The rock-filled desert, vast and wide as the skies are high.

"Hello? Is- Is anybody there? Please!" A man's voice is heard. A human-like being that is, no horns, no tail, no fangs, no claws and no wings. He was frail as glass, mind lost, thoughts scrambled. All was the same in his head: emptiness.

The feeling of dread and terror are foreign concepts, until the next part of his being was unveiled. The sand blew in waves, forming a barrier that threatened to separate him from safety and comfort. In his hand was a carefully wrapped, infant shaped bundle; as he looked, tears ran from his blood-red eyes, perhaps his memory and vision, was being shown as a vivid experience. The dream was so clear, so distinct, it was no longer possible for him to believe this was fake or merely a fantasy.

"Please, can someone help?!" He shouted into the empty wind.

"Mmmmhhrrraaaahh...." A muffled cry. The baby sounded weak. "mmmmnnnn!" The cry was now a scream for attention.

"Please stop crying... Not again..." As this was happening, his legs were giving away to the lack of strength. His knees hit the sandy dirt.

The desert continued on with its battle. Not just the wind, but also the sound. It was now accompanied by thunderstorms, bringing about rain that had a foul stench, which left him soaked. There was also lightning, creating a giant electrical discharge to strike a massive area. A lightning bolt.

With another piercing cry.

"Why can't you die?! What did I ever do to deserve this?!" Desperately attempting to get any form of communication, his mind went haywire with silence. The ground began to quake. As the earth rumbled, his legs gave out entirely, slamming his knees onto the wet stone.

"What did I do?!" He let go of the child.

"Not again!!"

And for a long, long while, his entire world fell silent.

And then he woke up, the child crying from within that bundle again. The sky is blood red and the atmosphere has changed, drastically.

The wind howled, deafening him. The landscape had changed; now a forest with mushrooms for trees. It was a pleasant experience; no sounds or any sort. The mushroom-trees swayed, blowing gently like a breeze; this place looked so serene.

He picked up the bundle and went under the cover of a giant shroom, holding the bundle in his hands as he attempted to comfort his bane. "Calm, calm, calm. No worries." But this only had an opposite effect. The bundle—Child— only cried louder.

As it cried, the bundle began to change shape where the head should be.

'What... is going... on here?' He questioned, panic finally taking hold of his sanity. The mushrooms slowly started to form into human-like shapes. 'Oh god...!' His body started to heat up. He covered his head as he looked down, tears beginning to leak, mixing with the blood leaking from his ears. The child was becoming twisted in its own making. The man started to shake as if cold. "No... no..." The forest had begun to come alive and stare at him, whispering sounds in the air.

"Please... No, anything but this...! I-I didn't... I didn't want to be here!" His voice kept breaking, sobbing uncontrollably. His tears turned into rivers of blood. They formed into puddles as he continued crying out for help. "Leave me alone!"

Silence. The world around stopped moving. The child stopped crying. Only silence remained. He opened his eyes. In his hands, no longer an infant shaped thing, but something that should never have been, the face twisted in such agony it's impossible to tell if it were meant to cry or scream.

Its eyes; glassy and dead, wide and empty. No sign of recognition or consciousness. It looks like the person who designed the monster would have known what would be best for his creation, his only living thing. There were not 2 of these eyes, not 50, but 10,000. Fit into the entire body with ease. 7,000 sharp teeth for a jaw, teeth that would rip and tear like a dog's; 4,000 tongues, each that would lash out in quick succession and without warning, darting at the nearest human or animal, to eat and drink the juices from inside, to feel the sweetness flowing across the surfaces. It was beautiful. It was disgusting.

How did you miss me, with those 10,000 demonizing senses all around you? It made it sound like somebody was calling to the man, asking, no, screaming at him, the volume, increasing, no decrease.

The ground shook violently. Trees uprooted, the sky cracking into millions of pieces. This world was dying. The earth beneath was screaming, pleading with the world to live. Begging. Hoping. Trying to breathe as every drop of water was leaving and bleeding dry.

The abominable child in his arms was now laughing. It was laughing innocently, as though it were trying to amuse itself and cheer itself up. 'Who is this being...?' Its laughter made his eardrums and skull feel like exploding with his brain and bones, a pain, like they were being pushed and compressed.

