The Grim had always needed his treasures. Even before the Breaking of the Will, he had surrounded himself with reconstructed treasures he had seen whilst in the Secondary Realms. Although he no longer remembered his very first treasure – a jewelled tiara from a planet where the sentient beings were arachnids - he still had it somewhere in his tower, buried under the piles of riches acquired over time. He often forgot about his treasures, or at least each individual possession. For the Grim, owning was enough – he had no need to watch his treasures after he had made or stolen them. But he knew if anything was missing – it was almost a sixth sense to him. But even as he acquired more and more, he was never able to properly satisfy his need to own thousands of beautiful creations. It was still there, deep within him – an unquenchable thirst for as many riches as he could lay his hands on. It consumed the very fibre of his being.
Before the Breaking of the Will, he had been much more pleasant to deal with. When he, Monday and Wednesday had met up, he had always managed to create little trinkets for his friends. For Monday, he often created fine clocks, and after the Breaking, the occasional steam bath that was self propelled (powered by a small gobbet of Nothing, held in a minor stasis field – Monday had been so happy that he had actually managed to stand up and shake the Grim's hand). For Wednesday, he crafted beautiful copies of her armada, as well as replicas of meals and banquets from around the Secondary Realms. And even though he could not create anything, his friends were always extremely thankful to him for the presents. It was at these times, when he was with the other Trustees, that he felt the drive to own precious items fade away. It was always there, but it would lessen to the point where he could ignore it.
But in the end his insatiable need would always return with the vengeance, and he would have to return to the Far Reaches to shape nothing into various creations of astounding beauty. It was after one of these splurges that the Grim, impatient with the flow of Nothing that came from the seams in the Far Reaches, had ripped the ground apart with his gauntlets. Despite losing his eyebrows in the ensuing explosion of nothing, the Grim quickly realised that huge pockets of Nothing lay directly beneath his feet, under the Far Reaches. It had taken him about a week to devise a way to dig up the ground in such a way that would prevent the explosion of nothing creating any damage, and throughout those seven days the Grim had been exceedingly impatient to get his gauntlets onto the Nothing. When at last the mining shaft was ready, The Grim had been too impatient to even hold a proper opening ceremony (much to the confusion of his denizens), instead preferring to simply leap onto the seam and begin hacking away at the ground with a pick-axe. The other denizens had followed, and they began to dig into the earth.
After the first major accident, which happened within the first year, the Grim realised he had a major problem.
There were not enough Denizens across the entire Far Reaches to get enough Nothing out of the ever increasing mine shaft to satisfy either the Grim's desires, or the ever increasing orders from the other parts of the House. And every time there was an accident, the Nothing had a habit of killing his workers. The Grim didn't particularly care for these workers; he found that the rapid decrease in productivity of the mine was actually very disturbing however. So he devised a scheme, which the other Trustees quickly ratified, whereby they would send workers to purchase various goods produced by the Grim. The only Trustee that refused to have anything to do with the scheme was Sunday, and that was because he simply threatened the Grim with annihilation if he didn't keep supplying Sunday with whatever he needed. Tuesday even created a registry which would allow his overseers (the surviving denizens who originally lived in the Far Reaches) to keep track of the inflow of indentured denizens.
And so the mineshaft became The Pit.
As the Pit began to expand, the Grim found that he and his Times were spread too thinly to effectively manage the ever-increasing shaft. And so he called the loyal and obedient Times to his office, right next to the Main Entrance of the Far Reaches. As they walked towards the small building in the increasing smoke that filled the Pit, the Times wondered what the Grim could want with them.
"Could it be that he wishes to relieve us? Or add to our number?" asked Dawn, casually leading the way. They used to have hair and clothing that was reminiscent of their various positions, but the acidity in the rain had eaten away those. They now wore matching brown outfits, with the hoods drawn up over their still attractive heads.
"I would so like a holiday. Maybe a chance to regrow some of my hair!" Noon muttered, his silver tongue still shining like a beacon in the darkness.
