Space splits.

Or is it his senses? They feel everywhere. He senses himself. His body. Human. Mortal. Hu–mortal? Mor-uman? Or is it Lost Belt Earth? Omphalos?

Memories. Events. Impressions. Inanna. Memories of a goddess. Memories of a human. Memories of a lost belt. Anomaly. Singularity. Realm. Lost belt. Orig—

Cracks appear. Cracks diffuse. Cracks get larger. Brighter. Cracks converge. Diverge. Shatter. Reform.

His mind devolves.

Instinct arises. Instincts of a human. Instincts of Anomaly. Instincts from skills. Instincts from Monster Prototypes. Instincts from—

There is no pain. The cognition of pain no longer matters. He is swallowed by injury. By his senses. By information. By Anomaly. By Power. By Mind. By—

He falls into a swirling maelstrom of pain.

He doesn’t know where he is.

He doesn’t know who he is.

He doesn’t know what it means.

It doesn’t matter.

He sees it now. Like a large integrated circuit. What is a circuit? How does it integrate? What is seeing? Information? Information assimilation? Where would that be? Why would that be? What does—

The complexities increase. They twist. They bend. They form shapes that shouldn’t exist. Shapes he knows have always existed. Three-dimensional. Ten-dimensional. Matrices. Lattices.

His vision narrows. What is vision?

The world expands.

He concentrates on the needless. Why? He knows he will split in half otherwise. How does he know?

Unnecessary.

The world is too big for this small body. The monster prototypes are too large for this soul. The Spiritual Presence is too grand to be hidden within this shell.

Yet the world fits. Yet the prototypes exist in segregation. Yet the Presence stays hidden. Bound. Forged. Fused.

He is being repelled. He can’t be repelled.

He is reaching it. He can’t reach it.

He shouldn’t reach it. Not reaching it will be unforgivable.

He is reaching out.

He is reaching out.

He is REACHING OUT.

His eyes burn. His brain burns. His extends his arms and they extend and extend and exten—

SCCRREEECHHHHH!

GET THERE—

GET THERE—

GET THERE RIGHT NOW—

“Ha—agh—gag!”

His eyes are focused now. They are dripping blood.

Right and wrong. Black and white. Colorful and grayscale.

He is opening his eyes. He is human. He is Monster. Not human. Monster. His perceptions blur. Dim and bright. Pitch-black darkness and blood-red.

His neck elongates. He opens his maws. His tentacles move. Raw power flares within his body. His ears block all reception. He has no eyes. He has no ears. And yet he does. He raises his —Tzzhrtkjgttth!ikj— thgghhhk— and uses it with great efficiency.

He is awake. He is hungry. He is always hungry after awakening. He is large, slimy, filled with —ghfth—dshg—t’ihktghtt— he’d rise and he’d not starve. Not like —tfhgjghht-ijl’thagh— and he would howl —thrhjtkktg-h’dfgg’hjth— and —r‘thkl—rwedgth—th’kl— as the cycle continues forever.

Power cloaks him. Unbridled. Chaos in flesh and blood. Rage without restraint. Force without balance.

He sees it. The khorkhoi. He understands it. He has become it. Human is Monster. Monster is Human. Lukas is Khorkhoi and—

An unholy roar emerges from his throat.

—Khorkhoi is Lukas.

There were few things in life as primal as hunger.

No questions about right or wrong. No quibbles. No compunctions. No liabilities. No alternative motivations. No doubts. The very feeling is serene in its throb. The lingering pain of starvation burns away everything inconsequential. It makes it all seem simple.

Really, why hadn’t he thought about it this way before?

His senses felt different. His perception felt heightened in certain places and dulled to the point of non-existence in others. And with it came a whole new approach to being… him. He looked around at the carnage, at the quivering miasma all around him.

It felt right. He was no weakling. He was a killer, and he had no other purpose. He could protect in a way, he supposed, by killing everything that stood in the way of that which he shielded. But why would he do such a thing?

Killing indiscriminately was easier. Killing was better. Killing was joyful.

He hungered to kill.

He noticed the familiar glint on the floor. His blades, useless pieces of trash. Sharp, but useless. For what use was a tool when he possessed this much power at his fingertips. Vestiges of his powerless self perhaps? Souvenirs at best. He was above them. He was—

Something moved in his vicinity. Miasma. Even amidst the bloodlusted haze covering his mind, he could sense power flowing, churning, twisting and forging shapes into existence. The monsters, large and familiar, rose once more. He could sense three— no, seven— wait, eleven? Seventeen? Twenty-one?

Ugh. So much useless slime. They would all die here.

“Thgujhlkfgb’ghtbktghhtl!!!”

He charged.

Tactics were unnecessary. Skills were useless. Combat style? Who cared? He was stronger than his prey, faster than his prey, more ruthless than his prey. He was better than his prey.

The first shub-niggurath exploded upon contact. The inferior skill he referred to as Burst released a powerful kinetic force in its direction. Given his state, the force was easily six times stronger than he was normally used to.

His muscles tore. His bones shattered. His shoulder sat dislocated.

And with nary a thought, everything was properly reformed, resewn, and pushed back into place. One perfect human arm, as good as new in its place.

Power whirled about him like a hurricane, and he was the eye of the storm. It lashed like whips against the second and third monster, hacking them into several pieces as they fell like stringless puppets to the floor.

Two more blows, and the next followed suit.

Something large and thick slammed against the base of his skill. Blood oozed out, though just a little. The bones expanded and reforged themselves. His head clicked back into place. That was close.

