Qlippoth and Sefiros
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In the vast, desolate expanse of the Beginning, there was an immense, mindless husk, now known as Qlippoth.

In its corner of the Beginning, Qlippoth was alone. Qlippoth did not think, for there was nothing to think about. Qlippoth did not move, for there was nothing to move about. Most especially, Qlippoth neither died nor lived, for there was nothing to demarcate the line between the Living and the Dead.

And Qlippoth was happy.

In the vast, desolate expanse of the Beginning, there was an intense, singular point of light, now known as Sefiros.

With no body, Sefiros was free to explore the Beginning as they saw fit. Sefiros would circle the shapes and patterns around them, committing each to memory. In their mind, Sefiros analyzed all they saw, comparing and contrasting the myriad sights so that they may understand all. The very act of Being was a marvelous wonder, and Sefiros should have been happy. But Sefiros was alone.

And Sefiros was unhappy.

In the vast, desolate expanse of the Beginning, Sefiros came upon Qlippoth.

Before, Qlippoth and Sefiros had been alone, singular things from which nothing could be compared. But now, joined within the vast expanse of the Beginning, an awareness fell over them, of things that were and things that weren't.

Qlippoth was dark, was cold and mindless and painfully existent. Its flesh spilled across the vast expanse of the Beginning, heavy with matter yet bereft of the warmth that radiated from Sefiros. No longer ignorant of what could and could not have been, Qlippoth found itself confused and frightened.

Yet Sefiros, no longer alone in the vast expanse of the Beginning, was elated. Though aware of their own incorporeal impotence, Sefiros gained context to their light, things with which to illuminate and warm. Here was something to impart their knowledge upon, to share in the wonders of the Beginning.

Driven by envy and joy, Qlippoth and Sefiros suffused themselves with one another, and the vast, desolate expanse of the Beginning gave way to the lights and wonders of Creation.

Creation, possessing the wisdom of Sefiros and the matter of Qlippoth, quickly unfolded with gleeful abandon.

  1. First, Creation exploded outward, demarcating Light and Dark, Fast and Slow, Trough and Crest. And Creation was happy.
  2. Second, Creation suffused the void with all manner of solids, liquids, and gases, demarcating Wave and Particle, Matter and Energy, Movement and Stillness. And Creation was happy.
  3. Third, Creation suffused the matter of the Second with the explosion of the First, demarcating Atom and Quark, Baryon and Nonbaryon, Reaction and Resistance. And Creation was happy.
  4. Fourth, Creation experimented with the fruits of the Third, demarcating Planet and Void, Star and Singularity, Dust and Plasma. And Creation was happy.
  5. Fifth, Creation suffused the products of its experiments with self-direction, demarcating Life and Death, Plant and Animal, Bone and Flesh. And Creation was happy.
  6. Sixth, Creation granted all that moved with an immortal, immutable essence, demarcating Mind and Soul, Pain and Joy, Love and Hate. And Creation was tired.

Though alone in their work, Creation's efforts did not go unappreciated. From their myriad gardens arose four tribes of its Children.

From stone gardens arose the Giants, great and mighty beasts who strode mountains as hills and oceans as lakes. In reverence to Creation did they carve rivers and canyons, shape mountains, even break and join the lands into a myriad of shapes.

From muddy lakes arose the Shedim, colorful in both appearance and demeanor. In reverence to Creation did they maintain their great works, polishing and dusting the stones of the land that they may shine bright for all to see.

From the sandy plains arose the Angels, things of equal parts energy and matter. In reverence to Creation did they judge all that walked and crawled, teaching all who would listen of proper reverential behavior, and carefully guiding all who would not on the path to righteousness.

Finally, from the clay of the planes and the hills and the valleys, from the hands of the Giants and the brooms of the Shedim and the wisdom of the Angels, there arose Man.

Dearest to Creation was Man, who regarded their twelve eyes as beautiful and their twelve legs as graceful. It was Man who built Creation's temples, Man who gathered their fattest livestock and supple fruits to the alters to burn. Man sang songs of praise from their six mouths, soothing the tired mind of Creation.

Many a gift was bestowed upon the clay, as appreciation for the reverence of Man. Grain, berry, vegetation, livestock, all flowed freely from the freshwater rivers and gentle plains, though the elder children of Creation looked on in envy. But in this age of righteousness, Man would share the fruits of the clay with their elder siblings. All was, for a time, in perfect working order.

But in time, the remnants of Qlippoth stirred, and the seams of Creation's creation began to fray.

Creation's erosion was silent, at first.

The Giants, massive as they were, first suffered for Qlippoth's motions. Their skins of stone cracked, forcing a painful hunch in their stride. Within their forms grew a noxious lichen, coating them in its rancid spores. Soon, the gems that studded their forms would grow clouded and dirtied, and the Giants were blind, maddened with pain and grief.

