Episode 3: Spreading Null

The morning practice session began like any other, with John Montague warming up his putting stroke in the dewy quiet of River Bottoms. He'd always appreciated these solitary moments before the crowds arrived—just him, his discs, and the familiar rhythm of chains catching plastic. But when he reached for his favorite putter, something impossible happened. 🌅

The disc hovered three inches above his palm, spinning slowly in defiance of gravity.

John stared at the floating disc, his mind cycling through rational explanations. Static electricity? Some kind of magnetic anomaly? But the golden fracture lines spreading across his skin told a different story—the void marks from last week's exposure had evolved. His Null Artisan tag pulsed with a resonance that made the air around him feel thin, stretched, like reality worn threadbare. 🌀

"Fascinating development." Nox Umbra emerged from the morning shadows, their charcoal blazer somehow darker than the pre-dawn gloom. "Your connection to the void has matured faster than most. The disc recognizes what you're becoming."

John closed his fingers around the putter, feeling it resist before settling into his grip. "What am I becoming?"

"Someone who understands that the rules were always more like... suggestions." Nox gestured to the practice basket, its chains swaying without wind. "Try your usual putt. But this time, don't fight what feels natural."

The throw should have been routine—twenty feet, slight headwind, minimal elevation. But as John released, the disc carved through space along angles that shouldn't exist. It curved left, then right, then somehow both simultaneously, arriving at the chains with a sound like reality hiccupping. The Null Artisan tag at his side blazed with golden light, and for a moment, John saw the truth: space wasn't solid. It was negotiable. 🎯

More players arrived as the sun climbed higher, including Astra Vale, whose presence immediately sharpened the morning air. She surveyed the practice area with the intensity of a chef inspecting ingredients, her pale green eyes narrowing at the subtle wrongness emanating from John's vicinity.

"The atmospheric pressure presents with notes of structural instability," she announced, pulling out her leather notebook. "Like a soufflé that's been whisked with entropy instead of air." She turned to address the gathering players. "Today, we reinforce our anchoring techniques. The void may offer parlor tricks, but solid fundamentals will see us through." 📊

Nox smiled gently from their position near the first tee. "A demonstration, then? Nothing builds confidence like seeing technique in action."

Astra accepted the challenge with the certainty of someone who'd never doubted their expertise. She selected a spot where yesterday's void sphere had been—now seemingly solid fairway. "Observe. Proper anchoring requires absolute precision, like tempering chocolate at exactly 88 degrees."

She began her routine, each movement deliberate and practiced. The throw itself was technically perfect, a textbook demonstration of controlled power. But as the disc reached the void-touched space, something went wrong. Instead of sailing through, it stuttered, twisted, and dove hard left into the rough. The golden marks on several players' hands pulsed in sympathy with the disc's distress. ⚡

"Interesting," Nox said softly. "The void remembers. Once space has tasted entropy, it develops... preferences."

Astra's hands trembled slightly as she made notes. "A temporary anomaly. Like a fallen soufflé—disappointing but hardly catastrophic." But John heard the uncertainty beneath her words. The Reality Anchor had encountered something her techniques couldn't explain or control.

The round began under strange conditions. Players discovered their discs behaving differently near void-touched areas—some gaining impossible spin, others floating momentarily between throws. Those with golden marks adapted quickly, learning to read the entropy patterns. Those without struggled against physics that no longer played by familiar rules. 🌌

On hole four, it happened. John faced a tunnel shot through dense trees, the kind that demanded threading a needle with perfect accuracy. But as he studied the fairway, the Null Artisan tag grew warm against his hip. The void marks on his hands spread into complex geometric patterns, and suddenly he could see it—pathways through space that existed in the gaps between what was there.

"Don't," Astra warned, but her voice sounded distant, muffled by possibility.

John threw. The disc left his hand and immediately phase-shifted, becoming translucent as it entered what he somehow knew was a void corridor. It passed through solid trees as if they were suggestions, carving impossible angles through space itself. When it rematerialized pin-high for an easy birdie, the chains sang with harmonics that shouldn't exist. 🎵

But that wasn't the revelation. Where the disc had traveled, golden symbols flickered in the air—geometric patterns that hurt to look at directly, equations written in the language of absence. Other players gasped as similar symbols began appearing along their own void paths, as if the space itself was trying to teach them something.

