From whence did creation come from?

Surely it must have started from somewhere, some small isolated point in all of time and space that would later expand and give way to all of reality as it was currently known. The multiverse could not have been the way it was now, a vast collection of different universes that chattered about and were annoying background noise in the Void, the space in between all the universes. Once upon a time, a very long time ago in fact, there must have been no noise, when the entirety of all creation was very young.

But how creation came about, how the multiverse popped into existence and thus eventually every other universe in existence along with every living creature that crawled, hopped and walked, that remained a mystery that not even the painter could solve, for he was the only living thing that could rival the age of the multiverse. Though in reality, he had not been alive since the beginning of creation.

Ink was not entirely sure about the origin from where he came from. Like the rest of reality, why he had suddenly popped into existence without any real reason was hidden from his mind. He had come into being when creation was very young, when there was only one universe and none more. The original universe, Undertale as many call it, was the first universe that popped into being. Perhaps if the painter had not been there at all, than it would have continued to be the only universe in existence.

But the painter had seen loneliness in the Void, with its heart of white and silence that knew nothing of music or sound. He had taken it upon himself to create more universes, to fill up the empty space of white with as many things as possible for the Void was a blank canvas and he carried a paintbrush. He created hundreds of thousands of worlds in the time he had been alive, crafting each and every detail of every universe with such detailed precision that he could remember each and every thing that he had ever made with the work and magic of his paintbrush. He could tell you a story about how he sat for hours in the universe of Underswap, fretting over what blue hue he should have used to paint Blueberry's trademark outfit just as easily as he could recount a tale of painting some lone blade of grass that would seem almost indistinguishable amongst the thousands of others like it in a forgotten meadow that might never again be seen by any other living creature.

It was why this was especially hard for Ink, why it felt like killing a part of himself every time he slammed his fist on the Erase button, eradicating whole universes whose coding was deemed to be too instable to exist. But it was necessary, as Dream often reminded him. It was impossible to create anything if this much damaged coding existed, floating about like a cancerous substance in the white hell of the Void.

But what the painter and his friend did not take into account was the unnatural properties of the damaged coding, the way that the war between Ink and Nightmare had unleashed unchecked amounts of energy that had forever altered the corrupted coding, forming it into something new. And when coding such as this interacted with one another, they began to merge, to come together to form something, to create a being when it was thought impossible for the multiverse to create any living thing in particular.

The creature that was created from these strange pieces of coding found themselves lost in a world of white, inside a hell where there was no time and no space, no nothing. This did not bother the creature for it had not known anything different in the last few seconds that it had been alive, so why would it want to find anything different? As far as the creature was concerned, this was reality, a vast empty sheet of nothingness.

The creature wandered around for a bit, wondering what it would find inside a world where nothing existed. Though there was nothing special about this world of white, the creature was sensitive to a profound feeling of pain and chaos that seemed to be woven inside the world that it walked in, as if the whole of reality had been ripped wide open and was bleeding. But was that a bad thing, a good thing? The creature did not know for how could it be expected to know anything different when this was all it had ever known?

One thing that did catch the creature off guard was a strange shadow that seemed to be following it, attached to its feet like some loyal companion. The creature was fascinated at how its shadow would twist and turn as they did, mimicking its every movement. The creature later decided that the shadow was not a threat. But had the creature known about the true nature of shadows and how they formed, they would have been concerned by the presence of a shadow following them whilst they walked in a world of white.

For how could they have a shadow if there was no source of light, no sun or other star to cast light that would in turn result in a shadow?

But this small detail was oblivious in the creature's mind as they continued to explore the nothingness. They began to think, their new mind beginning to take in their surroundings and formulate questions about what they saw. How did they come here? Why were they here? And if they were here, if circumstances were such that a living thing like them could suddenly pop into being, what was to prevent other living things from coming into existence as well? Were there others just like this creature?

The creature was beginning to feel emotions as a result of this confusion, of all the thoughts and feelings that were ravaging their mind like a hurricane, though they didn't really understand what a hurricane was because they had never lived in Florida before. The creature decided that it did not like the white world that it walked inside of, the way that the walls of white offered nothing but the promise of an eternal silence, nothing but silence and cold where no living thing could prosper.

The emotions and the chaos and the confusion reached such a tipping point that the creature let loose a scream, a sound that caught it unawares as up until now, it had never heard of any noise other than the silence that blanketed the world of white that it walked in. The creature's right hand began to glow a deep (F/c), a stark comparison against the white and blank world around it. The magic danced as a translucent flame that wrapped around their fingers, crackling into the air and vanishing from view.