Next suffered the Shedim, attendants to the Giants' well-being. The loose mud that coated their hardened skeleton fell away, taking with it the Shedim's vibrant colors. No longer shielded from heat or cold, the Shedim writhed in pain, sharpening talon and horn in their desperate convulsions.

The suffering of Man was subtle, at first. The social cohesion that had once defined their compassion dimmed, letting fester hate and fear. Soon, the individual Man was unable to maintain even the clay bonds among its faces, splitting into six hateful shapes.

The Angels, radiant in countenance, sought to fix the maladies of their peers, yet they too would fall as their light dimmed and dimmed, until their glass bodies fell still with darkness.

The marriage of matter and energy was not to be.

Sefiros was devastated.

Before, the vast, desolate expanse of the Beginning had been all there was and all that would be. Now, its vast emptiness stood in contrast to the vibrance of the Creation; return to such a solitude was unacceptable.

Qlippoth could no longer be trusted, and yet it was matter by which Sefiros's energy was embodied. Sefiros would have one chance, before solitude consumed them once more.

From the forces of Creation, Sefiros enlisted Man and Giant, not yet utterly ruined by the thrashings of Qlippoth. Sefiros tutored them in the ways of righteousness, guiding them against further corruption through holy work and divine wisdom. For one-hundred and fourteen generations, Sefiros groomed Creation against the chaos of Qlippoth.

Yet as the last forests were felled to craft the tools necessary for Sefiros's final ploy, the Shedim, maddened by pain and the thrashings of Qlippoth, declared total war upon their fellow children.

The War of Qlippoth and Sefiros, as the first war known to Creation, was unclouded by untruths of glory and strength. No battles were commodified into proper nouns. There was no economy to fix or fuel the fighting. Nothing fought for was not fought with, or in, or upon.

There was but violence, disorganized, of rent flesh and broken spirit.

There was but slaughter.

Victory, as we understand it, never came.

The armies of Qlippoth, at the command of the Great Idiot, had been slaughtered to an abomination, save the Worm with the Three-Toothed Maw. Yet even so, the Worm towered above the remaining twenty-five Men and seven Giants of Sefiros.

No spear, no arrow, no sword or claw or cannon could pierce the Worm's hide. No lunge of the Worm was fast enough to catch the thirty-two.

Creation was at a standstill.

Creation sat at standstill.

Creation stewed in standstill.

Creation grew sour in standstill.

Creation rot at standstill.

The twenty-five were devoured.

Man was never meant for eternity. With each dodge of the Worm's teeth, the twenty-five grew weary in body and in mind. There was no time for happiness, for joy, for relaxation or contemplation or anything but an endless vigil against the Worm. With time, their dodges slowed.

And in the end, there was no escape from the Bottomless Pit of the Three-Toothed Maw.

For the first time in epochs, the Worm felt happy.

That was all Sefiros needed, for buried in the depths of the Worm, in the depths of Qlippoth's guts, were their very fingers.

Sefiros pulled, and Creation was torn to shreds.

In separation, Qlippoth was irreparably changed.

Torn from Qlippoth was a multitude of its flesh, the matter that had once sustained Creation. What was once all there was had been unevenly severed, even as scalding viscera poured from Qlippoth's weeping wounds.

And Qlippoth howled, for its scalding viscera had torn something from Sefiros. Something without name, without weight.

Qlippoth could think.

Qlippoth could feel.

Qlippoth could hate.

And Sefiros knew nothing but grief.

Back was the emptiness of existence, the nothing suffusing the everything. Yet, now it was even less tolerable, for Sefiros had, for but a fleeting epoch, known something beyond it. To be without what had provided them so much joy… it was unacceptable.

Still bearing the stolen viscera of Qlippoth, Sefiros went to work recreating Creation. But it was not to be: everything was wrong, twisted and imperfect and improper and… fake. Not the Creation they knew, the Creation they loved and cultivated and celebrated.

Their precious Creation was dead.

In grief, Sefiros gathered the viscera of Qlippoth, and buried it among the nothing of the Beginning. Nourished by Qlippoth's viscera and watered from Sefiros's tears, something sprouted from the Nothing.

A tree, bearing fruits upon its branches.

Its twenty-five branches.

Our world is suspended, perilous, in the Nothing.

Sefiros looks over us from above, their Divine Spark casting light upon the whole of all that we know. They love us, and we love them. They call their angels, the Seven Giants of the Old Creation, to defend us.

Yes, indeed. "Defend."

The fruit of the Tree of Creation is delectable to those of no name. Even now, a great many horrors, willing or unwilling, have embedded themselves in our world. Yet more, blind or curious or malicious, seek to visit harm, willing or unwilling, upon all that we know and love.

And, of course, one cannot forget Qlippoth.

For Qlippoth hasn't forgotten, either.

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