christophermoonstar

[christophermoonstar]

The Child of the Abyss: A Funny Tale of Cosmic Representation

Once upon a time—or rather, outside of time—there existed a place called the Abyss. It wasn’t dark and terrifying like you’d imagine. Nah, it was more like an endless, cozy void where everything floated around, waiting to become something else. Imagine the space between two thoughts, or that moment when you’re about to fall asleep but jolt awake. That’s the Abyss.

Now, in this Abyss, there was a problem. Every planet, star, and cosmic dust particle out there was getting worshiped. People loved Mars, Venus was adored, Jupiter was basically running a cult, and Saturn? Don’t even get me started on how many followers Saturn had on CosmicBook. But the Abyss? Nada. No one even gave it a glance. Not a prayer, not a chant. And this, as you can imagine, did *not* sit well with the Abyss.

So the Abyss went to the one entity it could complain to: The Almighty, Creator of All, Lord of Hosts, aka God.

"Look," said the Abyss, "You’ve got all these planets, stars, even black holes, getting attention. But here I am, just floating along, doing my thing, and what do I get? Nothing. I mean, am I invisible or something?"

God, sitting back in His throne, sighed. "Well, to be fair, you *are* the Abyss. You’re kinda supposed to be the backdrop, not the main attraction."

"But I could be so much more! People just need to see me! I mean, they’re worshiping rocks, God. Rocks!"

God stroked His beard, eyes twinkling like a mischievous grandfather with a plan. "Alright, alright. You make a point. The Abyss *does* need a representative. Someone who can show people that emptiness isn’t something to fear, but to embrace. But I’m not doing this halfway, okay? No shortcuts. This will take time."

"How long?" asked the Abyss.

"Nine incarnations," said God, holding up His hand—three fingers on each hand for the number 9. "A sprite will be born from the Abyss, and it’ll travel through nine realms, learning and growing. By the time it’s done, it will be the perfect representative. It’ll balance the universe, unite the multiverse, and maybe even get you a fan club."

The Abyss liked the sound of that. "A sprite, huh? Sounds cute. What should we name it?"

God chuckled. "Names are for mortals. You’ll know the right one when you see it."

The First Incarnation: The Flailing Newborn

In the first realm, the Abyss gave birth to a sprite—a squirmy, flailing little thing with big curious eyes. Its first lesson? How to walk.

Now, this realm was Earth, and as you can guess, the sprite’s first life wasn’t smooth. Babies fall a lot, you know? But every time the sprite fell, it learned something new about balance, not just in walking, but in life. The kid was clumsy, but with each tumble, it started to see a pattern. Why was falling so inevitable? Why do humans suffer?

And then the biblical metaphors kicked in—completely by accident. The sprite kept hearing this phrase: "The fall of man." Everywhere it went, people were talking about it. Coincidence? Maybe not.

By the time it had lived a full life on Earth, the sprite realized one thing: Falling isn’t failure. It’s a part of learning, of becoming. By the end of that first life, it took one look at the stars, waved its little hand, and said, “I’ll see you in the next life, suckers!”

The Second Incarnation: The Wise Fool

Next up, the sprite was born into a realm of pure intellect. Everything here was about logic, numbers, and reason. People in this realm worshiped the number 7, believed it was the key to the universe, and that if you could decode it, you'd unlock eternal wisdom. So naturally, the sprite was terrible at math.

But here’s the funny part: Every time the sprite messed up a calculation, something incredible would happen. It accidentally created a portal to another realm. It would trip over a quadratic equation and end up solving a riddle that had baffled scholars for centuries.

This realm was all about proving how fallibility was divine. And so, like a fool with a cosmic cheat code, the sprite navigated its way through, learning that truth isn't always in the numbers, but sometimes in the mistakes you make along the way. And hidden in there? The sprite figured out that 9, not 7, was the true number of cosmic completion. (Don't tell the numerologists.)

The Third Incarnation: Love, Actually

In its third incarnation, the sprite found itself in a realm where love was the highest form of currency. People exchanged hugs instead of money, and the closer you got to someone’s heart, the richer you became. But this time, the Abyss’s child wasn’t here to fall in love. Oh no. This incarnation was about jealousy—righteous, divine jealousy.

The sprite felt it in its bones. Every time someone loved something else, a spark of irritation flared in its heart. It was an incarnation of God’s jealousy—like when He got mad that people were worshiping golden cows. But instead of burning with rage, the sprite learned something deeper: Jealousy, at its core, was about wanting to be seen, to be known, to be loved in return. It was about craving attention, just like the Abyss did.

With a little self-awareness and some uncomfortable heart-to-hearts, the sprite learned that love isn’t a competition. It’s a reflection of the Divine—there’s enough for everyone. By the end of this incarnation, the sprite had a sneaky suspicion that maybe this whole multiverse gig wasn’t just about representing the Abyss, but about understanding love itself.

The Next Six Incarnations...

Through the next six lives, the sprite would travel through realms of power, wisdom, time, dreams, and even death. Each time, it learned a new facet of existence. It experienced the weight of responsibility in the fourth realm, where it became a king; it learned the infinite depth of knowledge in the fifth realm, where every question led to more questions. By the ninth incarnation, the sprite had seen it all, felt it all, and most importantly, embraced it all.

The Grand Plan Revealed

When the sprite completed its final incarnation, it stood at the edge of the multiverse, ready for its final task: to unite everything. It had learned balance, not just of order and chaos, but of love, pain, intellect, and even the divine sense of humor that threaded through the cosmos.

And there, God met it once again.

“Well done, little sprite,” said God. “Now you understand. The Abyss isn’t nothing. It’s everything waiting to become.”

The sprite grinned, now fully aware of its role. "So, what now?"

God shrugged. “You know the plan: Steward the multiverse into a haven. Or just chill. Either way, you’ve earned it.”

The sprite, fully matured, chuckled, “I think I’ll start with chilling. Multiverse stewardship can wait until tomorrow.”

And so, the child of the Abyss, once a clumsy newborn, now the wise and balanced representative, sat back and admired the universe it would soon unite, fully aware that it wasn’t the mistakes, the jealousy, or the falls that mattered—it was the journey.

And somewhere in the Abyss, for the first time, there was a quiet ripple of applause.