Suddenly, his sanity and senses of reality took over once again, and all that is left to see was him, standing there. He is completely alone and without hope. Only with a mission at hand and a desire of revenge on his own kind.

A kind that were neither Angels nor Demons, but were often called upon to play the parts. 'And as I think this, I am free to do what I wish to them...'

He was free to do anything.

Even die.

In this life. In this body.

Yet this will all change and begin again tomorrow.

He covered the child once again in the blood red sky and began walking forward with new energy and hope.

The abominable infant began to hum, its voices drifting off into silence. 'But you won't live through my suffering, even if you should. Because, the longer I lived... the farther from a normal being and mortal state I became.'

An infant of a thousand nightmares. Of a million monsters. That was his child, but his life wasn't that, and neither is his destiny.

To fulfill the destiny his father had made for him. He now carries his child; in his hands and mind, heart and spirit, all four, all at once, all that he possesses, he will be used against humanity.

Sacrificed to bring eternal rest and peace for humanity, no more sacrifices after.

No more suffering like this, no more darkness and death, no more unholy voices in the air, no more fear and misery, no more misery and anger.

But for him to sacrifice a child, a child that was neither Angel or Demon, he had to play the part of a Demon.

As he walked down the path of this hell he'd created for himself, the red sun looms ever closer to setting, shining a sickening red.

Every single detail was very visible, almost painfully bright. It was shining dark and hot out, too.

'The sun isn't supposed to have a face, is it?' Yet it stands, following his every move like Big Brother watching from afar, keeping an eye on his most favourite, dangerous toy, as the man reaches up to feel his face, which was smooth and lacking any trace of hair. He isn't able to see his features due to the amount of black markings which covered his entire face, he takes off his mask and throws it away, which revealed the many thousand eyes upon him, it seemed he couldn't contain the laughter well anymore. He laughed, so did the sun. He stopped walking. And watched the sun, shining a dark and bloody red on his skin, tainted like the ocean of blood from when the Amalgamates came out. He held onto his child as he laughs.

He laughed and laughed. He laughed harder and deeper, more and more. Soon his entire chest hurt, lungs contracting, heart pounding with the sound. Crying tears of happiness as he stared straight up at the sky, red as a piece of raw meat. 'Ah! How blessed I must be, to live in such a happy and fun life...' His hands started twitching as the madness intensified and the tears kept running. His eye twitched violently, sweat streaming down his cheeks. He breathed in harshly, and his breaths began shaking. "Father, father, will you leave me here alone, is this all the gift you've given me?"

He bore a sick smile as he opened his mouth to scream.

Scream, Frail One!

"Will you leave me behind, abandoned in this dead-end world?! Will you forget about me, just like you always did when my brother wasn't there with me?!" The child began to cry a devillish and ugly noise. "Why couldn't you, why can't you just show some remorse...?" Tears filled the sclera of his eyes. "Is this all you can do to keep my mother by your side...?"

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And gently, and softly, as though a delicate flower had broken into two, he had calmed. The child has fallen asleep after all that pain. 'My father and mother. My brother... my real family, have gone, vanished in the foggy mists, lost to oblivion... all I can do, is wait for the day when everything will fade into the same colour...'

The void in blue, where he could lose all control, but lose everything and still be aware. The void in blue, where he was born, and ultimately where he would die. The void in blue, his new home.

'Now my mission is to end the suffering of this realm... now... how will I die? Maybe I'll take an unlucky guess and try something really, really dumb.'

He continued on his walk, without care for anything in the world, walking around the corner, facing a small puddle of water in the floor. He looked down at it, all the eyes on his face, all the faces reflected upon it, the mirrors that show the darkness that cannot see beyond itself.

A chill ran through his spine as he spoke to the glass-eyed corpses that floated atop, suspended by the very reflection of himself.

"Looking glass cadaver, may you spare me, spare me? This unfulfilled life." The heads responded not, unmoving. "Am I destined for madness then? Or just blind insanity? A human being with 5,000 pairs of eyes can't even dream about a better fate... Then tell me what exactly?"

The corpses floated back to the surface of the glassy water, their empty eye sockets gazing up at him, unable to bear a look on their faces. He chuckled. "Now isn't that ironic... having your vision stolen, yet it is the one thing that keeps you sane." That, he couldn't believe. He leaned over the water, gently bringing the abominable creature into the pond. "Happiness comes as a cold and lonely stranger... why can't this happen in a nicer way?"

