Chapter One: Blokkat Beginnings
"The law that entropy always increases - the second law of thermodynamics - holds, I think, the supreme position among the laws of Nature."
Arthur Eddington
"The general struggle for existence of animate beings is not a struggle for raw materials - these, for organisms, are air, water and soil, all abundantly available - nor for energy, which exists in plenty in the sun and any hot body in the form of heat, but rather a struggle for entropy, which becomes available through the transition of energy from the hot sun to the cold earth."
Ludwig Boltzmann
"Just as the constant increase of entropy is the basic law of the universe, so it is the basic law of life to be ever more highly structured and to struggle against entropy."
Vaclav Havel
"The arrow of time doesn't move forward forever. There's a phase in the history of the universe where you go from low entropy to high entropy. But then, once you reach the locally maximum entropy you can get to, there's no more arrow of time."
Sean M. Carroll
January 5th, 2011
San Francisco, Earth Bet
Sol System
Milky Way Galaxy
Cycle 10038102
As I sit cross-legged in my dimly lit bedroom, a quiet sanctuary amid the chaos outside, I delve into meditation, reaching deep within to connect with the Shroud. My thoughts, a swirling maelstrom, settle upon a single, unyielding concept: entropy.
Entropy. It's not just a scientific principle or a measure of disorder within the universe. It's a fundamental force, an inexorable whisper of decay woven into the fabric of existence itself. It represents the inevitable dissolution, the gradual unweaving of the cosmos, matter, and energy. But it's more than that. It's the silent erosion of societies, the slow decay of cultures, the gradual disintegration of the human spirit.
I feel the subtle tendrils of entropy creeping into every facet of humanity's existence. It's in the crumbling buildings that line the streets, the faded echoes of forgotten dreams, and the erosion of the values that once held us together. It's in the rust consuming mighty structures, the corruption seeping into noble intentions, and the apathy gnawing at the core of our compassion.
Humanity strives for progress, erects towering monuments, creates intricate systems, and seeks stability in an ever-changing world. Yet, for every achievement, entropy lurks, waiting to unravel our endeavors. Society, too, falls prey to entropy's inexorable pull. It's in the rise and fall of civilizations, the cycles of creation and destruction etched upon the annals of history. Empires rise, alliances forged, moments of unity celebrated, only for entropy to claim its toll, slowly disintegrating what was once strong and cohesive.
I've seen the decay in the fraying bonds of trust between individuals, the erosion of empathy in the face of adversity, and the gradual breakdown of systems meant to uphold justice and equality. Societal entropy festers beneath the surface - a gradual unraveling, imperceptible until it's too late.
Despite humanity's collective efforts to resist, to build resilience against the encroaching chaos, entropy remains undefeated. It is the inevitable fate of all things - to succumb to the ceaseless march toward disorder.
But perhaps in acknowledging entropy's inescapable nature, humanity finds a sliver of solace. In recognizing the transient nature of our existence, we grasp the significance of the moments we hold dear. We cherish fleeting connections, savor fleeting joys, and weave meaningful narratives amidst the entropy that threatens to engulf us. Maybe the essence of our existence lies not in defying entropy but in embracing it. To find beauty in the chaos, to create moments of meaning amidst the decay, and to leave behind echoes of our existence that endure despite the entropic currents that seek to erase us.
Entropy is the cosmic truth - the unraveling thread that binds us all. And in its all-consuming nature, we find a reminder of the impermanence of everything, urging us to cherish the moments we have before they, too, succumb to the relentless pull of entropy.
If only the Blokkats knew...
"Daniel, get out of your room, I need your help to make pancakes!" my father calls out, his loud voice breaking me from my solitude.
I sigh. "I'm coming, Dad!" I yell.
As I get up and head to the door, my mind races, contemplating how I ended up in a world of superheroes and supervillains at speeds faster than any supercomputer on the planet.
When I arrived in this world, I didn't immediately realize I was a Self-Insert. I woke up in the same bed, lived in the same house, was the same age, and had the same parents. It wasn't until I saw a news report about the Protectorate issuing a warning of an impending Endbringer attack that I realized something was different.
