Across time, Amser Modred had seen many things and many people.
He lived in time as others lived in space, moving through moments the way lesser beings moved through rooms. He had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations that most Absolutes only read about in archives. He had observed the births of beings who would become legends and the deaths of those who believed themselves immortal. He knew the true faces of those who wore masks across eons.
He knew THE Living Paradox, had watched that being’s machinations unfold across timelines that twisted and folded upon themselves with complexity that bordered on beautiful.
He knew THE Creature, had observed that ancient wonder consuming and growing in patterns that revealed patience exceeding comprehension.
He couldn’t say he knew THE Primordial Chaos as well, but that was because Chaos resisted the kind of temporal observation that worked on others.
But he knew those who were powerful and those who were not.
And he very much understood the psychology of those powerful like him.
The man in front of him, as changed as he was every time they met, Amser knew he was the same man that he had tried to hunt eons ago. Even before the infection began its work on his memories, he remembered this one. THE Youngest of THE Four. Osmont.
And he should be young.
Yet when Amser Modred looked at him now...
The vibrant swirls of Infinity surrounding this being pressed against Amser’s perception with weight that made his temporal senses ache. Blue-gold galaxies of linguistic authority orbited the figure on the throne, each one burning with power that exceeded what Amser remembered from their last encounter. The transformation was staggering. The growth was incomprehensible!
But it was the eyes that truly unsettled him.
For some reason, that glimmer of blue-gold in THE Youngest’s gaze was akin to staring at an extremely old lifeform. Not old in the way that Amser was old, not aged by the passage of time through a singular existence. This was different. This was the kind of age that accumulated through infinite iterations, through endless variations, through existence that regenerated and compounded upon itself until the weight of accumulated moments exceeded what linear time could produce.
As someone proficient with time and age, Amser could tell that it was that glimmer of blue-gold which gave this sensation. It reminded him of the eyes of THE Creature.
That being also held a similar gaze of age, eyes that made Amser feel like he was far older than what many believed. When he observed THE Creature through temporal perception, he always sensed depths that exceeded the being’s apparent history, weight that couldn’t be explained by conventional existence.
For him to feel this way with THE Youngest?
The implications made his already unstable foundations buzz.
As he was looking at this being, THE Youngest also seemed to be looking at him. Those ancient-young eyes took in every detail of Amser’s deteriorating condition with perception that missed nothing. The pen in his hand remained still. The pages on his desk continued burning with patient authority.
Then he spoke.
"Eons ago in Ginnungagap, you came for me. Eons later, you’ve come for me again, but in an extremely different circumstance."
"..."
Amser felt turmoil flood through his existence at these words.
He remembered Ginnungagap. He remembered hunting this being, believing himself the predator and this strange creature the prey. He remembered the arrogance with which he’d approached that hunt.
He remembered being wrong.
And now here he stood, not as hunter but as supplicant. Not as predator but as wounded prey seeking shelter from something that exceeded his ability to fight. The reversal was complete. The irony was bitter!
The shame burned through his foundations with heat that his temporal authority couldn’t cool.
But existence was grand and changed constantly. And time, time gave everything meaning. Past failures could become future wisdom. Present humiliation could become tomorrow’s foundation for growth. He had always believed this.
Only now...
"I am running out of time."
Amser voiced out as he truly couldn’t hide his desperation. The words emerged from him with weight that pressed against his throat, admission of weakness that he had never spoken to anyone across all his eons of existence.
Him, THE Living Temporal, was running out of time!
Oh, the cruel poetry of it!
THE Youngest seemed to know this. His expression didn’t change, didn’t show surprise or satisfaction or any of the emotions that Amser might have expected from someone watching a former enemy grovel before them. He simply observed with that ancient gaze.

"How much of you is you? My intuition tells me you are not all gone, but THE Entity should already be deeply inside you. You still have the majority of control?"
"How exactly have you been holding it off? Knowing this would be enough to move me to help. If I can help even."

"We have already included Amser Modred, the one you knew as THE Living Temporal, in our unity."
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