In Japanese folklore, there once existed an ancient technique among alchemists for harvesting the strongest poison known to man. A poison so vicious, so horrendous, that a single drop could incapacitate an entire nation of humans, several times over. A poison so intense that a single drop could turn the tides of a war on its head. As potent as it appeared however, this poison could be harvested from the blood of a single insect alone- an insect the alchemist’s called the ‘Kodoku’. As lucrative as was attaining this poison however, the problem lied in identifying this insect- its appearance, shape and size changed from region to region and from continent to continent. Sometimes it took the appearance of a ladybug and other times a horned-beetle. In order to determine the identity of this special insect the alchemists came up with an ingenious method. They created an impregnable jar of clay out of the best sandstone they could find and placed hundreds of different insects into the same jar. The jar was made with such great mastery that it allowed no insects to escape and allowed no objects to enter. The laws of nature dictated that the insects would remain together in the jar forever. However, it turned out that as time went on, the insects’ hunger for food and power caused them to turn against each other- one insect ate another until only one remained. This sole insect contained a poison that far surpassed that of all the others and became stronger as it ate more and more insects. The alchemists at this point had succeeded in identifying the Kodoku and could extract it’s poison as long as they continued to feed it regularly. Although this folklore ends here, the actual story does not. 

One day, as the alchemists cheered in joy of having identified the Kodoku they so eagerly wanted, they forgot to close the lid on the very jar that was considered to be completely impregnable. This small gap was just large enough for the Kodoku inside to crawl out. Famished from not having been fed for weeks, the Kodoku ended up eating the very alchemists that nourished its growth until not even the bones remained. Yet, the Kodoku’s hunger didn’t seem to subside in the slightest. So it traveled to the next village and began eating whatever it could find there. Its poison made it unparalleled in strength and slowly but surely it began to dwindle down the population of the entire city. Yet its hunger only continued to grow. So it traveled to the next city over and ate all it could there. Very soon, the Kodoku couldn’t find any more food to eat. There was no one left to eat and no one left to spectate. So it stood there, by itself pondering what possibly was left to eat that could satiate its hunger. But there was one thing left that Kodoku realized it had never eaten. Itself.