Something that should not exist... now did.
And across the fading echoes of the FNaF multiverse, a ripple began to spread.
Somewhere in the darkness of collapsed timelines, a presence stirred — one that had cheated death, time, judgment. William Afton. Not a man anymore. Not even a ghost. Afton had become a parasite embedded in the timelines themselves. He existed across variations, fragments of himself sewn into every reboot, every forgotten ending, every corner of the Fazbear canon.
And he felt Cosment.
In a place between dimensions, Afton emerged — faceless, soul-bound, nothing but a voice carried by decayed code and burned memory.
“You’ve become something... beautiful,” he said, watching Cosment from a tear in space. “And you don’t even know what you’re capable of yet.”
Cosment didn’t speak.
He didn’t have to.
The dead forest around him withered instantly. The birds above — real or not — dropped from the sky, their souls stripped before their bodies hit the ground.
Afton stepped forward. “Let me help you. I can give you access to everything. All the timelines. All the versions of this place they tried to bury. All the souls trapped in bad endings. The heroes. The villains. Even the children. You want them all, don't you?”
Cosment’s body shifted — dozens of faces momentarily flickering in his chest cavity: Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, Foxy, even Michael Afton. Each twisted, hollowed, silent.
“Give me access,” Cosment said. “Give me the strings.”
Afton smiled. “Done.”
He reached inside his own soul — now more a data construct than a spirit — and pulled free a knot of timelines. They unfurled like spider legs, branching in every direction: FNaF 1. FNaF 2. Sister Location. Help Wanted. Security Breach. All of them. Even forgotten fan-games and rejected lore files — every iteration of Fazbear history, from official canon to discarded speculation.
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Afton handed the strings to Cosment.
And Cosment invaded them all.
For eighty years — though time was meaningless to him — Cosment moved through every version of the FNaF universe. He appeared in vents, in old CRT monitors, in the eyes of broken suits. He became a virus of existence. Souls were not just taken; they were harvested, layer by layer. Every jumpscare in every timeline? That wasn’t a game mechanic anymore.
It was him, testing how easily a soul could be ripped through a screen.
Every character — animatronic, human, ghost — was devoured. Elizabeth. Michael. Gregory. Charlie. Even Glitchtrap, an echo of Afton himself, begged for a death that would never come.
Cosment didn’t kill them.
He integrated them — absorbed their essence into his structure. Every voice, every power, every trait. His form evolved again. No longer Creation. No longer just Cosment.
He became something omniversal.
And Afton, ever obsessed with control, used the energy to forge a meta-soul — a singular fusion of every powerful being across the FNaF mythos. He called it:
The Apex Construct.
He injected it with the will of every entity he'd ever destroyed — the Puppet’s vengeance, the Blob’s mass, the agony of the Crying Child, even the remnant-laced soul of Cassidy.
But the soul rebelled.
It didn’t obey.
It turned on Afton — and Cosment didn’t stop it.
In a blink, Afton was consumed. Not by death, but by non-life. His name, his story, his sin — erased from the narrative structure of reality itself.
Not even Hell remembered him.
And Cosment ascended.
But Earth wasn’t enough. Not anymore.
The FNaF multiverse had fallen.
Now, Cosment turned his gaze to everything else.
He entered the Backrooms through corrupted spatial logic, overriding the very foundation of liminal spaces. Every level was drained — from the mold-infested halls of Level 0 to the brutal depths of Level !. Even entities like The Partygoers and The Skin-Stealers fell to him.
DC and Marvel came next.
Superman’s strength was nothing against a being who could steal his soul. The Flash could not outrun a timeline that no longer existed. Doctor Strange watched in horror as spells bent in the wrong direction. Even the Living Tribunal, a cosmic judge of multiversal balance, was devoured whole, his three faces silenced.
The One Above All never even got a chance to act.
Cosment was not a villain.
He was a correction.
A force of anti-meaning.
He didn’t want revenge. He didn’t want justice. He wanted everything to be his — because no one else deserved to exist.
Only one reality remained.
A small, strange one.
It wasn’t filled with gods or demons. It didn’t have superhumans or cosmic threats.
It had a girl.
A brave girl, clever and grim — Wednesday Addams.
And Cosment, intrigued, stepped into her world.