The glassy pond broke under his feet. Everything was floating up around him as he landed on his hands and knees, turning to face his creation in the air, before the tiny pieces of his memory shattered completely into his view.

Now his world was made of thousands of his own reflection, now his world was full of his own self...

'It would be very fitting if I became the glass... After all, it is my eyes which do not function.' Unusually calm, he held on to his child, who floated effortlessly in midair. Slowly, the reflection of the baby returned as he started to touch his head. "I'll never have those eyes that you've all seen." And then he laughed again, but the laugh was now manic and cold. It was self-pitying. Self-absorbing. Self-reflecting. Self-actuated, self-determined, self-righteous.

"The very thought, to know you all have them. And know what's left in me." His heart started pumping, and he started panting, clutching tightly. Then a needle appeared into his hand, sharp and cruel, a little poison. His eyes turned a deep green, he licked it slowly and his tongue began to burn slightly. "If you cannot look down upon me and pity me, what reason do I have to stay, what reason do I have?" His hand became numb as he gripped his hand over his chest. '... a failure, I will die. Or I won't and will remain to suffer more and more.'

The thoughts raced through his brain. His whole head was aching. "I wonder what will happen."

He closed his eyes, and lay his back upon the water, letting the chill of his memory flow through him. 'How pleasant would that be? Perhaps it would even give a false sense of warmth. That's what I want right now...' Remembering his first time meeting with the boy who turned out to be his best friend, they both laughed as the blue liquid spread all over their skin and hair, leaving a blue trail everywhere they go... "I would give anything, my own life..." They grew up together, it became a yearly tradition of theirs, spreading through family, then town. And in the next, the festival turned into something, an event where even the grown ups participate. It spread, and the waters eventually drowned the entire landscape, the whole world drowning...

The boy was now a man, his father had him bound, with his back straight. "Father, I'm not a sinner. I'm no hypocrite either. Why am I to suffer and you aren't?" His father responded by swinging the rope over his neck, while his friends watched silently. But despite the torture, he could not hate his father, for he had been trying to stop him from making a mistake. To make the world a better place for the youth of the future, even though it caused the death of one of the sons he'd given to the world, and it caused much hurt to him.

His best friend amongst the crowd, stood there in confusion, not sure how to respond, holding back a flood of tears and blood.

And his father had ordered one more punishment, the one they called 'subjected to the most grueling, intense, agonizing punishment known to mankind, it's worse than hell, where nothing but torture can compare, so do not cry child, because the only reason he's here today is because we love him, that's why'.

To be buried alive.

While his best friend, covered the space for the tomb they had created for him, while the villagers placed heavy rocks to seal the door. It was supposed to be done in the darkest part of the forest, so he would have no chance of seeing a glimpse of life, not the sun and moon. No more freedom to move in any way possible, except for death, and it would come for him in never. For he was known as a foolish immortal.

Sometime after being buried, after having lost track of how many days or how many nights had passed, a rustling had happened within the dirt and soil surrounding him, the feeling that he felt then was that something had brushed past his nose, something sharp and wet, probably a cockroach. How would a cockroach survive when he hasn't? He felt a lot better then. If anything, they could just pick him up, throw him into a dark room with bugs. Bugs can be friendly, friendly in the sense that he didn't have to worry about not having anybody.

A disturbance was caused again. Another slight movement, but this time from his ear, a slight brushing and a cold feeling...

Buzz.

'So that was what it was.' But it wouldn't stop. Bugs were crawling up on his cheek, maybe the insect is just confused, doesn't realize that it wasn't going the right way, it might have been dying.

He brushed it away.

Suddenly, he heard a hiss. It was another bug, a bug the size of a scorpion, which was bigger than most roaches, but this was definitely not a roach and was extremely loud. He had wondered where the cockroach has been hiding. As he did, he accidentally flicked it, he was not able to contain himself anymore, but then, he noticed something peculiar, something familiar; the colour of the scorpion was not black or brown or light tan but the shade of blue.

....Bu....zz...

