The world was gone. Or had it ever truly existed?
A crushing silence surrounded him. There was no sky, no earth—only an endless, cold void that seemed to stretch forever. It was as though the very concept of space had unraveled, leaving nothing but a vast emptiness. His mind, still foggy and disoriented, grasped for clarity, but it felt as though something was missing—something important, just out of reach.
He had been... somewhere. Somewhere before this. But where? The thought flickered through his consciousness like a dim light. Nothing about this place felt familiar, nor did it feel like any place he had ever known. His senses were dull, suspended in a reality that seemed to be nothing more than a dream.
'Where am I?'
The silence grew heavier, oppressive even, pressing against his thoughts. A violent flash of pain surged through his head, sharp and sudden, like a crack splitting open his mind. He flinched, trying to shield himself from the onslaught, but it was as though the pain came from every direction at once. His mind struggled to focus, and the weight of confusion grew heavier with each passing second.
There was something important, something urgent, but it was all slipping through his fingers. A memory—brief, sharp—flashed across his consciousness: a blinding light, the sharp coldness of steel, the searing pain in his chest. It all happened so quickly, as though his very life had been stolen from him in an instant.
'Death.'
That was it. The only thing he could remember with any clarity was the end of his previous life. A life he couldn't quite grasp, a life that had slipped through his fingers like sand in a desert. The pain was overwhelming—blinding and suffocating. It was the last thing he had felt before everything went dark. But even that seemed distant, like a dream he could no longer recall fully.
He tried to call out, but no words came. There was no voice, no breath to fuel it. His body—did he even have a body? He couldn't feel it. It was as though he was suspended in the emptiness, unable to move or even breathe. A weightlessness settled over him. If he had a body, it was as though it no longer mattered, no longer existed in any meaningful way. He was just... 'thought'—a floating consciousness in the vast black void.
He wasn't sure how long he floated in that silence, suspended in the void. Was he truly alone ? Or was something else lurking, waiting in the depths?
'Who am I?'
That question lingered in the void, unanswered, as the silence closed in around him once more. There were no answers, no explanation. No understanding. Only the vast emptiness that stretched on forever, endless and indifferent. He was nothing. Nothing but a fragment, a remnant, caught in the endless stretch of time and space. Alone.
The question still echoed in his mind: 'Who am I?'
But it was only the silence that responded. Nothing more.
And as if fate was mocking his, he felt something
Something was wrong.
He could feel it, deep within. His consciousness was beginning to fracture, to unravel, as though it was being pulled in different directions by some unseen force. It was a sensation he couldn't fully grasp, like being tethered to something far beyond his understanding, something that sought to overtake him.
A presence, ancient and incomprehensible, began to envelop him again. This time, it felt... different. It was vast, overpowering—a sensation of being drawn into something far greater than himself. It was as though the very fabric of his being was being woven into another, something alien, something that sought to dominate him. His mind screamed in confusion, struggling against the pressure of it, but there was nowhere to go. The very air around him seemed to ripple with the force of this presence, stretching and pulling, like the threads of reality itself were being twisted.
No!
He couldn't let it happen. Not again. His thoughts raced as his mind twisted in the void, seeking some form of escape. The feeling of being consumed was suffocating, each moment stretching into an eternity. Every instinct within him screamed to break free, to preserve what little of himself remained, but the weight of the presence pressed on, like an unyielding hand against his chest. There was no room to breathe, no space to think.
But then, a sudden burst of clarity broke through the fog. It was fleeting, a sharp moment of focus amid the chaos. He knew—he was being taken over, consumed by this greater force. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew one thing: it was trying to absorb him, to assimilate his very essence into itself. The sensation was like being devoured by something vast and unknowable, and every shred of his being recoiled from the thought. The clarity was fleeting, but it was enough.
The feeling was suffocating. He had to escape. But how?
He focused all his energy, gathering every ounce of willpower he could muster. A fragment of thought, a shred of instinct, told him to separate himself—to sever the bond between him and this consuming presence. Desperation clawed at him. If he didn't act now, he would cease to exist. His consciousness, his identity, would be swallowed whole, lost forever.
The pain was excruciating. Every thought, every sense felt like it was being torn apart as his mind strained to break free. He pushed against the force, forcing his awareness to shift, to stretch in ways it had never done before. It was like trying to pull a thread from the fabric of the universe itself. He reached out, seeking something, anything, within the overwhelming void.
And then—there was something. A sensation, faint and unfamiliar, like a solid object drifting in the endless darkness. His mind, frantically searching for an anchor, latched onto it. It was *something*—a fragment, a piece of something far larger and more terrifying than himself. It pulsed with power, ancient and raw, but he didn't hesitate. His hand, his mind—everything he had—reached for it.
'This is mine.'
In an instant, he severed it. The act was violent, like tearing a part of himself away. The pain was unbearable, a sharp, jagged sensation that nearly shattered his consciousness. But there was no choice. He had to take this piece, had to claim it as his own before the greater force could fully dominate him. This fragment was his only chance.
He pushed himself into the severed piece, his very essence slipping into it like water filling a vessel. For a moment, there was nothing but pain and disorientation, a chaotic storm of thought and sensation. His mind spun wildly as his consciousness adapted to the new form, the new reality that he had claimed. But then—then, there was power.
It surged through him, ancient and incomprehensible, like a wave crashing against the shore. It was foreign, primal, but unmistakably his now. He had taken it. Stolen it from the presence that sought to consume him. This was a fragment of something vast, something that could have swallowed him whole, but instead, it had become a part of him. It was a power beyond his comprehension, and yet it felt intimately his, as if it were always meant to be.
