Viktor found himself alone in the wilderness, beside a river that carried sulfur. Viktor didn’t have a preconceived idea about hell; he only saw how the lava flowed away. The lava carried a train; it was disintegrating inside it. Not too long ago, seemed to Viktor that a war had broken out; that would have explained the decaying train. Yet he was unsure about it after another thought. He had already wrestled with the idea that his thoughts conveyed ideas from the wilderness—that perhaps there was nothing he could think about that wasn’t already wired inside him by nature herself. He wonders in amusement that perhaps there wasn’t free will after all, just a bunch of thoughts that never ceased to push him forward, towards an unknown and frightening future. Frightening? He wasn’t afraid of anything; death and Viktor were two parallel concepts. He and the essence of life were woven together with death as well, and after all, what comes after death was only a flickering concept that those humans felt ashamed to admit. “What you ought to be is,” his mother muttered, “an animal. To live is to strive for it without concern for anything else. And waiting is the only rule you must follow. This world is constantly reshaping. If you are afraid of it, you won’t make it. To live is to die. And death alone will bring about a new life. You must love life as it is. To live is to die, my dear. Don’t deny your will to live.”

Viktor was hungry again. The kid had made a good meal, yet hunger is a dominatrix mistress, as it has flooded Viktor once again with a will to live. He thought about seeking out what would be a delicious meal. His thoughts injected him with delight for the future and reassured him of enjoyment. There were many human settlements nearby; however, Viktor’s appetite had been sated by human flesh. Most of these humans might have been heavily wounded by the war with the Krogak, a tribe of beasts who usually feed on human settlements. They are not at all moral in the human sense; that is, they don’t have humans on one’s menu. And their lifestyle is mainly inspired by human settlements; there is a sense of home and comradery around these beasts; rearing infants and teaching them to hunt is what their whole existence has laid its foundation on. It is not an odd thing to find these primal beasts in the wild; unlike humans, they are not running away from life but rather embracing it. There is a sage in the tribe of the Krogak that soothes and calms down; he provides a guide—a spiritual guide is non-existent, they hold the belief that the only truth about existence is to enjoy it to its fullest, and to enjoy it is to be a beast. Many humans had wondered why these beasts didn’t develop technology—technology is known among beasts as 'magic'—despite their capacity to use rationality. Is it because magic is a fantasy? Perhaps magic is only required for those who shelter themselves in hallucinations.

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Viktor is looking for an elm; he falls asleep as a baby when he’s close to ‘the big elm’ as he likes to call them. He recoils his huge body as a human baby would. Embracing his feet with his large and stout arms. Today was a good day. He found food, defecation, and a place to sleep close to his favorite tree. What else could he ask for? Everything was in synch. He had a dream about the old man who tried futilely to take him down, and Viktor ate in the aftermath. Yet this man wasn’t entirely the same person; he had characteristics that are usually found in babies. This man-baby had shotguns for hands and a weeping face. Shedding tears while swearing, she shot Viktor twice. His face, distorted by his cries, only resembled that of a human child in Viktor’s conscious mind. He, in fact, thought this man-baby would make an easy meal. As Viktor neared a distance with the child, his shotgun arms became toy-like objects, and his arms became as feeble as any twig. No shot made it through Viktor's stout skin. And as Viktor closed their distance to zero, the man-baby became a fetus, yet Viktor swallowed it up. The fetus already in his entrails communicates with Viktor. The fetus chanted many songs, and most of these songs were about the fetus’ house. He sang about how dirtiness is repelled by humans, so he loves to clean one’s house, even though the person who actually does this is his wife—a wife waiting to be eaten—but in Viktor’s unconsciousness, she seemed to not exist. The old man rarely understood why a garden was so important for his wife; he was veiled by the dream of heroism that had carried him all his life. A dream that cost him dearly. For the only recollection of him and his family was this disturbed and terribly perturbed by Viktor’s unconsciousness. Had a man built up a flying car, Viktor would have shrugged it off. No flying heroes will save this singing baby. A dream is nothing more than nil.

Viktor usually annihilates human bones; the laden fangs crush and reduce bones to dust. Dust that is finally degraded by Viktor’s internal organs. The dust after a recycling cycle will become new life, and life will once again strive for in the heavenly world, where humans and beasts coexist. The old man will return soon. Indeed, he is already part of nature—even dwelling in Viktor’s unconsciousness. You’re not alone, but rather with the whole world. Find yourself at peace and dream until the next time we meet. Dream old man.