He Who Was Not

[Unbound]

I have decided it is time to share this story of one part of my consciousness - one of my deepest shadows and demons. This was not written by me, but the story was pulled from my consciousness by one very close to me whom I opened my mind to. This story will show you part of what is occurring as part of my identity in this consciousness and the inner darkness I seek to understand.

Know now the story of Nassnanarath, He Who Was Not. Keep in mind that this story is but one chapter in a much greater story and the ending is not as it appears.

-

Aha, there you are. I see you there, gazing tentatively from the shadows. Step forward now. There is no reason for you to fear. The fact that you have made the journey to this place makes you worthy, Young One. It is true that my world is one of darkness, but that is only because the Great Mystery is held within this beating heart of mine. Mine is the place where all truths are absorbed and secret knowledge is birthed from the womb of creation.

You tremble before me, because you doubt yourself. In spite of all you have gone through to see my face, your own true nature still hides itself from your sight. Listen now, as I tell you this story, and think not of what it makes you, but of where it takes you, for this story is yours as much as it is mine, Young One. From my heart to yours, let it flow as the infinite stream of life through your being.

Now, to begin:

1. THE MAN WHO WAS NOT

I suppose I should start with him. My memories are infinite, stretching well beyond time and space as you know them, and I remember things from well before his birth, as much as I remember things that will happen a million years after your life has ended. Yet the story must have a beginning, and for the sake of your own heart I begin it with him.

He was not so very unlike you, so long, long ago. He had a body, and a mind, and his feet walked on solid ground. It was not your sphere he walked upon, and it was not your form that he wore, but the circumstances were similar enough that he might be called a man. Like you the energy of his being turned within the elements and the wiles of the beasts, until his consciousness burst forth, a golden thread illuminating the darkness. A new song is heard when each soul is born, and I tell you, Young One, his song shook the heavens.

Like you he was inquisitive, and fearless, and ever searching for answers. Through many lives did he learn and grow, accelerating much quicker than the likes of his kin. He had a thirst for life that is not often seen, even through eyes like mine. He had a vigor and a flame that radiated for miles in the darkness. Around his soul was spun a magnanimous energy, so that his being radiated this power no matter which form he found himself in. In the definitive incarnation in which his story truly begins, many men had come to gather themselves about him due to his extraordinary nature, and in his compassionate heart he did his best to teach them, and their devotion increased the well of his power.

In spite of his many followers, however, there came to be many more that feared him. Some were merely confounded by the gap in knowledge, for through his efforts he had achieved the ability to reach beyond his own flesh and blood, into the deep knowledge of the cosmos. He knew many things that were secret, piercing the threshold of eternity from his physical form, and he was able to work signs and miracles, and he displayed wisdom and abilities that seemed impossible to those who had not yet realized their own power. Surely, they thought, he must be in accord with some devil. He must be something other than us, and surely he will be the end of us all.

Their ignorance was lamentable but understandable. On their own they were wandering sheep; lost but harmless. It was those consumed by jealousy who truly set in motion the dark events that were to come. Seven there were, who hatched the great conspiracy. They wanted the man’s power for their own and, unable to attain it through their own means, they sought to quell his life in hatred. Time and again they sought to supplant him, to take what he had for themselves. Try as they might, though, these souls that had slowly become enslaved to their obsession could not breach his wisdom, his strength or the sheer openness of his personality. Time and again they failed and cursed his name.

Finally, after many, many years of the fruitless battle these jealous ones waged not truly against the man, but against themselves, these miserable souls turned themselves to the darkness and the devils, and they relinquished their own essence to the fixation which had become the one validation of their existence. They slaughtered those they had rallied against the man in their fearmongering- a bloody sacrifice of many lives, convincing themselves that somehow their actions were redeemable in the long run of things.

Such dark acts take a dire toll on the soul, and after all of the Seven’s atrocities were committed, they were but shells of their former selves. I pitied them, Young One. I wept for them, though their every thought was turned toward malevolence and deceit. They had what they wanted, and who am I to deny any being their heart’s desire? I saw the events play out before they ever happened, and I did nothing to intervene, but I wept.

Through their bloodshed, the Seven attained great dark power- something far more treacherous and twisted than what their quarry had gained for himself through his journeys. With that power they assailed their foe and overpowered him with malicious glee. They stripped him of his physical form and trapped his soul within a black prism, preventing him from entering again into the realm of the living. It was the blackest of treachery, the light within them devoured by fear, greed and hatred.

