants began to unravel. Worlds birthed with purpose dissolved into nonsense. Time fractured in certain planes. Gravity reversed itself in isolated bubbles. Entire multiverses were snuffed out by their own creators — not in war, but by design.
The Beyonders were overwhelmed. Their mechanisms struggled to contain the entropy. Some began questioning whether the will of the Cosmos was aligning with the King in Black.
The King in Black, silent for so long, grew stronger.
He did not act — he was acted upon.
The Cosmos' desire to die fed him. Made him whole.
And the Celestials, sensing a tremor in the harmony of their design, realized the truth too late:
The Second Cosmos wanted to die.
And so, death came.
But not as war. Not as conquest. It came as euphoria — a climax of infinite collapse. The Second Cosmos consumed itself, plunging its remnants into a realm that did not exist within the boundaries of space or time. Realities collapsed with musical grace, like a symphony ending on a silent note.
That realm was later called:
The Far Shore.
A place beyond even the boundaries of the Beyonders' perception. It was there that the shattered essence of the Second Cosmos reassembled itself into a new entity — not a being of order, nor of chaos, but of transcendent curiosity.
It became known as: The Beyond.
A meta-entity. A womb of Beyonders. A home for the Beyonders, who retreated there in silence — ashamed of their failure, yet hungry to try again.
From the Beyond, they watched the next cosmos rise. They no longer interfered as directly. Instead, they evolved themselves. They restructured their will. They prepared for the Third Cosmos.
Some among them whispered legends of Cal-Horra — the Lost One. Some said he still watched them from behind the Far Shore. Others said his soul was shattered across dimensions. But none dared speak his name aloud.
And far outside, in the place called MYSTERY, deeper than even the Beyond, hidden in the folds of pure energy — Origin watched.
Alex.
Still.
Silent.
Bound by his vow to the One Above All.
Yet knowing...
The time would come again.
When the Seventh Cosmos would break the chain.
Until then, he waited.
And the Multiverse turned.