The World shattered. The Creator tore it apart in an instant; nothing upon it survived. Those upon it perished, swept away by pure creation. Their acts upon it meant nothing; for all their deeds were naught. It warped in turmoil, it cracked in pain. He focused upon it, and it molded to his thoughts. Intent was his focus, for he heard not Chaos come upon him. Chaos struck the Creator with all of his might; and he stumbled. His power flucuated; it wavered. Chaos struck again, and again. The Creator tore himself away from the World, and attacked Chaos fully, wounding him mortally. Thalastyra was cast aside, as was Life. Chaos' blood poured out of his chest; inky liquid that flowed slowly; as magma. "Loss...is just the price of power. Remember me." The Creator had ceased his attack momentarily, had he not attempted to keep the World together, Chaos would be slain. So he stood once more, and struck the Creator again; again he struck, and once more the Creator faultered. The Stars fell from the Heavens as they followed their father; they fell to ash as they struck him. Reality's fabric collapsed upon itself, the Void was one with the Heavens once more; everything was remade. Chaos was torn asunder as he fought the Creator. The World was shaped again, and again. The Creator's blood filled it, for Chaos was mighty. Yet the World was imperfect; the Creator was not fully perfect; and thus his creation could not be perfect. Thus he was discontent with it, and it was remade again, anew, yet again.
Thalastyra wept; her tears were ink, and Life comforted her. The Creator faltered again, his power waning. Thalastyra was full of rage; grief had left her, and so she struck the Creator. "All I know, torn away by you. I wish you dead; to feel my loss, to feel my pain!"
"I cannot know pain, the same as I cannot feel joy It is foolish to wish upon me what cannot be."  His words echoed about, and all emotion left her. Indeed; if he could not know, he could not be taught. "I had...hoped for a successor. I am old. I am old beyond time itself. I am weary. I am sick; I am imperfect. I see now I am foolish. There can never be another like me."
The World stopped it's chaotic collapse, and the Creator turned to Thalastyra. The Heavens were reborn and the Void took its place once again.  "You are imperfect." Said he, the Creator. The Void was full of a malestorm; chaotic energies whirled within. Multitudes of lights flashed within it, as if a great battle was taking place. The World took a solid shape, and the Creator struck. At once, there was an explosion of power; the malestorm was torn apart. A hand reached through, and its touch burnt the Creator's skin. "Who dares..?"
"I dare." Said he; full of light, bringer of the flame. And he struck the Creator, and a blow was dealt. Light spoke; "I am Light. I am reborn. Hear me; my love is stronger than the eternal darkness. I will not fail my love in her time of need." And so he spoke; Light struck the Creator once again. The Creator responded in kind, and the void was covered in Light's blood. "Hear me, false pretender to my throne. I am Light. I am the bringer of flame; I am perfection in terrible shape. Behold me, and so know fear." And so he struck again, and again. "All that I knew has burned because of you. You are not impartial, you are not imperfect. You are broken."  The Creator's skin broke and burned at Light's touch; it sizzled and smoked, it melted and deformed. The Creator was imperfect; thus perfect Light was able to wound him."Do you honestly thi-" Light's hand clamped about the Creator's mouth, and in a single motion he brought down the Creator from his lofty stature. From his heights Light drug him from his place. He pulled him close, and with one arm; tore forth the Creator's head.