While the King could not call any aspect of creation "beautiful" -- for it hated beauty -- it viewed the Great Father's blank slate with indifference, at first. But then it's "siblings" had to frolic in their little sandbox and go about [b]changing[/b] things. The arrogance of it, the sheer willful, disgusting ignoranc of it all. The King walked the white emptiness. It listened to the distant thunder claps and felt the earth tremble beneath its claws. It saw the rain clouds, the radiant glow above Edenia, all the glory and wonder of creation.

[i]"I think I'm going to be sick,"[/i] Xanaros thought to itself. Then it sensed the gods squandering even more of their divine power, attempting to wrest control over life and death, war and wisdom. The King felt the pull, the primordial need to compete with the other divinities.  It resisted, in disgust. [i]"I am God of NOTHING,"[/i] it thought, in depressed pride.

Then, interrupting the King's inner monologue and morose wandering came a call, but not from its father. Another. A lesser being, annoying Xanaros and testing it's endless patience. With a dejected swipe of a blackened claw, it tore a rippling rent in reality. With both hands, it pulled itself into Illias's perfect little bubble land, appearing for all the world like some sort of grotesque birth. It stood, looking around in blank-faced disgust at all the riotous life. The pure power with Xanaros, the essence of NOTHING, radiated from it like heat from a forge.

After sweeping aside some grass and flowers, it sat down cross legged on the now bleached earth. In brooding silence, staring straight ahead, hands on its knees, it waited for the other gods.