The Birth of Form

Time flowed forward, as it always does.

The red cross was given a name—Destruction.

How fitting, no matter how simple it was. It proved far more efficient at erasing Creation's miscalculations than Creation itself. A perfect balance—one breathes life into the void, the other ensures it does not spiral into unchecked chaos.

An elegant system!

And yet, something unexpected occurred.

They were no longer just sparks, no longer formless.

Creation took it upon itself to grant them shape.

Their essence remained—one a radiant blue, the other a deep, consuming crimson—but now, they stood in bodies.

A fascinating design.

Four limbs, a head, a torso—the structure of a being, yet not quite alive in the way lesser creatures are. Their physical forms connected, bones and flesh unnecessary. Their hair shimmered in the hues of their essence, flowing like the cosmic tides.

Yet within them… nothing.

Their bodies, exquisite as they were, remained hollow.

A shell of beauty, masking the void inside.

How ironic..

Why had Creation lowered itself to such an extent? Why bind the boundless? Why confine the infinite to such an inefficient form?

I do not understand this child's mindset.

Perhaps I never will.

But no matter. This experiment must be documented.

For now, what matters is that they are complete.

Creation and Destruction—opposites, yet born from the same source.

They are a paradox, a contradiction in motion. And yet, they move together in harmony.

Their existence is breathtaking to behold.

I would watch them forever.

…But I fear I will not be able to.