Inside his high fortress in the clouds, the imposter king ~Eli was pacing the length of his throne room, back and forth. Great worry plagued him, as it had for several years now. This charade had begun innocently enough; for all intents and purposes, he was Eli. He felt no different than Eli. The memories -- creating the Dimensional Plane, presiding over the Embodiments, fighting the Harbinger, losing his brother -- those were all his memories. At least, they felt like his memories. However; they were not, in fact, his memories.
Still, it had to be done, he had told himself. If he did not step up and rule the Embodiments, they would fall into chaos. Especially seeing as how his idiot brother had gone and gotten himself killed. Where was Destruction now? He was not sure. That much worried him too. At any moment, Destruction, or worse, the real Creation, could rise up and reveal ~Eli's lies. What would happen to him then? The Embodiments would not look kindly upon an imposter having lived among them as their ruler, and as much as it pained him to admit it, ~Eli WAS an imposter. All the more reason for me to build that... Thing.
~Eli approached a tall window and peered outside it at the clouds of North. He had lived here for thousands of years. Not in this body, maybe, but the memories were his, damn it. Who else's could they be? The "real" Eli had gone and gotten himself killed too, something ~Eli did not understand. He had hated his brother. Why die with him? It didn't make any sense. More importantly, why hadn't he named a successor? It was a real problem.
~Eli let out a deep sigh as he allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant things. He knew North like the back of his hand. It had essentially become his domain. Now that his actual domain was inaccessible to him, it most assuredly was where he spent all his time. He had never wasted much time on the City of the Embodiments. This was where he belonged, and he would do whatever it took to remain here. For now, that meant finding a way to stop anyone from finding out the truth, as much as that pained an embodiment such as he who had placed such a great emphasis on always being truthful. These are the small prices we must pay, I suppose, he told himself.