"No!" Astra stepped forward, her composure cracking. "Don't look at them. Those aren't instructions—they're infection vectors. Each symbol you comprehend is another anchor point dissolved." But players were already studying the patterns, some pulling out phones to capture the ethereal writing.

Nox moved among them like a patient teacher. "The Null Theorem reveals itself to those ready to understand. See how the symbols form from negative space? They're not written on reality—they're written in its absence. Beautiful, isn't it?" 📜

John felt the knowledge seeping into his mind through the Null Artisan connection. Not words exactly, but understanding—how to read the void, how to navigate absence, how to find power in what wasn't there. His next throw incorporated the lesson instinctively, the disc following void currents invisible to normal sight.

By hole seven, the transformation was undeniable. John had become something new—a translator between states of being. His discs obeyed laws written in entropy, curving through dimensions that traditional physics denied. The Null Artisan tag no longer felt like equipment but an extension of his will, a tool for sculpting reality through selective dissolution.

Astra watched with an expression of profound loss. "Three Entropy Stars," she said quietly, her rating system inverting into eulogy. "Exceptional presentation of technique, but the essential ingredients have been... substituted. What you're creating isn't disc golf anymore. It's something else. Something that tastes of endings." 🌟

The round reached its crescendo on hole nine. A massive void sphere had opened overnight, swallowing not just the basket but creating a perfect sphere of absence fifty feet in diameter. Most players debated whether to skip the hole entirely.

John stepped forward. "Let me try something."

He didn't throw one disc—he threw three in rapid succession. As they approached the void sphere, the Null Artisan tag erupted with golden fire. The symbols from earlier returned, swirling around him in a corona of inverse light. Each disc entered the void at a different angle, their paths intersecting in impossible ways within that space of un-being.

Inside the sphere, reality bent. The discs traced golden spirals through nothingness, their flight paths creating a three-dimensional symbol that matched the patterns from the Null Theorem. For a moment, the void sphere became transparent, revealing its inner architecture—a cathedral of absence where the laws of physics were more like gentle suggestions.

All three discs emerged simultaneously from the far side, converging on a single point where the basket materialized just long enough to catch them. Three aces through pure void. The sound of chains rang out in harmonics that spoke of spaces between spaces. ⚡

Even Astra stood speechless. The demonstration had been more than skill—it was artistry with entropy as the medium. John had shown that the void wasn't chaos. It was simply a different kind of order, one that rewarded understanding over resistance.

"Phase two proceeds perfectly," Nox said, though whether to the group or the void itself was unclear. "Those who embrace transformation find themselves transformed. Mr. Montague has shown you the path. The question now is who else will walk it?"

As players completed their round, the divide had become clear. Some clung to Astra's anchoring techniques, fighting to preserve traditional disc golf despite mounting failures. Others studied their growing void marks, practicing the impossible angles John had demonstrated. The Null Artisan tag had become a beacon, drawing those curious about evolution through entropy.

Astra made final notes with shaking hands: "The corruption spreads faster than anticipated. What presents as revelation marinates in dissolution. By next week, I fear we'll have more void masters than anchors. The menu of reality is being rewritten, and I'm no longer certain we're the chefs." 📖

John lingered after others had left, watching void symbols fade from the air like smoke. The Null Artisan tag pulsed steadily at his side, synchronized with something vast and patient. He understood now what Nox had been trying to show them. The void didn't take—it transformed. And transformation, once begun, had its own momentum.

Nox approached one final time. "You've become what they fear most—proof that their reality isn't the only option. Next week, others will follow your example. The Null Theorem has more to teach, and you've shown them it's safe to learn."

As evening settled over River Bottoms, the course flickered between states. Void spheres pulsed with patient certainty, waiting to share their secrets with those brave enough to listen. The symbols of the Null Theorem hung in the air like promises, or warnings, depending on one's perspective.

The Spreading Null had begun, and John Montague had become its first true apostle. 🌠