The Maw was not a place. It was a hunger.
It stretched across the void like a wound that never healed, devouring stars, swallowing echoes, erasing meaning. Where Gluttony walked, silence followed—not because it was quiet, but because everything that could speak had already been consumed.
Gluttony did not build. It did not rule. It devoured.
Its body was a shifting mass of mouths and voids, its voice a chorus of cravings. It did not speak in words—it spoke in absence. The absence of light. The absence of memory. The absence of restraint.
It had once tried to consume Pride.
Long ago, in the early days of the Egoverse, Gluttony had reached toward the Palace of Mirrors, hoping to taste the certainty that radiated from its walls. But Pride had looked down—not with fear, but with disdain.
"You hunger because you are hollow," Pride had said. "I do not feed hollowness."
Gluttony had retreated. But it had never forgotten.
Now, summoned by Greed's whisper, Gluttony stirred.
It did not care for thrones or alliances. It cared only for collapse. And Pride's realm was ripe.
It opened its Maw, and the Egoverse trembled.
The stars nearest to the Palace of Mirrors flickered, then vanished. The corridors of memory began to unravel. Reflections turned to static. The Mirror itself pulsed with unease.
Gluttony did not roar. It did not charge.
It simply opened.
And the world began to disappear.