Birthday

In his right hand he had a glass Caerloch 21 year-old Single Barrel, likely the last in all of existence. In his left he held Nihility, reality's end.

He took a sip from the glass in his right. Nihility burned with endless cold hunger in his left.

It was his one thousandth and eighty-seventh birthday.

He sat on a grassy hill, back leaned against an ancient olive tree, feet propped on a rock. The olive's dun leaves were stirred by a warm southerly wind, which was fortunate, as no wind could come from any other direction. In every direction but south, the void of unbeing consumed reality, toothless mouths gnawing at atoms. Nihility trembled at the sight, but he shushed the dread spear with a rigorous shake, and it sullenly quieted down. 

He really wasn't sure why the spear was so impatient. The end has come, and soon it would return to the nothingness from which he summoned it all those years ago. The world will join it there to keep it company. Some of the world's most august souls had already shuffled that way not hours before, as the mess that was quickly beginning to stink at the bottom of the hill would testify. 

If one was familiar with their epic tales, perhaps it would be possible to tell which body part belonged to which member of the Argent League - that shattered skull over there might've been Skorgath the Leveler, Bane of Civilization. It was certainly big enough, and he was almost certain he murdered the big braggart at some point in the fight. That bundle of singed robes was likely the archmage Aranatha, the only one of the League to put up much of a fight. That reddish puddle of sludge was certainly Boni the Beastmaster, since it was from the Beastmaster’s rucksack that he managed to rescue the wonderful bottle of whiskey he was now enjoying. Honestly, why even bring a beastmaster to this sort of fight? It’s not like a bear could do anything to him, even if the beastmaster’s bear was certainly smarter than average. He allowed the bear to go free, for all the good it would do it. Perhaps it could find a worthy last meal. 

He really didn’t have anything personal against the Argent League - they were better than most heroes he’d known throughout the centuries, in that they actually seemed to care enough about the world to knowingly show up to a fight they knew they couldn’t win. But they were in the way, and that was that. That was the common thread of the last nine-hundred or so years of his life - things got in his way, and they ended up like the Argent League. Like the world would soon end. 

The nothingness edged ever closer to the hill, and with a final swig he finished his whisky, hefted Nihilty on his shoulder and began to make his way south. The world was an ever narrowing corridor of reality, life and matter both evaporating on either side of him. From above he heard a terrible scream and the sun began to dim. That would be that for Overgod Sol then. The ground shook and began to freeze over - it would seem Pit Lord Cz’nath, Sol’s archnemesis, would not outlive the Overgod. Oh well. 

As he continued south, the dread spear Nihility squirming in his grip, he thought back on the series of events which led to this moment. His quest for power began as those of many others - he was wronged, his loved ones’ hurt, and he lacked the power to take revenge. It was as prosaic a motive as they came, but it was his. In his quest he had delved into the mysteries of the world  and that which laid beyond it, eventually transcending beyond the bounds of mortality. His loved ones were avenged, his enemies destroyed, but by that point it wasn’t enough anymore. Power tends to attract enemies like honey does flies, and soon he had no shortage of them. There was always a new slight, always a new insult to be repaid, always someone trying to stop whatever it was he was doing. Escalation. 

That went on for centuries. It grew wearisome. 

So he decided on a solution. He locked himself in his workshop among the stars and from the primordial before he had drawn Nihility. With the spear he had undone his enemies so thoroughly that none dared oppose him ever again. But that was no longer enough. 

He was alone. He no longer had any goals to speak of, no enemies to conqueror, no peaks to climb. At the peak of all things, he grew bored. 

Not much longer now. The corridor grew ever thinner. The last of the stars winked out in the sky, and the laws of creation themselves began to bend, then break. Nihilty grounded him in its own bubble of reality, but around him the universe no longer obeyed any laws he was familiar with. The stones at his feet turned to mercury, then began singing a rather fine rendition of Sobocelus’ Aria of Dawn. A blackberry bush grew wings, briefly became a series of barely perceptible waves, then burst into a cloud of luminous beetles. 

Perhaps what he did was an overreaction to boredom. After all, it wasn’t like he particularly hated the universe. It had many fine things, like the smell of wet earth or that fine Caerloch 21. In retrospect, it could be that his previous plan of simply erasing himself would have been more logical. Well, not much that could be done about it now, was there? No use crying over spilled reality. 

He had reached his goal. Surrounded now at all sides by swirling, maddening chaos, he had reached a small stone cottage. It was not the home he was born in - that house was gone long before his undoing, but it was similar enough. He entered the house, yet untouched by the chaos outside. Inside was an elderly couple, huddled in terror beneath a bed of plank and hides. He sat on a chair by the roaring hearth and motioned the couple out with Nihility. They obeyed, as well they should. With them came a little boy, holding on desperately to an aging cat and wiping away at snot and tears. 

“Well then. Seems like you three- beg pardon, you four, are the last beings in the entire universe. I suppose congratulations are in order.”             

 The couple said nothing, and neither did the boy. The cat mrowed. It was as good a response as any. 

“Since I’m on my way out, as is the universe, you three get to be lucky creators of the one to come next! Ain’t that nice?” 

The old man began to stutter something, but he stopped him by dropping Nihility into the old man’s trembling hands. He could feel the spear shaking with rage, which he found hilarious. “When everything is gone, this spear will transform into a spade. Then, well, then you’ll have a whole lot of digging to do. After that- well, you’ll figure it out as you go along, I’m sure.” 

Now bereft of a spear, he turned to exit the cottage, into the waiting embrace of the nothingness outside. “I almost forgot,” he said, taking one last look at the next reality’s overgods, “it’s my birthday today, so how about a little song?” 

As the first words to the song came out of their mouths, he stepped outside.