What had allowed Amon to live up to that point was, ironically, hate and spite.
He'd decided to defy death itself and sully the domains of life, just to spite and spit in the face of Fate.
He hated it all.
He hated his childhood. He hated the circumstances his mother had left him in. He hated the years where his father had suddenly vanished and abandoned him. He hated the abandonment of his first love. He hated the abandonment of his only true friends and master.
He hated the years of torture he'd undergone. He hated the years of endless violence and slaughter the ruins of life and death had put him through.
He hated himself. He hated his weaknesses. He hated his stupidity. He hated the world.
But most importantly…
He hated fate.
He hated that power that had been slowly but surely steering his life, since birth, toward an endless field of tragedy and bleakness.
