A thousand years. A millennium of gnawing hunger in the endless black, where the only feast is the rancid flesh of nightmares made flesh. These beasts—twisted amalgamations of sinew and shadow, eyes like fractured obsidian—haunt my every breath. Their taste? Bitter rot, clinging to my tongue like a lover's betrayal.
You there... listening in the dark huh? Yeah? You want the tale? Better buckle up, stranger. This yarn's got more knots than a hangman's noose, and it'll drag you under if you're not careful. It's long. *Loooong.*
Where to unravel it? My name, maybe? Hell if I know anymore. It slips through my fingers like smoke—Ar... Arth... Arthur, that's it. Or close enough. Back then, I was nobody special. Just a kid fresh off eighteen, buzzing from a birthday bash that tasted like cheap beer and infinite tomorrows. Life was a straight road: school, dreams, that first real taste of freedom.
Fate? She laughed. One crisp afternoon, I'm hustling to nail my driver's test—heart pounding, keys jingling like victory bells. God, I couldn't wait. My go-to shortcut: that dingy alley, shadows hugging the walls like old secrets. Safe. Familiar.
Not that day.
It hit like a storm without thunder—a curtain of writhing black, shadows coiling like living ink, whispering promises of oblivion. I froze. Spun on my heel. Too slow. The void yawned, swallowed me whole. No light, no sound. Just the cold kiss of eternity.
Now? I'm here. The Black Realm. A festering wound of a world, choked with grotesque horrors: hulking brutes with hides like cracked leather, fangs dripping venom that burns the soul. Deformities that mock the divine—limbs too many, eyes where none should be. And their meat? Shit on a stick. I'd trade it all for a truck's mercy, a flash of white light, waking in some fairy-tale haze with wings and wonders. Anything but this.
Unfair, right? The tears still come, hot and useless against the chill. *Sniff.* But hey... that's just the beginning. Stick around. The real fun's in the devouring.