You could best describe them as shards. Scattered about the void was shards. In these shards were glimpses of ruined worlds. They did not spin or drift, they were still. Most were dead, the laws of the shattered dimension too faint to sustain non-void venturing beings. Some shards had even shattered further, and bits and pieces from the worlds within were strewn across the void.
Holes were visible among the detritus of the dimension. Within these holes were traintracks leading away into darkness. In time these holes would seal. A glimpse of that which allows the void to exist. The tunnels between dimensions. The void only exists as the space between these, but the tunnels do not even exist in the void. A dimension destroyed is one of the cases were the two meet.
There is no true distance in the void, as after all, the void has no laws. It is even less then a blank canvas. For a time however, there would be this place in the void. The grave of a dimension. Dimensional travellers would descend upon it and pick everything of value from it, the more powerful would even take away particularly stable dimensional shards.
For a time…
Life would teem around this, one of the strongest expressions of death.
While the greater body of travellers had not appeared, a few were already searching through the ruin, hoping for some lucky find, maybe even an existence that had transcended the laws of the dimension, and thus avoided destruction.
Swiming along through the nothingness was one of those travellers. He wasn’t particularly strong, indeed the only reason he could move about in the void was because he was an outer dimensional being, that is to say a being that lives just outside a dimension rather than in it.
Zytaharle was a name he had been branded with when summoned by a mad scientist once.
His head was vaguely human-like, but it was bright red, and ringed with a mane of dull red scales. As for his body, it was a long tail with seven claws strewn across it. This tail was of the same red scales as his mane, but the lower end of the tail split into feathers that shifted in both size and colour. It was with the twitching of these feathers he could traverse the void.
The feathers had quite a few uses really. Which was part of why he was moving quickly. He didn’t want to be captured and farmed for feathers.
“A herb managed to survive!”
Spotting this with his keen eyes, he flew over to a hunk of shorn land. Colour had not yet bled away from the land, so it was clear that the laws of the dimension had not fully bled away. The herb in question was a quite normal looking green, but the leaves of the plant were overlapping squares.
“Hmm, ordered additive effects? I wonder what I can make with this. Well, a reagent is a reagent.”
Gibberish? Zytaharle looked up from the herb and there in his face was a face dominated by a trunk.
A pale face, not unlike maggot flesh, actually all of the skin of the being before him looked like that of a grub’s. The upper body of the creature was humanoid, but the lower body was like the whole lower body of a four legged creature. In the case of this being, its four legs were covered in brown carapace and ended in pointed tips. It wore a black shirt with white fur trim, and on its lower body was a caparison of similar black cloth and white fur trim. On his head was a crimson crown in the shape of interlocked antlers.
<Aekfdgn ;sfkas dojg;sje odlgo;a> the creature declared imperiously.
Zyta boggled at this sight. -Is this, is it actually a native to this dead dimension? Hmm, I can’t understand a bit of its honking. Inner dimensionals make the weirdest sounds. Now, do I still have a potion of tongues?-
A feather extended to Zyta’s head and then a bottle arose from it, within this bottle was a liquid of words. There wasn’t that much of it left. Zyta popped it open with a claw and worried.
-Just a bit, the gains should outweigh the loss-
Just a sip and the gibberish of the dimensional survivor was made clear!
<I abjure thee, and bring forth my power, be bound to the will of the Dread Lord!>
A profoundly sad expression blossomed on the visage of the Dread Lord when his power failed to do anything, when, once more he was made aware that with the shattering of his dimension, his power was gone.
“JACKPOT! I’VE HIT A JACKPOT!”
<What a ghastly tongue this thing speaks in> the Dread Lord muttered to himself.
Calming down a bit, Zyta bluntly addressed the Dread Lord.
<You come with me, or you be slave? Choose>
A heavy sigh echoed out from the Dread Lord’s trunk. It was the most sorrowful honk that Zyta had ever heard.
<I was once feared in my world you know. The Dread Lord they called me, there was even a prophesy about a hero rising up to defeat me…>
<Yes, yes, enough moping. All gone now. Slave or follower you choose yes?>
<I will follow you. I don’t want to be left here, and who knows what other being with show up>
<You makings wise choice, come step on feather. First we go, then teach you civilized language good>
One of Zyta’s feathers enlarged and pausing for a moment, the former Dread Lord stepped on it. Zyta decided that leaving with the gains of a herb and a whole live creature that survived dimensional shattering was a good haul.
He didn’t want to run afoul of anything strong than himself either.
There is no true distance, and with a twitch of his tail feathers, Zyta and his spoils flew far away from the grave of a dimension.