The tomb was filled with the buzzing sound of insects, the air was filled with the constant noise and the sounds of bugs crawling along his neck, moving in circles, or staying motionless. They weren't biting or stinging, just moving, brushing over his body, coming back up and down in random. Just the sight of bugs alone could have driven him nuts, and what was the sight of bugs crawling along the walls, ceilings, and floor of this little chamber made him feel like he was losing his mind, that they were everywhere, like an infestation had hit the inside of the stone house, eating away the rock. He could do nothing but listen as they crawled and hummed, sending a series of chills and tremors throughout his body.

Eventually, his body was being eaten alive. That feeling when everything in your stomach wants to rise up, when every cell of your brain seems to cry out in pain, when every breath tastes as a sandstorm would blow the air away, when you get a feeling as though your whole being had been captured and dragged into a slow agonizing hell of fire and screams. But his body would return to its original state, as if nothing had happened. The bugs ate, and so they grew. He couldn't move, for he had no energy, the sensation of something soft and slimy had crept onto the fingers, spreading as far as his wrists, it started biting the surface of the skin and some entered the nail beds and ate their way through the nails. They began eating away at his hands and fingers, sucking every last drop of juice.

He watched as a beetle burrowed its way out and then consumed the rest of his finger, his blood streamed freely from his right ring finger and down onto the ground. He felt them entering his mouth, nose and eyes, entering his stomach and intestines and colon, and all the while they were eating away, he remained perfectly still.

The process would repeat itself endlessly, sometimes several times a day. Once they had completely devoured his hand, they began devouring his arm, eating him away slowly. But then his arms and hands would return. His feet and legs would come back after, followed by his torso. And sometimes he would even come back completely healed, regenerated to perfect health. Even so, he would grow more and more desperate, struggling to free himself, fighting desperately against an endless cycle of torment.

Time. Time. Time.

...Time?

No, not yet.

His sense of time was different, in his mind he was tortured forever, unable to think of a way out or help himself, unable to fight off the pain, unable to think, unable to dream or hope.

What was I? Was I not a fool and a coward to even think for a moment that my fate should differ.

Why does my heart beat still? Why must I take another breath of air? Why did my vision not fail when I should've blinded in pain?

WHY!

Everything went silent. His soul cried out. A voice spoke within his heart.

'For you have lived this fate, thus you cannot escape the confinements that were bestowed upon you. The only path left is a new one, one you shall take by yourself and shape for yourself.' A feminine voice that sounded soft and sweet, almost gentle yet oddly soothing to hear.

He felt no reason to respond, but he did so regardless, hoping to gather some sort of hope for his freedom from whoever is offering the salvation.

'Save yourself. End your pain. Stop the madness.' A wave of hope washed over him. A tear rolling down his cheek. A warm, fuzzy, tender, feeling blossoming from the depths of his soul. As if the bugs were never there, he grabbed a hold of his mind and let go, drifting slowly away.

And at last, a book appeared in his hand. It whispered, 'Phantos. That is the name you gave us.' It's leather had black stains all around its cover, its pages brown and white, the only reason he had recognized the contents as the words of his life, was due to the cover page, showing the front of him. 'The book of soul'

'Beware. We'll be with you.'

An indescribable amount of energy had flowed through the man's body and soul, the source from his chest where his heart sat.

For all the bottled up emotion the man had been subjected to, it felt strange having it released all at once, in his state of insanity, this moment seemed too great. The mere sight and existence of an old, rotten book. Unable to hold himself, unable to control it all. Unable to choose what to do, a decision. He didn't need to cry or scream, and suddenly he couldn't bear to close his eyes. In that very moment, he saw it all.

—————

Once buried alive, a foolish immortal decided to carve a story on his book, perhaps in hope to reach people like him, or just a passing joke to lift his mood.

The foolish immortal who got drunk off a single drop of his own blood in the winter, and didn't eat for two weeks, his hunger so great it's the kind of hunger that'd make a man cry, no one cared when he left. No one asked about his whereabouts. Yet, not for an instant had the foolish immortal let his heart falter, not in the slightest.

'A 10,000 eyed, 7,000 toothed, 4,000 tongued creature, born from the broken remains of your father's deeds. From your own shattered dreams.'

Taken over by a crazed insanity, the man used his powers to shatter his skull open and dug out all his eyes, each of them numbering exactly a thousand, and chewed each of his teeth out, one after one, and gnawed all his tongue till the taste of blood. When the ordeal is done, he shall wash his body and begin this tale.

A tale of his that had no end. For eternity he writes, a fool no longer. With the remnants of his eyes.