I AM GOD. And nobody cares...

He felt tears streaming down his face as he stumbled around in the dark, searching for anything familiar in the vast and empty void of his home universe that was now a graveyard for all living things. He had no idea where he was and didn't care to figure out either, just that this place should have been a better place.

Poignant and prescient, isn't it? It's just exactly the crux of Klaus's sad, sad tale.

The first thing he did after pressing that button, that damned button, was not ascertain his whereabouts, the magnitude of his projection away, away, away from the orbital ring that surrounded Earth (had once surrounded? still did? always would?), not proceed scientifically through method before madness or pride before fall, not do anything that made, well, sense.

As his grief and his hubris parted ways, one towards repentance and one towards revengeance, something singular overtook Klaus. I am God, he thought. Finally, at long last, I am God. No more wondering where the Conduit came from, no more praying to apocryphal messiahs and astringent pariahs, no more biting on the bitter aftertaste of tomorrow. I am God, and I shall set the rules.

Did this power taste better than the promise of a new tomorrow? Was it worse, inducing of bile and gut-deep wrenching wretch, wretching wrench of contents from container? Zanza thought so; the Architect did not. But both thought the same thing: this place should have been a better place. This place will be a better place. And all will know it was I who put it here, and put things aright.

Zanza thought, this will show my power. The Architect thought, this will show my penance. Overt, overbent and overtaken displays of each were intrinsically, inherently, intuitively the only familiar things about this new blank space. Klaus's apologies, though not insincere, had only ever been weak, flimsy things, constructed as shields when he'd had no other recourse but to keel himself full over when he didn't understand the pain he had caused.

So. So, onward. No matter the reason, the motivation, it is still onward. It is still everything, to fashion from nothing the components of a single man's elaborate dream. Subjectively, creation is disgusting and self-serving. Objectively, it is the only thing that has ever mattered and will ever matter. We built a beanstalk, a tree, a landamassery of titanic not-yet-waste, and we- I- you- they- he- she-

Where am I? A black hole caves in Klaus's skull, supernovic, and then half of him is gone. So. Back we go, in and on to the creation of new history. Past is sundered, torn asunder, and there is only the future. Seize it. See how you once defied, dear Klaus, the passage of fate?

Rabbits, he sculpted and stuffed, but they were called Bunnits instead, and wielded an arm, a hand, a fist that was too busy clutching a weapon to ever aid in something like creation. Higher, more sophisticated lifeforms, too, sprung up along the borders and barriers of each dimension, all destined as stewards of the world that one man, only one man, had created.

As the Architect, Klaus meant to pass off responsibility, ultimately, to those better suited to it. That was why he made the Blades, and fashioned them as perfect prototype beings, after the Guldos had been summarily observed and buried under the clouds. Zanza, meanwhile, intended to eschew the fact of fault entirely. The High Entia would corrupt, would ascend, would transcend, and then would become mindless.

Why does it matter who did it, when there are problems? That's the supposed wisdom of adults - that you don't stand around pinning blame, you just get to getting rid of the mess. Klaus, childish rather than just childlike in glee, in wonder, in awe, thought he may as well scale the whole idea up to universality.

There's no fingers to be pointed here - see, I am fixing it! I, I, I, I am! And I was the only one who truly knew that it was broken, after all and all in all. No, it only matters that they know that I am God.

Klaus wished quite often that there was no capitalization applied in standard parlance to that first-person pronoun, for he could not scream his selfcenteredness any louder than such a device's predisposition allowed. So he turned to that new word, that omnipotent if not omniscient word, and declared, proclaimed, screamed into the broken void, I am not A god, I am God, I am GOD, I AM GOD !

So Zanza is God. So he is the de facto mouthpiece of all creation, of all life, of all death, of all sacrifice whose merits he and he alone will judge. The Architect is much of the same, but he sends his signals implicitly, accidentally. Oh, you've taken the other two Aegis Cores? Well, I hope it serves you. I am God, but it is your right to make your own mistakes anyway.

Messages are sent, yes. But what is mass communication without an entirely, or even partially, receptive audience? The Homs and the humans, unaware of their anti-joint scions' guilt-ridden gideonce, stumble about life in relative peace. They move as silent sycophants should, grateful for life but not knowing quite why because Klaus, like a boy playing at dolls, knows that the most compelling miniature scenarios are those that proceed as if unimpeded.

As if. As if you could be a successful god, when you were hardly even a successful student, in all sincerity.

These subjects weren't created to know things, after all. They weren't created to care about much of anything except, eventually, dying away and serving the cycle, in both and either case. At first, they knew, but those were the failures, those who almost knew too much, and yet still didn't know enough.

Knowledge, too much and too little, kills. Of course Klaus knew and knows that. He knows it, right? You see?