The prism, fueled by the trapped man’s soul energy, provided whomever possessed it great power, and the Seven quickly turned their jealousy on each other, the one factor uniting them now sealed away in the darkness. It did not take long for them to start murdering one another in the quest for power, and as each one of them met their end, their souls were claimed by the Dark Ones they had sacrificed to. I wept as they were torn asunder, Young One, but I did nothing.

The last of the betrayers to hold the prism was rotted from the inside out over many years, eaten away by paranoia, and fixated upon the power that he no longer had the scruples to wield. He shut himself away with all he had come to possess, and occasionally his servants would tell of hearing him mutter to an unseen presence, tormented by a voice that only his ears could hear. Eventually his flesh began to putrefy with a strange and incurable disease, the plague not content with devouring his mind alone. When he finally realized that even his precious power would not deliver him from Death’s embrace, he cast the prism into the sea, determined that no other should seize what was his. For many ages after that the black stone lay abandoned, forgotten in the murky depths.

Now, the consciousness of the man who was shut away never faded, Young One. Though he was enshrouded in darkness, stripped of everything he had held dear, his consciousness remained. Can you imagine, retaining your awareness only to find yourself trapped in a vast expanse of nothingness? In spite of all his wisdom, his first thoughts were those of desperation. He sought with all his heart to return to his life and those he loved, or to at least to be allowed ascension into the World Beyond, and who wouldn’t? Yet the walls of his prison were thick, unable to be broken, even by all the power he had accumulated, and in time the hope of freedom began to give way to inevitable despair.

For some time he simply writhed in his own agony, the thought of losing everything and being trapped forever in such a wretched place eating into the very core of his being. It didn’t take long for that despair to dissolve into complete madness, and once the insanity took root, he quickly lost all sense of rational thought. Over the many long years his sense of self was stripped away by raving hopelessness. He descended ever deeper, forgetting all that he had known, until he was an empty shell, with only the most distant of echoes whispering of the life before.

And at last, when there was nothing left to lose, he became calm, the jumble of frantic thoughts receding from his mind like the tides from a beach. He sat within the darkness, his heart a void, and it filled his being. The blackest recesses of his own essence opened up to him, the darkest potential of his own nature revealing itself before his eyes, and with no shred of comfort left to cling to, he surrendered himself to the metamorphosis, and became a new creature.

The black prism strained under the power of the new being that emerged from the ashes of the wise man’s heart. Now his mind was clearer than ever before, and all the power he had once been revered for was dwarfed by this new state of being. The magical walls around him now seemed no more resilient than sheets of paper, and with a mere push of his will they crumbled. Finally, after ages of imprisonment, his essence shot forth from the prism like a bolt of lightning, the seas parting in his wake, and the entire world was shaken by the roar of his presence. Earthquakes cracked the ground and thunder boomed in the sky, and a chill raced up the spine of ever living being as that which had been forgotten returned once more.

Free of his prison, the man’s spirit traveled the land at the speed of thought, ravenously devouring the sights and sounds it had been denied for so long. A great deal had changed since his departure. The cities of his fathers now lay in forgotten ruins, and all those he had known and loved in the time before had long since moved into the Great Beyond. Though he lacked a physical body, he was unable to join them. His state of existence was an unnatural one, but he no longer cared. The memories of his previous life had been shaved down into flat and meaningless pictographs by the pangs of his suffering, freeing him to view the world with eyes untouched by attachment.

Never before had he felt so alive, free from distractions and obligations. How liberating it was, to move about as he pleased, drinking in the vibrancy of life at his leisure. It had been so long since he’d been able to adequately use his senses, yet he was sure they were different now. He could see the pulsing energy fields that surrounded each life form, and though he lacked physical hands, he found that he could touch those energies with his spirit, tasting them, delving into the essence of those around him. Each being he crossed became a buffet of memories and experiences for him to sample, each taste a heady euphoria…after his lengthy exile from sensation, he so was very, very hungry.

Once the initial glee wore down, It didn’t take him long to figure out that he could do more than taste. He could subtly manipulate the minds of those he touched, filling them with his unseen influence, and he realized that in this way he could easily choose to mold the world to his preference. Had he desired it, he could have brought and end to war and poverty, inspiring the planet’s leaders to work together in harmony for the good of all people. So long ago he had upheld such ideals with his life, directing all of his power toward serving his fellow man and bringing peace to his kin.