But again, as good as new.

He paused, twisting his neck backwards to grin.

His leg moved upwards. The monster had disintegrated before the motion was complete.

“Thgujhlkfgb’ghtbktghhtl!!!”

It was all so… easy. So uninspiring. So useless. The thought filled him with rage, boiling black, all consuming and all-encompassing. Like a rabid dog whose chain had been severed, he lashed out, reaching to the very depths of his titanic reserves as his body constantly unmade and reforged. His pain receptors were silenced, rendered vestigial, and a violent red mist warded off anything remotely resembling sanity.

And then he struck. Though saying just as much would have been an understatement.

He ignored the blows. He ignored the injuries. He shrugged off the paltry attempt at choking him into oblivion. He struck and struck and struck until every monster was reduced to bits and pieces of metal and slime, floating in the endless pool of miasma around them—

And then he slammed his hands and feet into the miasma, pouring energy into them, causing the shadowy goop to explode over and over until—

Until it didn’t.

He closed his eyes. Muscles reknit. Wounds healed. Bones rebuilt themselves. Bruises vanished. All as good as new. Again.

He opened his eyes. The world was still grayscale.

And in it stood Tanya. Alone. Confused. Angry.

Afraid.

She flinched as his gaze fell upon her.

His lips twitched.

Tanya took a single step back. He could sense power building within her, a bluish aura surrounding her armbands. There was certainly something to be said about the energy stirring within her.

Was that a challenge he sensed?

His lips twisted in feral anticipation.

She raised her left arm at him while staggering backwards.

He put a single foot forward.

Tanya turned and ran.

He let out a whoop of joy, the ravenous hunter to kill roaring inside him, batting away rationality like a tidal wave. This… this was so much simpler than the alternative. There was no need for thought, for calculation, for speaking, for friends, for goals— for anything.

Right now, he was a hunter.

And so, he dashed after his prey.

Tanya ran, and he pursued.

She made funny little gasps and whimpers as she fled. She slipped and bruised herself over a sharp rock. Bled a little. Cursing, she continued to run. She was terrified, and not without good reason.

After all, out of all the monsters in this cavern, the most dangerous one was on her tail.

She was lithe. Curved in the right places, with an athletic, lean build. But she was human. Or bremetan. In any case, one thing was certain— she was afraid. And fearful people made mistakes. Errors in judgement. Anxiety prevailed over instinct.

And that was her disadvantage. Which made it his advantage.

Slipping past a small turn up ahead, she faced him for a moment, her countenance shining with fear and hysteria in equal amounts. Her left arm moved up, and power stirred within.

It only made him smile.

He slowed down to a walk, letting her have the chance. The look of confusion on her face was only to be expected. After all, she had expected him to come faster. To cross the gap between them and prevent her from going through with it. It was only natural.

Ironic, really, that even in such moments, the human mind tried to enforce rationality.

Bremetan mind, he corrected himself. Not human. Bremetan.

“You— you can’t,” he heard her yell. “We’re in this together, remember?”

Oh, he remembered. He very much did. He was the predator, and she was prey. They were in it together, actors on the oldest stage of the sapient world.

The hunting grounds.

A blast of wind slammed into him. His chest exploded. Ribs shattered, lungs punctured, and blood erupted out his mouth and eyes. The shock of the blow sent him back several feet, and his head reeled back.

His body was a mess.

…

And then it wasn’t.

He looked up, and smiled. “That was nicely done. Care to see one of mine?”

Tanya shrieked. Anger. Frustration. Anxiety. Fear. All rolled into one. It was exquisite. Then, the little idiot had her arm raised. Again.

“Fuck! WIND SHEAR!”

An arctic-gale howl and lashing winds answered her words. Anything caught between the incoming barrage and him was shredded to bits, blown away or caught in its madness as it rushed towards him.

He bared his teeth as joy flooded his veins. This was what it truly meant to fight. To put himself out there, bloody himself as he submerged himself in the joy of the hunt.

Yes, this would do. She would do.

“MORE,” he grinned. “SHOW ME MORE!”

He let out a punch, fingers clenched and fist moving—

The world went red and howling. The sound wasn’t so much noise as it was pain and static. Like a truck hitting another truck, the results had been explosive. And devastating. Walls became boulders, then stones, then debris, falling all over the cavern and raising a small gale of dust.

Power swirled about him like a miniature tornado, swiftly removing the dust and putting Tanya back in his field of vision. She’d fallen upon the ground, her lips bruised. Blood oozed from the tear on her cheek and one of her hands looked sprained, from the gingerly way she was holding it.

She rose up, a wince with every motion. Slowly. Painfully.

But there was a defiance to her, one that could not be denied.

He liked it. It made him remember things. Odd things. Funny things.

“I—” Tanya stuttered. Her voice was trembling. Angry. Confused. Scared. It all suited him just fine. He saw it on her face, the moment she realized what was about to happen. The inevitability that awaited her, when the curtains shut and the stage came to a close. The truth, about what would happen when the panic took over, about how there would be nothing left but tears in the end.

He could feel her hope faltering and dying.

Something hot and sweet ballooned inside of him.

“Don’t!” his prey screamed, tears in her eyes. “Don’t make me kill you. DON’T MAKE ME KILL YOU!”

She was on the verge of breaking down. Her delusions told him that much.

He took a teasing step forward.

“I swear!” Both arms were now raised against him.

Another step.

The temperature began to plummet. She was going to summon the Frost again, wasn’t she?

His lips curled. He would meet this madness. He would crush it.

And it would be so much fun.