Ch. 1: Silence
Silence.
Darkness, no, true darkness is silence. Your surroundings shatter–disappearing into an ever-gorging maw. Without your senses, the blackened world carries no disparities from your mind. With no distinctions; your mind is your world, and your world is your mind. They co-exist as one, and it is here–in this accursed chamber of torment - that you will rot, alone.
Are you alive? Are you already dead? When you’re in darkness, your senses cease. Your hearing? Gone. No smells, tastes, or feelings, either. Is this still considered living? I do not know. If it is–and all that’s required to be deemed as living is the possession of thought… is this no different from death–if there is an afterlife? I do not know.
What I know, though–that’s what it is to touch darkness. Eternal silence. Eternal solitude. Eternal questioning. It is a fate that even the most unfortunate souls would not dare to imagine. It also… is a fate that many of my people suffered. I too, nearly suffered this same fate.
However, by the grace of The New Gods, my soul was strung back from damnation by the thinnest of strands. Strands, created from nothing other than all that is graciousness. Strands… that have graced me with an opportunity–an opportunity for redemption… and vengeance.
Daandvar. Never… I’ll never forget. His twisted face. His shallow eyes. His hand as it turned to fist… sentencing my people to silence. Although I shall banish his name from my mind, I will not forget. Daandvar, Master of the Domain; The Conqueror of All Known and Unknown. The King-Breaker… is no more. That name, those titles, shall never cross my lips. Instead, he shall be Betrayer of the Domain; The Destroyer of All Known and Unknown. The Breaker.
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The darkness has changed me. For better or for worse; I do not know. It has given me power… a viscous stream of fortitude in which I’ve never experienced before–ironically built upon the upturned grave of death. Death isn’t confined to the restraints of curse and misfortune. It can also be a gift. For most, I shan’t refute; it is a curse. Alas, I am not most. The endearment of grace has turned death into a blessing, too.
As my sanity crumbled under the pestilence known as silence… I embraced it. My end. Not only mine, but rather, the end of everything and everyone I had known.
So cruel.
The Betrayer… to subject your people to such torment. Did you know? That this would happen–that this eternal torment would be the fruition of your will? You couldn’t have… Could you? In remembrance of your damned name, you must have! With such knowledge, how could you?
Again, I mustn't forget; you are evil. Shunned internally of all which is good–you exist. No reason needs to be given, for I do not care. Knowledge of your existence is all I require to spur the embers of life that I was so ready to extinguish.
This yearning for vengeance may be another form of damnation. It is a task in which I am not entirely confident in my capabilities to complete. However, it is a task that must be done. Your existence is proof that malice and immorality have conspired with the blessing of night to conceive… You.
It’s shameful to admit, but my hatred for you–is the ground in which my pillar of sanity has been so proudly implanted. Insanity? How could it be? Hatred is the only rational feeling that I should have towards you… that anyone should have towards you.
Thankfully, that power that I shall refer to as grace; not light—has given me power. Enough to resist the wretched sirens of darkness that latch so tirelessly atop my shoulders. Their endless wails snuffed out by the virtue of grace. Instead, that which should reap has sown. Two kindred memoirs; one of dark and one of light. They have sought sanctuary within my being–forming a paradoxical contract of understanding.
Grace and darkness–light and evil. What you or I may call them, matters not. They are mine now, and they shall be the tools that I use to enact my retribution. This is my story.