And make it Double

There was a beast, a creature of nightmarish terror, clawing its way up from the deepest depths of the earth.

Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of fear itself, a swirling mass of sinew, its eyes burning like molten pits of hellfire.

Its fangs were jagged shards of blackened bone, each one dripping with venom that sizzled against the ground like acid.

The air around it seemed to warp and shudder, reality bending to accommodate its impossible existence.

It moved with relentless, primordial fury, each step a thunderous quake that sent fissures spider-webbing across the ground. It was not just a beast; it was a force of destruction, a calamity given form.

It always did, always escaped. This had been set in stone from eons ago, written in the very fabric of the world. The beast would break free from its prison in the earth and rampage across the world, an unstoppable force of chaos and ruin.

Even the gods, mighty and eternal, would find themselves powerless against its wrath. Wherever the beast went, cities crumbled to dust beneath its feet, mountains shattered into rubble, and the very seas themselves boiled away.

It was a catastrophe incarnate, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

But then, as if by fate, a hero would rise. A figure bathed in light and gold and love, wielding a gleaming sword of divine radiance.

The hero was faceless, for their identity was yet unknown, but they stood tall and resolute, a beacon of hope against the encroaching darkness. They would confront the beast, meeting its monstrous might with courage and strength born of the gods themselves. Their battle would shake the earth to its core, tremors rippling out across the land. The sky would split open, the heavens themselves would bleed, and stars would rain down like tears from the gods.

Who would win this titanic struggle?

Not even Ouranos, the God of the Skies, could see so far ahead. His divine sight, his eternal gaze, was obscured by the very fabric of fate itself, a tangled weave of uncertainty and possibility. The future was a river with many branches, each path twisting and turning away from the last. To predict the outcome was like trying to grasp smoke in one's hands—always slipping away, always eluding.

But Ouranos was not one to despair. Again and again, he peered into the future, pouring part of his Arcanum into his visions, seeking answers, unraveling mysteries, and preparing for what was to come.

All for a single reason: to give the world a fighting chance.

This was the prophecy of Ouranos, the forefather of gods, unchanged, unmoved, uncaring—like the mountains that held up the sky, like the stars fixed in their eternal dance...until now.

For as the Beast and the Hero battled and the world trembled beneath their fury, something began to emerge from below.

A shadow.

A vast, inky blackness, so deep that the void of space might as well have been the brightest of lights by comparison. It was darkness made tangible, a suffocating, all-consuming void that seemed to swallow the very essence of existence. And within that darkness, there were things—hungry, writhing things without shape or form, with eyes like pits of madness and mouths that stretched wider than the sky.

Tendrils like spider webs unfurled from this abyss, reaching out to ensnare both the Beast and the Hero in their grasp, dragging them down into its endless maw.

As the tendrils pulled, the darkness spoke with a voice that shattered stars.

{̴̨̨̢͍̠͎̠̠̮͔͂̅̐̇̏̒͝ͅͅͅ[̸̢̢̛̳̳͇̞̖̦̼͕̱͕̩̠́̊̈́̓̾̉̏Ḧ̷̡͔͚͔͚̮̫̖̩̮̬͍́͊͊̀̋̎͝u̷̧̢̟̘̲͉͙̍̎̐̿̒̊͝͝Ņ̴̡̡̛̞͙͙̫̖͚͈̲̯̲͒̿̊̌̑̎̚ͅģ̸̢̡̡̙͚̗̙̪̱̟̟͋È̷̢̙̣͉͂͒̇̒̓̀̉̅͐̃͘͝r̵̟͇̭̝̻̼̫͔͎̔͜ͅ]̷̠̟̹̗̝͚̜͕͙̤͎̩͙̟̊̍̓́̓̌̓̀̓̃}̸̬̅̄̒͊

The fight was horrifically brief. The darkness swallowed the remains of both the Beast and the Hero as easily as a whale consumes krill.

It was vast, impossibly so—far more vast than even the Beast.

Yet, in their final moments, both the Beast and the Hero fought back.

The Beast, with its dying breath, spat its venomous poison into the darkness, a last act of defiance. The Hero, with a final, desperate swing of their sword, drove it deep into the soul of the shadow, a blow that cut into its very essence.

It was a curse—a spiteful, bitter curse as they fell, dragging the darkness down with them as much as they could.

And then, there was only blackness.

Ouranos, the lord of the starry sky, stared up at the void where the stars should have been, at the Shadow that now lay behind them, consuming all light and hope.

Then, slowly, the Shadow's gaze turned onto him.

Massive eyes, cold and unfeeling.

Eyes like dead stars

∞̵̳̼̭͓͑̉̄͗͒͗̓̇̅̄̕∞̸̢̠͈̭͓͍͔̀̄́̂̿͒̾̅̈́͜∞̵̢͇̤̖̲̤͈̭͎̰̘̏́̓̌͊̿͒̂̏̕̕∞̶̡͖̫̭͇̦͙̘͚̩̀̈̌̓̂̓̋̄͊͗̿∞̴̧̘̟̜͚̤͔̣̗͉͍̎͒ͅ∞̸̤͇̩̖̻̀̏͗͋̐̅̾̓͘̚͠͠∞̴̛̺̀̋̓̈́̾͊̿̄̌̽͝͝∞̶̢̡̪̘͎͎̩̺̦̮̱̽̅̒̌͌̊̾͋̈́̇̑∞̷̫̻̒̈́̕͝͠∞̸̛̹̯̫̹̂͑̈́͂͜∞̸̨̯̩̠̭͈̦̮̅̽̒̍̓̏̑͘͘

The vision ended abruptly as the world began to crumble.

Ouranos gasped, his breath catching in his throat, and he raised a trembling hand to his temple, trying to comprehend the horror he had witnessed. 

When his palm came away, it was wet, slick with his own blood.

Blood dripped from his eyes like petals falling from a dying rose.

For the first time in eons, Ouranos, the Primordial, felt fear.