The creature immediately felt their emotions dissipate, now fascinated by the strange light that they had produced. How curious it was to note that by the very force of your emotions, by the will of your mind, you could change and reshape the world around you. The creature watched as the magic burned away, leaving their hand untouched and simple as it had once been, no longer wielding any form of magic. It tried to summon the magic once more but felt nothing, no sign or no hint as to where the creature had to look in order to bring back the (F/c) flame.

Its attention, however, was diverted to a curious crack in the white fabric of the Void, a strange flaw in the seemingly smooth complex of the white world that the creature had known. Intrigued, the creature began to walk closer to this crack, growing aware of a strange radiation that seemed to be leaking from the crack, as if this flaw in the Void itself led to a universe that had known much chaos and suffering, filled with such energy from a fight of a great magnitude that must have certainly killed any form of life within the universe itself.

As the creature neared the crack in space and time, it was fascinated to discover that it was in reality a door to another world, a world that was full of colour and shapes, something that the world of white would and could never have. Perhaps if the creature had known about the concepts of danger, that it was probably not the best idea to jump into a random crack in the space-time continuum and hop into another world, than it would have simply stayed behind in the world of white, where things were familiar, predictable. But the creature had no sense of safety nor did it have any grasping of the concept of danger, so it wandered into this strange universe without any fear towards the unknown.

Though this new world was full of shapes and colour, it was very much like the Void in a way, the creature decided. It was filled with the same silence, the same kind of quietness that plagued every corner of the world of white. The creature wondered if this universe had been silent forever, if there had not once been a time where there were other living creatures and things wandering about, chatting and making noise that would have driven the silence away.

But no, that was the truth of it. The Void, the creature thought, the world of white that it walked inside of, was like a plague, a pestilence that surrounded universes and worlds filled with shape and colour such as this one, poking and prodding until it could find weak spots and invade, driving out the light and sound and filling it with cold and silence.

The creature thought that it was walking in some sort of abandoned settlement where living things might have once wandered about. There were strange dwellings that seemed to have once been a potential sign of life, dwellings and houses that were all arranged close together, suggesting that the organisms that had once lived in this universe had chosen to live together. But if they had all lived together, if there had been as many living things as there were houses, than where were they?

There was nothing in this strange village but a cold powder that fell from the sky, a powder that seemed to bite and freeze the creature's flesh with every small grain that touched it. The white powder that fell from the sky accumulated on the ground, forming a white blanket. The creature had almost dismissed the white ground when it noted a pile of powder several yards away that was a darker shade than the surrounding sky-powder. Unlike the cold whiteness, this pile of powder was grey and not the slightest bit cold. The creature rubbed its fingers in the not-sky-powder, wondering what could have caused its existence and why this pile of grey powder was different from the sky powder.

In fact, now that the creature stared more at the ground than it did at the surrounding landscape, there were dozens of grey piles of the not-sky-powder, which, curiously enough, seemed to rival the amount of houses within this strange settlement. The creature wondered if these piles of grey powder were the remnants of the living things that had once wandered around in this world and filled it with noise, no longer alive now. But what could claim the strength to wipe out an entire village of living things?

The creature shuddered as a passing breeze ripped through the air. It noticed a red sweatshirt lying by a pile of not-sky-powder and picked it up, throwing the sweatshirt over their head, acting as a second layer of skin that added a considerable barrier of warmth against the coldness of this strange world. There was also a blue scarf as well that accompanied a nearby pile of not-sky-powder. There was a large gash in the scarf, as if something sharp had torn through it and most likely ended the life of whatever living thing that had once wore it, but the creature did not pay much attention to this small detail, slipping the scarf around their neck before adding on a pair of boots as well.

As the creature set off to explore the rest of the surrounding town, sudden noise filled the air, driving away the silence and the coldness of the invading Void, declaring in triumph that even in this seemingly dead world, life yet remained. The creature did not know how to react to such a noise, it was barely familiar with sound as it had only been alive for a few hours.

As the voices of the nearby beings grew closer, the creature ducked into one of the battered and decimated frames of one of the surrounding huts, watching as two figures walked into view, their voices low as they discussed something of grave importance. Strange enough, the creature found that it could understand their words, though it knew not of what subject the two were talking about.

"I haven't been here in a while." The first voice that spoke was solemn, more reserved and full of mourning than the second voice that would soon speak, as if the person to which it belonged tended to live more in the memories of the past than it did in the reality of the presence, perhaps seeing not the piles of not-sky-powder as tributes to the dead, but envisioning the living things that they had once been.

"I remember it as clear as day," the second voice spoke, taking in its surroundings. "This universe was one of the first to go during the first year of the war, where Nightmare and his followers invaded and dragged out every monster in the town of Snowdin, even when they had surrendered, lined them all up in a circle and executed them. It was said that during the war, wherever he went, Nightmare was the sigh of death, staying for only a few hours at most until every living thing in the universe was killed, until the streets and the rivers ran thick with dust."

