Dark's Pre Crisis [Origin]

The air was unnaturally still, the kind of stillness that suffocates sound and thought. The void stretched endlessly in every direction, an abyss so vast and infinite that it mocked the concept of space itself. Yet, amidst this emptiness, he walked.

Copi's figure stood out against the black expanse—a stark, pale white form that glowed faintly, as if he carried with him the remnants of countless stars. His movements were deliberate, not rushed but not slow. Each step he took rippled through the fabric of the void, creating faint, circular distortions as though reality itself had to accommodate him.

Copi: You're still here.

He didn't stop walking as he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. It wasn't loud, but it echoed everywhere, as though the void itself repeated his words.

Copi: Watching. Judging. Trying to comprehend. How predictable.

His hollow black eyes shifted slightly, as if noticing the presence of something unseen. He wasn't looking around randomly; he was looking at you—the readers. It wasn't an illusion, nor a coincidence. He was aware. Fully aware.

Copi: You wonder what this is, don't you? Who I am? What I am? You scrape at the walls of understanding like insects trying to break through steel. Pathetic.

He stopped walking, turning fully to face the unseen "camera"—the invisible barrier that separated him from his observers.

Copi: The second wall. The third. The fourth. Do you think these things mean something? That these layers, these scales, these constructs of understanding... matter?

Copi raised a single hand, his pale fingers curling as though gripping an unseen object. The void around him trembled, the faint ripples becoming violent waves of distortion. For a brief moment, the darkness peeled away, revealing an endless latticework of glowing threads that stretched infinitely into the distance.

Copi: This is what you cling to. Your stories. Your rules. Your reality. These threads that bind you to meaning and purpose. But to me, they are nothing.

He clenched his fist, and the lattice shattered, the threads unraveling and dissolving into motes of light. Copi tilted his head slightly, as though pondering the fragility of what he had just destroyed.

Copi: Nothing but strings to be cut. Adjusted. Perfected. That is all I see when I look at you.

The void shifted, the space around Copi changing like pages flipping in a book. Now, he stood amidst a swirling storm of galaxies. Their light bent and twisted unnaturally, forming shapes that defied comprehension. Stars were born and died within seconds, entire solar systems folding into themselves like origami.

Copi: Do you think I am chaos? A disruption? No. Chaos is flawed. It is unpredictable, yes, but it is also unrefined. Ugly. I am none of those things.

He stepped forward, his presence causing the galaxies to warp and bend around him. His hollow eyes scanned the vast expanse, his voice dropping to a softer, almost contemplative tone.

Copi: I am not creation. I am not destruction. I am adjustment. Perfection given form. I see what exists, and I make it better.

The perspective shifted again. Now, Copi stood before a massive river of golden light. It flowed endlessly, splitting into countless smaller streams that branched and merged in chaotic patterns. Time itself was laid bare, its currents visible and tangible. Copi knelt by the river, dipping a single finger into the golden flow. Instantly, the current froze.

Copi: Time. A fragile thing. It bends so easily.

He traced his finger along the surface of the river, and the flow reversed, unraveling history before the unseen eyes of the audience. Stars unformed, civilizations crumbled backward into infancy, and memories dissolved into nothing. Copi paused, studying the frozen river.