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. Chaos' blood poured out of his chest; inky liquid that flowed slowly; as magma. "I wish I had done better. I am greatly foolish, for my actions I will pay." The Creator attempted to keep the World together, ignoring the fallen divinity. Had he wished death, Chaos would be slain. So Chaos stood once more, his weakened body faltering and struck the Creator again; again he struck, and once more the Creator faultered. Chaos attacked with the spirit of pandemonium, wild and violent as a tempest. His children, the Stars between the Void above the Heavens fell with him; the Stars fell from the Heavens as they followed their father. The Stars fell to ash as they struck the Creator, for his skin was as void; all consuming, and relentless in its consumation. Reality's fabric collapsed upon itself, the Void was one with the Heavens once more; everything was remade. The walls between reality blurred, as it fractured and warped. Even the divines paid heed to the violence of reality changing shape. Chaos was torn asunder as he fought the Creator, for he was weak before the time of remaking and had not the strength to resist. The World was shaped again, and again. The Creator's blood filled it, for Chaos was mighty and his blows had wounded him. 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 and time again it was made, each falling to meet the standards of a perfect desire; made by imperfect being.
Thalastyra wept; her tears were black as ink, they fell from her eyes upon her hands; and so they were stained. She was crippled; rage and grief conflicted within her; "Why?"  The Creator faltered again, his perfect desire conflicting with his imperfect body.
"Why? He was imperfect; the same as you. Should you stand against me, shall you be remade again. I harbour no ill thought; I cannot by imperfect nature. I love my creation, but I cannot abide imperfection. Indeed I am willing to allow imperfection so as long as it does not beget farther imperfection as Chaos."  His words echoed about, and all emotion left her. Indeed; he had done nothing wrong; blameless was the Creator, for he only served a function. "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 had wished yet again this time would be different than the countless before you; again and again I fault myself and my creations. Many times again I create that which is imperfect. I find my mercy beyond wisdom, indeed, I am greatly imperfect. Perhaps I am the one to blame, perhaps I am the one at fault."
Thalastyra's voice was weak, for she was in the presence of such power and any would find tongue clenched against mouth. Still she spoke, love for Chaos driving her forward; "Be it so that you are imperfect; for you must lack something. Perfection is impossible without change, truely life cannot be and thus your creation cannot be, perfect, for it is wholly imperfect."
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; the universe painted its masterpiece. The remaining stars fled to distant corners of the void, and the Creator spoke;  "You are imperfect, yet I still love you as my Creation. Perhaps I am the singular cause. I shall remake myself, indeed, I shall remake everything to remake myself wholly perfect." 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. The World cracked; and healed. Waters appeared upon it, and with them; the plants of the field. But the World was within darkness; for it had not Light to guide it.