Dusk said nothing, preferring to keep her worried thoughts to herself. He had heard a rumour from one of the Rats that still lurked near the Far Reaches about the Grim's plans, but she had dismissed it as anti-Trustee propaganda. But with the sudden, secret beckoning from their lord and master, she was beginning to have doubts…
Upon arriving at the small office, Dawn proceeded to knock on the door, which opened jerkily. On the inside, which was unsurprisingly larger than the exterior, they saw the Grim hunched over several gobbets of Nothing.
"Ah, my Times. Please, come here. I assure you that the Nothing won't hurt you," Tuesday grunted, gesturing for the loyal Times to come closer.
When they were half a metre away from him, the Grim made them stop.
"Now, as I'm sure you're aware, managing this place is becoming a nightmare. There are simply too many denizens across an area too large for us to properly oversee, and although individually we have no problem looking after issues such as Nothing leaks or disgruntled workers, we still have too many problems appearing. This affects our productivity. Now I know you are hardly to blame – in fact your efforts have been nothing short of heroic. However, I have a plan that will help relieve you of your burdens somewhat and make the Pit 43.61% more effective!" The Grim ended on an enthusiastic note, which made the Times glance at each other in anticipation. Even Dusk's doubts began to diminish. Surely something that effective couldn't be as nasty as the Rats made out? And it was forbidden to alter the workings of a denizen anyway.
Then the Grim raised his gauntlets, and Dusk's fears - until now simply a suspicion - became a cold, clear reality.
After he had finished, and his seven Grotesques looked up at him in confusion, hatred and terror, the Grim felt a twinge. That old ache in the core of his being was still there, and had actually increased with this disgusting act. To placate it, he quickly shaped himself a stunning goblet, based on vessels found on some planet called Beetlejuice in the Secondary Realms. And the ache lessened a little, but never completely went away.
And it was still there every time he looked at his creations.
After his defeat at the hands of Arthur, Tuesday (no longer Grim) spent most of his time cleaning. After the loss of his gauntlets, he had suddenly felt the guilt of everything he had done, especially with the mutilation of his Times, who were now lying all around the Pit. He dealt with the guilt by throwing himself whole-heartedly into his new tasks in cleaning up the messes he had created. His greed had blinded him – he knew that now. Singlehandedly, he had almost brought down the entire universe. And so he could simply have more things – things that helped salve that ache in his heart.
The ache was still there – it was as though with his removal of office it had returned to plague him as much as his guilt had. Every day it increased, until he could take it no longer. He made his way up to the glass pyramid, where Dame Primus had taken temporary residence to oversee the filling in of the Pit whilst Lord Arthur attempted to fix Wednesday.
Parts One and Two of the Will hadn't been eager to see him. But when he made it clear he had come alone, she relented and allowed him to enter. Something about a fear of him attempting to reclaim the keys or some such nonsense was her excuse.
"My lady, I have come here to ask you to see what is wrong with me. As long as I can remember, I have had an ache within me. In my blindness, I had sought to fill this emptiness with possessions, and riches. Although I know now that this greed that polluted me did not help, it does not explain why I still feel this urge to possess things. Why do I have this affliction still? I know my friend Monday has been cured and his sloth has been cured. Can you fix me?"
Dame Primus stared at him for a long time, her mind running along a million miles an hour. Finally, when Tuesday felt he should simply leave, she rose.
"Come with me," she had said briskly, then turned and walked out of the room they were in. The surprised denizen followed eagerly, all the way to the edge of the platform that overlooked the Pit.
"There is one solution that comes to mind that will both explain your problem, and be a final method by which to repair your broken self," Primus comforted, a tone which sounded unusual from a usually stern woman.
"By all means, enlighten me!" pleaded the Grim, stepping closer to the tall and intimidating woman, bringing him closer to the edge. When he took a step too close, Primus slammed her gauntleted hands together, which caused the Grim to freeze where he stood.
"Well, we'll see what was causing you pain when you reach the bottom, shall we?" sneered the vengeful woman, before she gently prodded him, sending him toppling over the edge.
When they found his body, broken open by the long descent from the roof to the floor, the denizens were amazed to find something in the former Grim's chest. Below his battered and broken heart, was a tiny speck of Nothing. Upon closer inspection, the almost invisible speck had been right next to Tuesday's heart, constantly eating little bits away at a time, leaving him with an empty space in his chest.