At first, I thought it was a joke. Superheroes couldn't be real, right? But then my father grumbled about the Wards being child soldiers, and I shut my mouth. I knew something was off, so as soon as I finished breakfast, I got on my computer and did my research.
What I found was terrifying. Officially, the Protectorate was a beacon of heroism, regulated by the government, fighting villains, and occasionally working with them to fend off the Endbringers. Unofficially, gangs overwhelmed them, exposing more holes in their system than Swiss cheese, and the Endbringers were essentially unkillable.
Reading all that information at once caused me to have a panic attack. But instead of triggering like a Parahuman, I felt my body shrink to the size of an ant, mirroring my feelings of insignificance.
Shocked and overwhelmed, I hid under my desk when my dad came to check on me. I thought about confiding in him, but knew it would make everything needlessly complicated. Curling into a ball, I cried, wondering what I was going to do and what was happening to me.
Then my mind expanded. My thoughts quickened, my sight perceived the fundamental nature of reality, and I had complete control over my body. Memories of wars beyond comprehension, galaxies consumed, and harvesters destroyed almost broke me. But I somehow endured and realized what I was.
A Blokkat. The knowledge of science and technology eons ahead of humanity's dreams, with psionic powers to warp reality at my whim, flowed through me. I was the last and first of the Blokkats, after the destruction of the Blokkonstrukt. They used their energy to send one of their numbers to the next iteration of the multiverse to restart Blokkat civilization, and a program transferred the entire knowledge and power of the Blokkats to me, instructing me to rebuild everything.
The program also contained a modified version of the "thought police" system the Blokkonstrukt used to ensure no Blokkat could impede harvesting operations. Thankfully, it didn't activate. Perhaps due to whatever ROB put me in this position, I'm not sure.
I had a mental breakdown, but processing information faster than the human mind ever could meant I cried and panicked for a second before getting hold of myself. Calming down, I didn't know what to do with the power and responsibility thrust upon me. So, I meditated, accessing the Blokkats' knowledge that meditation allows individuals to explore their consciousness. My mind went through every single scenario that could ever happen, innately defined by my altruism and desire to survive, showing me I should become a hero, unaffiliated with the PRT, to "help people."
But I didn't know where to start. The desire to help people is noble, a whisper in the heart, an echo in the soul - a yearning to make a difference, alleviate suffering, be a beacon of hope in a shrouded world. Yet it was so... vague. I wanted to help, to change lives, to uplift others, but I felt I didn't grasp the depth of what that entailed, the complexities and nuances of true assistance.
Then, an epiphany. Helping people isn't about grand gestures or fleeting acts of charity. It's not about seeking validation or recognition. It's about understanding the needs of others, empathizing with their struggles, and extending a hand without expecting anything in return.
It's about showing up in the quiet moments when no one's watching. Listening, truly listening, to the unspoken words and silent cries for help. Real help isn't one-size-fits-all. It's tailored, personal - meeting people where they are, offering genuine support, whether through a comforting presence, a kind word, or a meaningful action.
It's about addressing root causes, not just applying temporary band-aids. Advocating for systemic change, challenging injustices, dismantling barriers that perpetuate suffering and inequality. The desire to help should be a commitment etched into the fabric of my existence, a pledge to be better, do better, and uplift those around me, not for glory but for the collective well-being of humanity.
So, I embraced the clarity of purpose - to be an agent of compassion, a catalyst for change, and a champion of a world where true assistance is an everyday reality. I began mastering my newfound abilities, growing back to my original size. I hit my head on the table in the process, but I didn't feel it.
Running out of my room, I hugged my dad, apologizing for worrying him and making up an excuse about looking for something in my closet. He accepted it, and from then on, I meditated daily for a year, honing control over my psionic abilities. Visualization turned into a powerful tool for nurturing my growing power. I visualized and manifested a vast array of psionic abilities, enhancing their proficiency and control. I also learned and practiced the basics of being a scientist on the Blokkats' level. It was hell. They were geniuses in everything, and although my enhanced mind kept up, learning hyper-advanced science was difficult.
