Paradox

He would sacrifice his life to the heavens above.

The abyss that had replaced the skies trembled, rippling as though the fabric of reality itself had grown unstable. Then, suddenly, it tore apart, splitting open like fragile cloth unraveling under unseen hands.

From the incomprehensible depths of the rift, countless golden chains descended. Each one, inscribed with intricate white runes, shot downward, piercing into Icarus' body and forcing him onto his knees. The chains burrowed deep, wrapping around his bones, sinking through his flesh, and impaling his organs before coiling tightly around his very soul.

The pain was indescribable—beyond the reach of words, beyond the comprehension of mortals. Yet, Icarus did not scream. He remained still, unflinching, as more and more chains tore into him, tightening with every passing moment. 

Blood pooled beneath him, seeping into the earth, staining the sacred runes he had drawn upon the ground. His life force waned, slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. But having already met death once, he remained indifferent.

Then, from within the rift in the heavens, an immense eye emerged. It was a being beyond size, beyond sight, beyond understanding. It was composed of all colors—both those known to man and those beyond mortal perception—shifting and blending in an ever-changing, chaotic harmony. 

Its presence was overwhelming, an entity not of divinity but something greater. It was an overseer, an all-knowing, all-seeing force—the Heavens.

The eye gazed down at Icarus, silent, watchful. And then, slowly, the sky began to descend. 

The heavens themselves were falling. 

The closer it drew, the greater the pressure became, suffocating in its weight. Icarus could no longer move, could no longer lift his head. 

His thoughts blurred, drowning in the sheer force that bore down upon him. And then, within the sensory void he had been imprisoned in for his entire life, a blinding light erupted, consuming everything.

Moments passed. The eye was now mere inches away. The weight of its existence was so immense that Icarus' body could only remain intact through the support of the very chains that bound him. The eye remained still, waiting.

Icarus coughed, blood splattering against the ground. He had made a sacrifice—himself.

And by the natural order of the world, an equivalent had to be demanded. But because he was both the sacrifice and the demander, his fate was caught in a limbo and delayed.

"Myself."

His voice, though weak, echoed across the void. A ripple spread outward, distorting the air, twisting reality itself. The fabric of space trembled, as if the very laws of existence had been fractured. 

A paradox—this was Icarus' goal. 

To sacrifice himself in order to save himself.

To plunge his existence into a state of liminality, where he was neither alive nor dead, forcing the Heavens to reconcile the contradiction.

A deafening explosion shook the sky. Then another. And another. Ripples spread outward, each one greater than the last. The eye above him shuddered violently, then, for the first time—froze.

Weakly, Icarus lifted his gaze, staring into the boundless expanse of the celestial entity.

Compared to it, he was so insignificant, so minuscule, that all he could see was an endless abyss of darkness. Yet, for the first time in his life, he saw.

Slowly, his bloodstained hands, burdened by the weight of the chains, reached upward.

With excruciating slowness, he began to trace a rune upon the eye's surface, using his own blood as ink. 

His movements were sluggish. His breaths were labored. Sweat and crimson soaked his trembling frame, forcing him to restart the rune over and over again. But he did not falter.

His heart remained steady, his will unbroken.

He had waited eighteen years for this moment. For this singular chance.

Failure was beneath him.

WHOOOSH!

Finally, the rune was completed. And then, like a single domino setting off an unstoppable cascade, the world shifted.

***

Within the boundless expanse of Primordial Chaos, where existence was in a constant state of flux, countless worlds drifted. Each world was unique, each teeming with life and history, but across all of them, one truth remained absolute—the Heavens.

Each world had its own Heaven, a governing force that oversaw fate and enforced order.

And all Heavens were connected, woven together into an intricate web of unimaginable power. 

But beyond these Heavens, something else resided.

RUMBLE!

A deafening roar erupted across Primordial Chaos. 

One after another, each Heaven trembled violently, as though shackled by an invisible force. The Heavens were no longer acting as rulers. They had become something else entirely—mere nodes in a formation that spanned across the entirety of existence itself.

***

Icarus felt the weight of his chains vanish. The crushing presence of the eye dissipated.

Everything around him had changed.

The endless plains that had been his prison since birth were gone. Now, he stood within an abyss—one devoid of light, of matter, of time itself. He was alone.

His breaths were still ragged, his body still weak, but he pushed the pain away, suppressing it. He looked around, scanning the void for any sign of the eye, for any trace of what had just occurred. But there was nothing. Only silence.

Just as doubt crept into his mind, the abyss rippled.

Dozens of distortions spread across its fabric, overlapping like waves upon a still lake. Then, from the depths, countless eyes emerged.

Each one was grander than the last, their sheer size stretching beyond comprehension.

But they were different.

Some burned with an insatiable hunger, an unfathomable violence that no mortal mind could grasp. Others radiated madness, an abyss of chaos that defied all logic and reason. And some… were simply beyond comprehension.

The eyes filled the void, locking onto him.

Some with curiosity. Others with hostility. 

Their collective presence bore down upon him, stripping him bare, piercing through his mind and soul. It was a weight unlike any he had ever known, unlike even the Heavens. His heart pounded, his consciousness wavering on the brink of collapse. His soul trembled, fraying at its very edges.

Then—his chains glowed.

The pressure faded. The unbearable scrutiny was momentarily offset.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. As terrifying as this was, this was exactly what he had sought.

'So they did exist after all—the Outer Gods.'

If the Heavens would not free him from his curse, then he would seek those beyond. He understood the consequences. He knew the risks. But what could be worse than death?

To him, the answer was simple.

Nothing.

A smile returned to Icarus' lips. He straightened his posture, no longer bound, and in the presence of these unknowable entities—these beings that transcended existence itself—he spread his arms wide and spoke.

"All I desire is freedom."

Before any could respond, a hand suddenly reached out from the abyss, grasping his robes.

A tear formed behind him, jagged and pulsating. Without hesitation, the hand pulled him inside.

The tear instantly closed.

The eyes remained still for a long moment, silent, watching. Then, one by one, they began to vanish—until only one remained.

It was the smallest among them, almost insignificant in comparison to the cosmic titans that had surrounded it.

It did not radiate madness, nor hunger, nor chaos.

It was simply… observing.

And as it lingered in the void where Icarus had stood, a thought resonated within it.

"…A Belmont…"