A small part of him whispered that this was only temporary. The greater force, whatever it was, would realize what he had done. It would know. It would come for him. The presence wouldn't rest until it reclaimed what he had taken. But for now, that didn't matter. He had escaped—at least for the moment. He had severed the bond, pulled himself free from the endless hunger that had sought to devour him.
He was free—at least for now.
For a moment, he let himself drift, the weight of the situation catching up with him. He had no body, no form—he was consciousness alone, floating through the void, a being with nothing but his thoughts. And yet, despite the disorienting chaos of his existence, a strange peace settled over him. The pain had subsided. The sense of being overwhelmed, of being devoured, had disappeared. He was... something else now. He was no longer just a consciousness trapped in the void, at the mercy of a greater force. He had claimed a fragment of something vast, something that had been on the edge of consuming him, and made it his own.
Now, he could feel something new, something unfamiliar stirring within him—an unfamiliar sense of purpose, of identity. He wasn't just drifting anymore. He wasn't helpless. He had a choice.
And he would make it count.
Now, a fugitive in the infinite expanse of the cosmos, he drifted through the void, feeling the overwhelming power coursing through him. The severed fragment—the piece of whatever he had stolen—was both a blessing and a curse. It gave him strength, power that pulsed through his consciousness with an ancient, foreign energy, but it also marked him. The presence that sought to dominate him, to absorb him, had not been vanquished. It was still there, in the background, lurking, aware of the theft, and perhaps already in pursuit.
As he journeyed deeper into the cosmos, the vast emptiness around him seemed to press in, suffocating, but also strangely liberating. He was free—at least for the moment—but that freedom came with an overwhelming price. The piece he had claimed as his own was not just power; it was a tether, a link to the very thing he had escaped from. It pulsed with an alien energy, ancient and incomprehensible, and he could feel its presence at the edge of his consciousness, waiting for him to make the smallest mistake.
Strange sensations began to stir within him. Faint memories, like ghosts, surfaced from the depths of his consciousness. Names, faces, emotions—none of them made sense. They were fragments, like pieces of a shattered puzzle, each one more distant than the last. His mind grasped at them, tried to hold onto them, but they slipped away, like water through his fingers.
Who was I?
The question lingered, unanswered, as the memories grew stronger, but still remained just out of reach. He could feel the identity of his past life coming back—faint whispers of a life he had once lived. But it was fractured, disjointed, a puzzle without any clear pieces. The more he searched, the more he felt lost, as if the pieces of his existence were scattered across the cosmos, each one a faint echo that would never fully return to him.
And then, he felt it.
It was a sudden, sharp realization that struck him like a bolt of lightning. The body he occupied—the flesh he inhabited—it was unlike anything he had ever known. It wasn't human. No, it wasn't even close. He wasn't a mortal being anymore, bound by the limitations of flesh and bone. What he had become was something else—something vast, something incomprehensible. His mind recoiled at the truth, but it was undeniable. He was no longer a man. The form he now wore—this cocoon of flesh, this strange, shifting mass—was not a human body. It was a mass of raw, undulating material, alien and incomprehensible, something far beyond his comprehension.
His new existence, his very being, was a fragment of something far greater—a part of something so ancient that the stars themselves seemed to be its children. His memories of a previous life seemed as distant as dreams, fragmented and elusive. And yet, the more he drifted through the vast expanse of the cosmos, the more he began to realize the awful truth: 'he had been reincarnated'. Yes, he was still him, but 'he was also something else'.
The realization was chilling, but there was no turning back now. He had been reincarnated into a piece of something vast—a greater whole. He was no longer just a man or even a being with a single identity. He was a fragment of something greater, something beyond mortal comprehension. His new form was not a simple body—it was a cocoon of flesh, a mass of living, pulsating energy, drifting in the void. He was a part of a creature, a being so powerful and incomprehensible that the very thought of it made his mind tremble.
And the worst part? He realized the truth far too late.
He had been reincarnated into one of the Outer Gods. He was now a fragment of something that had once been his captor, something that had nearly consumed him. He was no longer fully human. He was no longer fully *himself*.
The truth struck him with terrifying clarity. He wasn't just a soul lost in the void—he was part of that *being* he had tried so desperately to escape from. A fragment of the mass that had once almost devoured him, the same mass that would eventually hunt him down again.
A wave of fear gripped him. But more than that, there was something else. A sense of acceptance, of inevitability. He had no choice but to continue running. To continue fleeing from the very thing that had given him life, from the power he had stolen. He was a part of it, yet separate, and in his flight, he had become both a fugitive and a prisoner of his own existence.
As he drifted further into the unknown reaches of the cosmos, he saw them—strange, alien creatures, the same creatures. They were vast and bizarre, some floating silently through the void, while others writhed in the cold emptiness. Some were massive, beyond comprehension, their forms defying any understanding. Others were minuscule, fleeting creatures that seemed to exist only in the periphery of his vision. They paid him no mind, indifferent to his presence, as though he was nothing more than a speck in the infinite expanse.
But it didn't matter. They were not what he was fleeing from. They were not his pursuers. They were same alien, strange, and distant, but they were not what hunted him. He was a piece of something vast, something ancient, and he had to keep running, for the thing he had escaped from—the thing that had once tried to consume him—was still out there.
It would find him, and when it did, there would be no escape.
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Word Count: 2,389 words
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