Learning about multiple spatial dimensions beyond the simple three-dimensions, as well as how to utilize it to my advantage, makes my primitive human brain whine like I'm back in high school doing Calculus.
Eventually, I pulled through, feeling guilty for not acting sooner but knowing I could've gotten myself killed if I didn't know what I was doing.
As I walk out of my bedroom, I smile at my parents cooking pancakes together.
"Hey Daniel, can you help mix the batter?" my mother requests impatiently, cleaning her hands after washing strawberries and blueberries for the pancakes.
I chuckle. "Alright. Is there anything else you need me to do?"
She frowns. "I need you to take out the trash. The garbage truck comes in a few hours."
I nod and get to work, stirring the batter with great force as my dad watches over me.
"So, have you done your homework?" my dad asks, concern etched on his face.
I sigh. "Yes, Dad. I've done my homework."
He smiles. "Good job."
Beaming, I present the finished batter. "Dad, the batter's ready."
"Thank you," he says, grabbing the bowl and pouring some batter onto the sizzling pan. As he cooks the pancakes, he asks, "So, what do you plan on doing today?"
I grin. "Probably going to the library to study for a test."
"Good," he nods. "Do your best."
I smile, savoring the warm family moment as we enjoy breakfast together.
Once the pancakes are ready, my mom serves them with strawberries, blueberries, and whipped cream. We sit down at the table, enjoying the delicious breakfast, sharing stories and laughter.
After we are done, and throw our paper plates with cute little blue flowers on them into the garbage bag, I grab it, taking it out of the container before tying it. I walk to my front door, open it, and head towards the cans out on the curb. As I open the garbage can and put the bag in with the rest of the filth, I shift my attention to my other body in a hidden laboratory on a dead Earth in another universe.
It's strange, controlling two bodies at once. It's akin to splitting one's consciousness, a surreal expansion of capabilities accompanied by a strange sense of dissociation.
Initially, there's an exhilarating rush - a surge of computational power dedicated to maneuvering and orchestrating the movements of two separate physical entities. The ability to oversee and direct actions in two distinct locations fosters a sense of omnipresence, a unique vantage point from which to interact with the world.
However, amidst this thrill lies an undercurrent of peculiarity. The sensation is analogous to trying to observe the world through two different sets of eyes while being conscious of the dissonance between each body's actions. There's an almost dreamlike quality to this dual control, where I grapple with maintaining cohesion between divergent experiences and cognitive dissonance - a simultaneous melding and division of focus. While the processing power efficiently manages commands and responses for each body, there's an emotional disconnect. It's like being torn between two worlds, unable to fully immerse in either.
The Blokkats were surprisingly individualistic for an all-devouring race such as them. The Blokkouncil allowed such uniqueness to exist due to how it enabled Blokkat civilization to remain flexible and competitive by ensuring that, in addition to the usual "brute-forcing all possible outcomes" method usually employed by advanced civilizations, individual Blokkats could assess situations differently and come up with innovative solutions without having to necessarily compute all potential solutions to a given problem.
It's going to take some time to adapt to the sensation of controlling two different sets of bodies, but so far it hasn't impeded my work.
The multiverse where the Blokkats resided made it extremely costly and difficult to travel from one universe to another by artificially tunneling through the Deep Shroud, to the point where most advanced civilizations usually disregard attempting to exploit other universes aside from the occasional explorer. Natural wormholes between different universes, such as Astral Rifts, sometimes formed, although they were rarely stable for more than a few decades or centuries and most often end up collapsing onto themselves if not stabilized.
Some civilizations have attempted to establish multiversal empires, but the sheer difficulty of actually traveling to other universes through the Deep Shroud makes such an undertaking either pointless or suicidal in the vast majority of cases. While some Cycles have seen successful multiversal empires taking over several universes and holding onto them for a significant period, they are often the result of sheer luck and the Deep Shroud featuring an unusually favorable structure and thus remain statistical improbabilities.