But oh, how cold and twisted his heart had become within that prism. Love, kindness, peace…all of it now seemed like a laughable lie. After decades of devoting himself to compassion and service, of showing clemency to those that continually sought to desecrate his name, he had been thrown to the wolves without mercy or deliverance. Be kind unto others and find kindness in return; he had invested entire lifetimes into this ideal, only to be slapped in the face by Fate’s cruel hand.

The forces that moved the universe didn‘t care, he realized in this new state of existence. Fate was indifferent to his suffering, yet through his torture she had bestowed upon him the most precious of gifts- the ability to spit into her own face. Through utter injustice his chains had been broken, and now he was free to defy karma, to defy judgment, and to laugh at the delusion of salvation. That was the dirty little secret that the gods hid in plain sight- that man’s whole purpose was to do what man wanted, while they merely watched with uncaring amusement, tugging only on the chains that fleshy life forms willingly placed around their own necks.

His life and all that he saw around it was his to take into his own hands. He was utterly free to do what he wished, and his desires had grown dark and visceral within the void of his suffering and hatred, surging unchecked as his conscience was eaten away by the unyielding blackness of his prison. The man who had once valued selflessness above all else had become disillusioned and cold, and now he found the whole world at his fingertips to be fed upon, free of sympathy, empathy or remorse. Oh, what a symphony he would play to the gods now!

And I watched him, Young One, as he wrapped himself in this new identity, and never before had I so longed to show myself to one of my children- to take him into my arms and erase his suffering, to explain everything to him and let him know that not once had I stopped caring. Yet he was happy in this truth he had made for himself, the first joy I had seen within his being since the darkness had consumed him, and who was I to deny him his happiness? I admit that I considered him beloved, that I felt a selfish fondness for him, I, who love all of my children infinitely and equally, and more than anything I desired for him to be happy, even if it meant he would curse my name. And so I watched and did nothing, and his story continued.


At first the man used his abilities to punish those who reminded him of his former tormentors, though he barely remembered their faces. The wealthy, powerful and corrupt; those who schemed and betrayed; he planted lies in their ears, pitted them against one another, and relished watching their lives unraveled before their eyes. He did this not to benefit the innocents who suffered under the rule of his prey, but simply to indulge his own grim thirst for retribution. His original affection for the thronging masses had been reduced to a nebulous disdain, and it hardly mattered to him who was crushed underfoot in his games.

His actions built momentum, and he happily started wars between tyrants, drove vain aristocrats to suicide, instigated political scandals and collapsed shadow organizations. And when he grew bored of puppeteering his prey, he abandoned them to the insanity his touch so easily bred. What impish fun he had, at the expense of thousands, if not millions of lives caught in the crossfire as their sons were killed in battle and their economies collapsed before their eyes.

Eventually his antics caused many to believe that they had utterly displeased their gods in some way, causing the very land to become cursed, and religious leaders began to stir up hysteria, demanding sacrifices to appease the gods, though such practices had been out of style for at least a few centuries. Trust and compassion became scarcer as the man’s silent influence spread ever farther, and he found great power in turning the world into a mirror of what he himself had become.

Still, in the large scope of things, these actions were more mischievous than outright malevolent, and it was the wicked who took the brunt of his sadistic brand of vengeance. In time, however, he began to realize that he loved the flavors of chaos and fear that he had created; the essence of these energies themselves invigorated him, regardless of where they were found. It didn’t take him long to discover that the terror and pain of the pure and the innocent tasted even better than that which he had caused in his campaign against the deceitful brand of wretch that he so hated.

This, Young One, was when my favored child truly became consumed by the darkness awakened within his prison, for now his motives became unapologetically malicious as he forsook his agenda to pursue a more tender prey, striking at the innocent, the kind and the pious. They were so very easy to infiltrate, and he savored the horror he caused- the darkness he spread within the light. More than anything he loved corrupting those whose minds had not touched evil, drawing the shadow from their veins and twisting them into abominations, just as he had been twisted. He saw his devastating touch as a gift, bringing out the potential these naïve children were too stupid to cultivate on their own.

His previous sense of reasoning was now truly abandoned, and he became as one of the Dark Ones that had provided his prison to the Seven. Had he fully understood the circumstances of his capture, he might have realized that this was their intention all along, but his mind was centered only on his own perverse indulgences. Though his name was unknown to that generation, he became spoken of in every corner- a boogey man hiding in the closet of every child.