"He didn't even have a chance to find us," the first voice sighed, walking close to where the creature hid, concealed in shadow. For a moment the creature was concerned not with the two unknown figures that were seconds away from finding it in its hiding spot, but rather noted that it was beginning to fear the shadow that was nearest to its feet.

It seemed rather silly for someone or something to fear the shadow that it cast on the ground, for shadows were a natural part of life if you happened to live on a planet that orbited a distant star that cast down light that allowed shadows to breed and grow. But that was only if there was light present, if there was some radiant source of energy that would allow your body to cast a shadow.

The creature was hiding in darkness and yet its shadow was still visible, a darker shade of black when compared to the ebony hue of the darkness that clouded the empty house that it took refuge in. In fact, it seemed as if its shadow was growing, expanding in size with each passing second. The creature could have almost swore that it saw the shadow grin.

The creature decided that it no longer cared about hiding, trying to remain a figure masked in the darkness in order to avoid the two strange people that were near to it. The creature feared the shadows now, the shadows of this world that seemed to be in every corner, every place where there was not one quanta of light to hit an area, infected with hearts of darkness and malice.

"Ink." One of the voices too seemed to be realizing what the creature had already noticed, that these shadows were not of this planet, belonging to a much fouler and darker dimension indeed. "I think that we should get out of here."

The other voice spoke, the solemn one full of sadness and regret that the creature thought to be the person named Ink. "What are you talking about? You know what we have to do, what's been hanging over our heads all this time. How can you want to leave this world behind when you were so eager to have me stay and erase all the other corrupted universes, so that 'the rest of the multiverse could start creating again' as you thought it so?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" The other voice exclaimed hotly. "The shadows, damn you, look at the shadows!"

The two voices went quiet and for an awful moment the creature wondered if the two wanderers had been swallowed up by the darkness and knew no more. This, however, did not last long as Ink spoke once again. "Those shadows definitely seem a lot closer than before."

"Definitely," the second voice agreed.

"But how can that be possible?" Ink asked. His voice seemed farther than it did before and it seemed as if they were retreating, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the shadows as possible. "They can't be here, not right now, not in this place. Nightmare was the only one who knew the dark magic needed to weaponize shadows and turn them into demonic entities, the very things that seemed to be creeping and crawling towards us right now. And if they're here, than that means that he's alive, doesn't it? That all we did was for nothing, the war not won."

"You don't know that!" The other person retorted. "They could be leftovers, some abandoned shadow creatures that Nightmare left behind. But he has to be dead Ink, there's no way that he can still be here."

"Never say never," Ink laughed grimly.

The creature felt something wrap around its foot. Caught by surprise and forgetting all former precautions, the creature let loose a shriek and stamped its foot on whatever demonic entity had been trying to drag it away into the land of shadows, leaping out from the house from where it hid and took off running into the snowy clearing.

It ignored the bewildered expressions on the faces of the two strange monsters that were looking at the creature in awe. The creature was more concerned with what it saw, with the house that it had once been taking refuge in. It seemed as if the entire structure of the house had been painted a deep black, the same colour as the sinister shadows that had been trying to drag the creature into its grave.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

One of the monsters was staring at the creature in transfixed fascination, circling around the creature as if it was some very old museum exhibit. There was a very large paintbrush slung across his back, but why the monster chose to carry such an enormous thing, the creature knew not.

When the creature did not respond, the monster with the paintbrush walked back towards the side of his friend, the two of them looking at the creature as if they saw threw it, choosing to relive in the memories of the old and dead rather than the present, as if the creature reminded them of someone long dead and they cared nothing for the physical person right in front of them.

"How can they be here?" The second monster asked, his grip tightening around a golden bow in his grasp. "You said that they died, that they were killed during the war. I know about (Y/n)'s condition, how they can die in one life and then spawn in another universe with their memory wiped, but this can't be happening, not here, not right now. The multiverse, all of creation, its at a virtual standstill with no destruction and no creation. There's no possible way that (Y/n) could have come back. They shouldn't have been able to respawn until after we removed all the broken universes and set things right again."

"And yet here they are," Ink muttered, his left eye morphing into a strange red symbol and then back to a triangular yellow shape.

But there wasn't any real time for reunions or explanations as to how this creature, the creature created under extraordinary circumstances, birthed into being during a time when all of reality was at a halt, neither creating nor destroying. The shadows that had plagued the house from whence the creature had come were moving steadily towards where the three of them watched in horror, with no real means of escape.

"This day couldn't get any worse," the skeleton with the golden bow grumbled as he notched a vibrant blue arrow into his weapon.

The painter stared at the creature for some time as he removed the paint brush slung across his back, his attention wavering not once from the strange entity that resembled a dead friend from a long and forgotten time. "I think it just did."