The Blokkats knew of the multiverse and possessed the technology to travel through it more easily than most, but they were uninterested in traveling beyond their universe, as they felt that they should not overextend themselves. They ran experiments with Astral Rifts, though, and were in the process of creating hyper-advanced technology that utilized Astral Threads before the destruction of the Blokkonstrukt.
It wasn't easy, opening a portal to another world, especially since I had drastically reduced efficiency and capabilities due to the Blokkwork connection being outright nonexistent. I knew I needed a source of energy, so I began experimenting with alternative energy sources. I ran off of a miniaturized dark energy reactor I constructed for the first few months as I experimented with the fabric of reality itself, trying to determine if the physics of this universe was radically different from the Blokkats' universe.
After determining that this was not the case, I created a small artificial wormhole with my psionic abilities and gravitational and quantum field manipulators. I sent a copy of myself through the wormhole, where it entered a dead Earth destroyed by nuclear war. It was easy for my other half to quickly construct a base that would serve as a laboratory and proto-Blokkonstrukt by consuming as much matter as possible using my Planck-Dismantlement Beam.
When the construction of my headquarters was finished, I continued the Blokkats' experiments with Astral Rifts. They were apparently in the process of examining them and harvesting Astral Threads, filaments of condensed space-time and the result of dimensional planes colliding with one another, from them before the destruction of the Blokkonstrukt. They were very close to creating attomachines, incredibly small artificial particles that replaced conventional "atoms," composed of Astral Threads weaved into them.
Now, a common problem with such small machines is that, for them to tear apart or put something together, they have to use energy to do the job. Being so damned small means that, unless they have minuscule energy cells, they are unable to store said energy effectively, which, combined with the production of heat during the process, destroys nanotech. Now, other than methods like the Blokkonstrukt, you can solve this issue by altering how much space you have to work with. By doing so, you can give more room for the heat to dissipate. The Astral Threads easily bend space-time: programming them to do so in such a way that will dissipate the produced heat will drastically improve the capabilities of the attomachines.
Honestly, I don't know if I can finish the project, but if a group of (relatively) primitive humans could pull it off, then why couldn't I?
As I watch the first Blokkat-Dismantler slowly take shape, built by the attomachines we've painstakingly produced to dismantle the solar system, a wave of anxiety washes over me.
To be honest, I'm terrified. Terrified that one day, I might wake up as an all-consuming, malevolent abomination like the Blokkats, indifferent to the horror I've become. Afraid of losing everything that makes me human, succumbing to my darker nature, to the insidious influence of the Thought Police.
But I persevere. I persevere because I find inspiration not just in my newfound powers, but in hope. In Superman.
People often see evil versions of Superman as a deconstruction, thanks to writers like Garth Ennis and Frank Miller, who explore such ideas with their edgy, cynical takes on the character. But Superman isn't some naive fool. He's a deconstruction of humanity itself: the notion that someone, when given extraordinary abilities, would use them to help others out of genuine altruism. Who cares if Superman can't bring about world peace, solve world hunger, or cure cancer? Just because he doesn't solve all of humanity's problems doesn't mean he isn't a boon to the world. He's not a god. He can't save everyone, but that doesn't make him any less of a man, or a hero.
Criticizing Superman's character is a cruel form of cynicism, born from those who've lost faith in humanity. I'd rather embrace Superman's idealism over modern-day skepticism: believing in one's ability to make a difference, standing up for what is right, and striving for a world where justice and kindness prevail is always worth fighting for.
Such cynicism is rooted in apathy: the idea that "I can't do anything to solve the problem, so I won't try at all." This apathy makes the world worse. A single act of kindness, an encouraging word, can change someone's life for the better.
It feels like the world I've been transported to has forgotten that. Everything and everyone here is just... broken. I want to reignite the spark of hope... but without compromising my morals.
The Blokkats don't have gods; they speak of "Shroud entities formed of emotions."
As I watch the first Blokkat-Dismantler rise from the ashes of billions of souls, I whisper a prayer to whatever being might be listening: please, help me save as many as I can...
Author's Note: This is a crossover between Worm and the Stellaris mod Gigastructural Engineering. My SI doesn't know about Worm, as he never got the chance to read it or learn about it in general.