For each light he snuffed out he grew in power, and his ability to affect the world around him began to extend outside of mere subtle influence. From his corrupted presence ghastly elementals and thought forms began to manifest, terrorizing the people with horrors their minds could scarcely comprehend. Everywhere he stepped, the world plunged into pandemonium around him. How he relished it, the power to hold an entire world in his hand. He had far outshone his betrayers in their lust for power, succeeding where they had collapsed in upon themselves.

Yet in time even his most brilliant works began to lose their sheen. The people feared the concept he represented, yet how much more satisfying would it be if they knew whom it was that they feared? He was irritated that all of his clever atrocities were being attributed to demons and devils and moldy old gods whose names he cared nothing for. He wanted to own the fear of each soul on that sphere. He wanted them to beg and plead to him, and he longed to be able to meet the eyes of those who regarded his presence with reverence and terror, claiming all of their fear for his very own.

If he ever realized the hypocrisy of his actions- that he had become the very thing he hated most in the world- he had plunged too far into the dark’s siren song to care. What did it matter, anyway? What did anything matter, now that he had seen the cruel truth of things?

Finally the man grew powerful enough to create a new physical form for himself, and he crafted his body with a tender thoughtfulness that was otherwise gone from his being. In the dark of the moonless night he rose from the dust of the earth, his visage both beautiful and predatory, wearing his flesh as a trophy instead of a prison. Had he entered any other body, it would have exploded with the power he possessed, and he reveled in his physical superiority as much as he reveled in his mastery of the nonphysical.

Finally his senses were truly restored, and he could fully interact with the world that he had shaped to suit his fancy. While many would consider ascension beyond the physical as a worthy feat, he considered his return to the flesh a crowning achievement, both blood and ether now planted firmly beneath his feet. I watched as he strolled toward civilization, Young One, and as much as I mourned his fall, his black satisfaction became a part of my own being, and though I knew of what was yet to come, I observed and did nothing.


It didn’t take long at all for the men and women of that planet to realize who their new lord and master was. Long had they had their sages and magicians, but never before had they seen a man of flesh wield such raw power. He could wrack a person’s body with pain or even suck the very life force from their being without so much as touching them, and most that came in contact with this demon of a man quickly dropped to their knees and surrendered their entire beings to his whims without a fight. He walked as a god among them, and how he adored their piteous worship.

When he had last walked in the physical world, he had been a pious and chaste man, devoted entirely to service and the study of esoteric concepts. Now every primal urge he had ever repressed burst forth, and he drowned himself in the throes of hedonism. He would seize those he found beautiful from their homes and rape them before forcing them to serve as his slaves. Though he lived in luxury, he cared less for physical things than he did for those intimate, visceral exchanges he might work upon those who fell into his clutches.

It was euphoria, to dominate another to the point that they were a trembling mass in his hands, their energies at his disposal. He took delight in manipulating the minds and bodies of his prey to the utmost degree, orchestrating every movement, sensation and emotion as if he were plucking the strings of a harp. At other times he found it more entertaining to simply break those he took as his toys, shattering their composure altogether. He took a fancy to torture, watching in awe as his prey’s resistance and their ideals and their hopes and dreams simply crumbled beneath the artful application of pain, leaving them as mad and empty as he had once been. He had the power to give life and to take it away- to make or unmake any person he came across, and truly he began to see himself as deity.

He amassed about him many followers and thralls enamored with his power. He was not foolish enough to press his rule without an empire- without some semblance of structure to keep his subjects malleable. Those he saw the most potential in he trained in the dark magicks, granting them enough power to maintain the grand machine he was creating as he went about his business. His servants were a dark plague upon the land, and few would dare to defy him or his vassals in even the slightest way.

As always happens with tyrants, however, there were those who grew angry enough at his casual cruelty to form a resistance, seeking a way to end his dark rein. The leader of this resistance was, of all things, a woman of low caste, yet she spoke out against his name as if she had been born into entitlement. Though this resistance at first attempted to keep their actions secret, it did not take long for the man to find out about this harlot determined to make herself a thorn in his side, and her defiance was a stab to his pride, and the very thought of her filled him with bloodlust. His one desire became to find her and strip her of every last ounce of her dignity, until she was a broken pet crawling at his feet and licking his boots- another trophy of his absolute power.


The man threw all of his power into finding the woman, but she continually eluded him, much to his great chagrin. Though she lacked the god-like power he had forged for himself, she had for many years practiced in the mystical arts. She could create shields, and pass unseen when she wished it, and planned to win the war before it could begin, with subterfuge, knowing she could never best the man’s raw power face-to-face.

