I kept having to rewrite this to make an underlying point clearer. But now it is, according to the people I've shown it to, so enjoy!
They are perfect, the finest officers I could ever want. They greet me with devoted smiles, crisp uniforms, and swift salutes, and I know that they are the ideal extensions of my will.
Every day they are there, assembled before me on the uneven floor. Every day of this soft white creation, they exist to further the perfection of the universe, constantly by my side. Such fantastic things! The beauty of flawless life, finally brought to fruition by my own hands!
They watch me with hope on their faces, awaiting my orders for any action, and I raise my head from where I had rested against the barrier wall of the universe. It is a small place for now, but when I master my powers I will continue the act of creation beyond its borders.
"Salute," I tell them, and they do, Mars and Jupiter as one. But Saturn delays, his arm rising halfway and pausing at his chest. "Saturn, what is the meaning of this?"
He stares at me, and my heart skips a beat.
This has happened before. Many times. He turned against me in the first universe, and I've had to destroy him multiple times since then. And yet, what useless, pathetic emotions remain in me can't bear to unmake him entirely.
"Saturn, I have given you a command."
Saturn only smiles plastically back. Why does he smile? What joy does he take in this disobedience?
And Mars and Jupiter smile as well. They approve of this? Such disgusting betrayal!
I grab him, his flesh cutting into my hands, and his head falls back. I'm too powerful for them, aren't I? I'm so far beyond them; pathetic creatures, all of them! The other two do nothing but stare, still holding their salutes.
Ruined perfection...none of them can be allowed to exist. I'll have to remake them all over again. I hate it. Every time I do, it only proves that they're not perfect, which means that my creation isn't perfect, which means that I...
I push off from the wall to kneel over them. They don't even flinch as I destroy them, dashing them to bits against the ground, although the act rips into my palms. Have they learned to anticipate it? How terrible.
Light fills all things, and that pain bites my arm again. It happens every time I have to unmake everything. I find comfort in the hollow of the pale void it brings as I drift to sleep, the wall soft against my face as the world blurs and disappears.
As with all other times, the tools to create are before me upon my awakening, and with bandaged hands I restore my commanders to their perfect states.
They are perfect, standing before me, smiling up at me again. My creations, my commanders, my universe. And I will destroy it as many times as I must until that perfection lasts.