Time Minus Zero

   A colossal shadow stretched across the snowy flank of the volcano, cutting against the dying glow of dusk. But it was not a simple absence of light: it was a presence, a tangible essence. It embodied Darkness.

Amatsu Mikaboshi.

A name forged by mortals in an attempt to capture what could not be contained. An imperfect label for what was born of primordial Chaos, shaped in dark matter, alien to the laws of physics. Yet, the name suited him.

In the depths of his chaotic essence, he felt the fervor of his followers. Raw energy, offered like black sap, fueling his ascension. Each soul, each ritual wove a thread in the tapestry of his power.

Before him loomed the ultimate battle, against his sworn enemies: the Titans! These entities had dared to impose their order on a universe that had once been his. They had sculpted matter, breathed life into it, and established rigid laws. So many insults to Chaos.

On this sacred island, three Titans — Susanoo, Amaterasu, and Tsukiyomi — had repelled him, aided by a horde of half-human, half-divine heroes. That day, the heroes sealed Amatsu’s fate; they imprisoned him in an entropic nexus beyond time.

He, and his kin. Sons and daughters of dark matter, so ancient they were said to descend from forgotten gods. Those who played strange music on dissonant instruments, charming their masters.

He dwelled among them, each and every one, within the womb of a slumbering mind in stasis, floating with them for eternity.

The Titans remained. But at what cost? Their existence, and that of the creatures of chaos, depended on human emotions: faith, fear, veneration. Over the centuries, as belief withered, their power faded. They became shadows, mythological tales rather than realities. A few, refusing to vanish, had risen as galactic guardians, without gender, detached from flesh, distant and neutral observers. But for how much longer?

Eons later, in the far reaches of the cosmos and within a forgotten dimension, Amatsu still remained locked in his forced stasis. His essence fluctuated, oscillating between the limits of reality and fragments of chaos. Time here was an empty concept. He lingered in the limbo of a massive black hole.

Then came the sounds.

At first, faint vibrations, almost imperceptible.

… Day Tripper …

Sparks of energy rose in the void, carrying intense emotions. These energies were not born of ancient rituals but of an unpredictable source: human?

… It took me so long to find out …[1]

The music carried a power comparable to that of the ancient sacred chants. Raw. Saturated with passion. Amatsu fed on it. Slowly, he began to awaken from his forced slumber.

His ethereal body floated between matter and absence of form. Its contours wavered, evoking a vast silhouette of some ancestral warrior. A strange nostalgia overwhelmed him.

Was it a stolen memory, or his own recollection? It mattered little. The musical vibrations guided his unstable particles, uniting energy with essence. He realized he was in an age so distant that no memory reached it any longer. Far beyond memory, and beyond his perception, it came to him from a distant past.

Across space-time, he sensed their source: a blue planet teeming with life. Tellure.

He focused on the fragments of emotions carried through the ages, bearing half-forgotten stories. This music was not born of mere creatures; it was saturated with passion, desire, and hope.

“What now? Who manipulates these sounds to awaken me?” he wondered.

Without further thought, Amatsu followed the sound currents, tracking them like a predator on a trail.

Crossing ages, he reappeared in a swirl of shadows upon the island that had sealed his fate millennia ago. Nihon. Cradle of his greatest battles, shrouded in spectral mists.

He sought an anchor, an identity. The morning’s energy was not enough. Suddenly, he remembered Amano Kagaseo, a legendary figure. He adopted that name and departed for a remote village.

There he met a fisherman. Without violence, he entered his mind and convinced him to follow. The fisherman bowed before him, awestruck.

On his hand was a discreet tattoo: a stylized sun, a symbol hijacked by sects of chaos. A seed planted in the heart of modern history.

Chaos resurfaced. A whisper in the human soul, persisting even into the 21st century.        

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[1] Day tripper ‒ The Bugs (The Beatles on Earth)