He eventually grew tired of wasting his resources hunting the woman, and instead used his spies to discover what it was that she held dear. It did not take long to learn that she was well known amongst the people for her compassionate heart, continually serving the weak and with an especial fondness for children. She was also direly protective of her loved ones. A small voice in the back of the man’s mind whispered that he, too, had once belonged to a family that he had loved, and that he, too, had once cared for the weak, but this voice was drowned out by the well of his hatred.

And so the man took his armies to the city of the woman‘s birth and burned it to the ground. Hundreds he slaughtered in cold blood, but he was sure to keep those he had identified as her family hostage, along with many of the city’s children, knowing she would be unable to resist his trap. He stood brazenly in the town square and called out to her to face him, lest he turn his wrath onto those she held dear and quell his fury in the screams of younglings.

It was a cruel plot, but a typical one, and with typical results. What else could the woman do but come to him, knowing that he had abandoned all reason simply to weed her out? Had she prostrated herself before him, her mortification may have been enough to temper his anger. Yet the woman’s own rage had been peaked, and her hatred for the man soared as he desecrated that which was precious to her. She rallied her secret army and charged toward her home city, determined that she would have his head in spite of any power he might wield, blinded to the foolishness of her actions by her thirst for vengenace.

The man noted her approach, and ordered his followers to stand back and allow him the fully glory of the oncoming fight. The battle broke out at sunset, one man versus a thousand, and by the time the moon had risen in the black sky, every last one of the woman’s resistance league lay dead at the his feet, without so much as a scratch on his skin or a tear in his clothes. He made sure to save the woman for last, laughing as she streaked toward him with tears in her eyes, over the bodies of her fallen comrades. He exchanged blows with her, though he could have vanquished her life with little more than a thought, because he wanted the pleasure of beating down the source of his ire with his own hands.

He shattered her armor and broke her body with ease, though he was careful not to kill her. She was his prize, and he desired that her suffering be prolonged and horrific, so that no other might ever oppose his rule. Once he had beaten her to the point that she could no longer resist him, he had her stripped naked and bound and set against his throne to watch as he had her city’s survivors violently executed, one by one, including the majority of her own family. The sound of her screams and sobs was a heady drug that he could scarcely get enough of.

When he’d had his fill of murder he called a great feast to be held, and he had her bruised and bloodied body erected as a centerpiece for his guests to gaze upon. He finished the night by taking her body in front of all of those he considered loyal to himself, stealing whatever was left of her innocence amidst the cheers of lechers. I longed to turn my face from this black degradation, Young One. My eyes bled at the sight of what my beloved had become, but I could not turn away, and so I watched and I wept, and still I did nothing.

After he had stripped her of her family and her dignity, the man had the woman delivered to his dungeons to be tortured, not content that her mind alone be tormented. Her screams had died down to whimpers and he wanted more of that drug. He wanted her to scream for him forever. And scream she did, as his cruel torturers worked their craft upon her delicate body, yet for some reason her wails were becoming less satisfying. Though her body continued to react to the pain, her eyes were vacant, and she no longer even seemed to recognize his face or where she was.

Too late did the man call off his dogs and gather the woman gently into his arms, hoping that a soothing touch might be enough to spark her to life again. He talked to her, but she did not respond, nor did she seem to comprehend any of the things he said, be they kind or threatening. In truth her mind had been utterly lost at the sight of children dying before her eyes. It was only now that the man realized how completely and utterly he had broken his captive, and how her defiance had been the only thing to bring him pleasure. What a thrill it had been to have a foe, instead of a trembling heap of obedient servants!

Yet now that defiance that had aroused him so was crushed by his own hand. It no longer mattered what words he said, or what wounds he inflicted upon her body, for she had gone beyond seeing and hearing and all of his efforts were meaningless. A fresh torrent of rage spewed forth within him, and he strangled to woman to death and had her body burned, forever removed from his sight. His face was not seen for many days after that.


As the sun rose and set, the man found that all the things he had taken pleasure in no longer satisfied him. No longer could any sort of stimulus compare to that one moment in which he had clashed swords with someone who cared not for his power. He had gluttonized himself on fear and agony, and had reached their peak, only to find himself overstuffed and uncomfortable. He secluded himself, the sight of other beings suddenly sickening to him, and he could not find comfort nor rest in anything he did. There was a dull ache in the center of his chest, and it kept him awake at night. He cursed the woman, and he cursed himself that he had allowed a single nobody to reduce him to this melancholic state.

