Einstein predicted gravity could become so great that it collapses in on itself, creating the most destructive force in the known universe: the Black Hole. Nothing escapes it, not even light. It is a starving, gulping maelstrom that never ends; perpetual annihilation that spins and spindles entire galaxies.
Pride—that pale wave—can become so dense that is collapses back on itself as well. This results in intelligence so hideous, imagination so profane, there is no other place in eternity desecrated enough to allow it to enter in its full measure, so it must turn back on itself. A murderous Mobius loop so destructive it corrupts by glances the most sainted stuff from which souls are chiseled.
Such a pride-crushed being does exists.
It has many names—none of which modern Man takes seriously.
Devastated of its own spark by an immemorial treason, it has long since burned through its own spiritual ore; a great fusion demoted to flickers, asymptotically cooling to inconceivable spiritual cold.
Berserk, deranged, rabid: it is not the suave seducer of so many medieval caricatures and Saturday morning cartoons. Such satire is reserved for the least imaginative minds, parodies that keep and comfort the skeptics from shrieking too loudly.
There is a chemical element known as Darmstadtium (atomic number 110). The most stable isotope known in this family is Darmstadtium-281. It has a half-life of approximately eleven seconds.
Eleven seconds is probably how long your entire life seems compared to the immortal thing of which I speak. The entire history of the Human Race would be little more than thirty billion flash cards to a creature of this class, sorted in a shimmer.
Like sun-blinks on the sea this creature never sees your light but more the light you reflect, whether you know it or not.
Shopworn and tattered, it rots and riots within the guardhouse of what we clumsily call time-space, rattling those old braided prison bars, clutching through them with frustrated reach at anything slow enough for it to catch.