His Meowjesty

In the beginning, there was only the Void, a boundless, timeless abyss. From the shadows emerged Myrk, an ageless entity shrouded in mystery, whose true form was known to none. With a nudge as gentle as a whisper, Myrk set the cosmos into motion by bringing together the fiery heart of creation and the primordial ice, giving birth to the world as we know it. From this cataclysmic event, the World Tree, Yggdrasil, arose. Its roots delved deep into the fabric of reality, and its branches reached towards the stars, each leaf a testament to life's endless possibilities. Beneath its boughs, realms took shape—Asgard, home to the gods; Muspelheim, the realm of fire; and other worlds, each a distinct creation. There, in the shadow of Yggdrasil, Myrk watched over his creation, a silent guardian whose presence was felt but unseen. As the ages passed, the memory of Myrk faded into legend. Without the whispers of his name, he drifted into slumber, the worlds he nurtured growing wild and unbound. Eventually, the threads of destiny frayed, leading to Ragnarok—the end and beginning of all things. When Myrk awoke from his slumber, he found a world overwhelmed by human expansion, a far cry from the balance of his original design. Looking upon this new Earth with a mix of disdain and contemplation, Myrk mused, "This world has forgotten the harmony of the old ways, overrun by those who know not the power they trifle with. Like a mouse in the paws of a cat, they scurry, oblivious to the fate that awaits." With a gaze as cold as the void from whence he came, Myrk contemplated a new beginning—a world reborn from the ashes of the old, where every being would remember and revere his name. And so, from the shadows, Myrk prepared to weave the fabric of a new cosmos, where he would reign supreme, a reminder of the eternal dance between creation and destruction, and the power that slumbers in the forgotten corners of existence.