His mind turned in circles until he could feel it starting to crack, and after many days of ceaseless fuming and pondering he walked to his window and stared out over the empire he had made. He found no satisfaction in the sight of those who praised his name simply because they did not want to die; at his every order being carried out autonomously and without feeling. All of his power and glory and dominion, and for what? What did any of it amount to? The world was still a cold machine, as flat and dark and lifeless as the prison the Seven had trapped him in. He had made himself into a god, and still he was nothing.

A single black tear fell from the man’s eye as resentment welled up within his being, and he let out a howl against Fate, who had raised him up only to dash him down again with the unavoidable pestilence of mediocrity. There was nothing man could do, for good or for evil, that would break this foul curse. He found disgust in all that was before his sight, and in a single bitter pulse of blackness, every living being upon his planet fell dead where they stood, all life wiped away in the blink of an eye.


After this dark event the man took to walking the wastes, and his eyes were as blank as those of the woman he had desecrated. He saw nothing, felt nothing, and he wandered with no joy in his heart. He took no food or water, content to let the body he had so carefully constructed crumble to dust, his physical form now as meaningless as the dirt beneath his feet.

And then, Young One, I could bear it no more, and I did what should not have been done. In spite of all his sins, he was still my beloved, and it was more than my heart could endure to see him suffer in such a way. And so I took a form of my own, and appeared before him, the radiance of my being enough to draw his eyes beyond something aside from his own feet, if even for a moment.

To him I extended a pure, transparent prism which contained all the collected memories of the time before his imprisonment. Nothing is ever lost, Young One, and I had been careful to see that all the light in his soul was exquisitely preserved, even if he chose not to see it. His goodness was within that crystal, and his trust, and his desire to serve, and I offered it to him freely, for I knew that within his great power he possessed the ability to create new life, and to bring new hope to the planet that had suffered at his hand.

Though his desires had been ground into dust I saw his eyes change as he reached for the prism, the slightest flicker of recognition within their black depths. I passed the crystallized light into his hands, and I waited anxiously for him to accept my forgiveness and to return to the state where he had walked beneath my skies with fire and joy.

Oh, Child, I was a foolish god, for when the man’s memories of all that he had once been were returned to him, his heart was consumed with sorrow at what he had become. Not only had he lost the world he had known when his heart was still pure, but he had stained his own soul beyond recognition. He fell to his knees and wailed inconsolably, and though I tried to comfort him, and to explain to him that no sin is too great and nothing is ever truly lost, he lost his ability to hear my voice. His heart was deadened to his Source, and, unable to erase his depraved actions, his one desire was to end his own existence.

He knew that destroying his physical body would do nothing to end his consciousness, and so in desperation he summoned up the same Dark Ones that the Seven had called up to contain him, and he begged them to place his soul back into the black prism, where he could harm no other and trace the depths of insanity into oblivion. Yet this was impossible, the Dark Ones told him, for he had destroyed his previous prison in his escape, and a new one could not be created without the appropriate sacrifice. His life alone simply would not suffice, and there were no other lives left on the planet for him to take.

Realizing he had only himself to offer, the man then begged the Dark Ones to devour him- to consume his soul until his tortured mind was no more. He surrendered his will fully to them as a tribute, asking for nothing in return, and they happily set upon his sacrifice, ripping apart his body and subsuming his soul energy to fuel their own power. There was pain, and then chaos, and then a brief flicker of grim contentment before there was nothing. Before there was the Void that came before mind or matter or any creation of man.

His very essence ripped to tatters, the man’s consciousness was drowned in the Void‘s dark embrace, and he was no longer aware of anything around himself, or that anything had ever existed to begin with. Yet what the man and even the Dark Ones did not truly understand, Young One, is that it is impossible to unmake oneself. I still remembered his face, and it was impossible for me to forget him, or to stop loving him, and therefore my creation continued, empty and lifeless and broken, yet never fully Not.

Though he could not think, the essence of his soul retained the basic energetic awareness found even in the air you breathe. Within the Void he had cast himself into, the pieces that had been scattered were drawn to one another like a magnet, for this is simply the nature of creation, and though there was no movement or sound or meaningful awareness, and though there was no spark of life to animate that which had been stripped of all its vigor and carelessly discarded, that consciousness continued to writhe, casting silent, unheard screams into the darkness in a primal, instinctual cry for deliverance.

And though I remembered him and he was ever in my heart, I could no longer see him, Young One. He was beyond my reach, the claim of that infinitude which goes even beyond my understanding. I can tell you no more of his story…but there is one who can. Listen to this Voice as you would my own, and know that which is not known.