In this desolate place I call my home, I 'walked' across the vast land. Nothing could be seen in this sorry excuse of a 'land' except for the depressing grey of the ashes that made up the floor.

No sun, no moon, no stars, no trees, no grass, no animals and no people. The only thing one could find would be the occasional soul wondering about aimlessly and mindlessly.

Of course, the only exception to that would be me, but by now, I don't think the difference between me and those things is that noticeable. I too, essentially, wander about aimlessly. However, unlike those souls, I do have a mind, albeit messed up.

My name? I have long forgot it, and stopped trying to remember it. Now, instead, I carry the names of all of those I devour. Who might I devour, you ask? That would be an idiotic question. Didn't I just comment on the fact that there are only souls around here?

In order for me to live, I need sustenance. That is the same for all living beings, no matter who or what they are. The only exception I can think of would be void dwellers, but those things barely move, so of course they need next to no sustenance.

However, a soul is a very sturdy thing. It is very hard to 'eat' a soul. Furthermore, judging by my memories, which I absorbed, these souls are exceptionally strong, since they all come from great and evil being. Necromancers in particular are almost impossible to devour, but for me, it's still possible if I take my time.

By going down that train of thoughts, one could assume that the stronger a soul is, the better it is to eat. And such person would be right, but also not. A soul can be very strong, but still very weak. It's a confusing analogy, I know, but imagine this. You have an egg. That egg has a very tough shell, but if you break that shell, the inside is incredibly soft. Souls have 'shells' too, in a sense.

Ah, I'm rambling again. It's a habit I picked up from the souls I ate. Many of them had the tendencies of making huge, psycological speeches during, before or after fights, and usually it's those exact speeches that either power up their murderers or anger someone they shouldn't anger.

Speaking of murder, I just finished my meal. And like the millions of times before, I must move on, in search of another wondering soul.

When I first 'woke up', there were souls almost everywhere. And despite this world being seemengly endless, by now, souls are starting to become scarce. I fear for what will happend when those souls run out. Will I be left here to finally die? Wouldn't that be a good thing?

No. I had already decided that I would live. Dying would be an insult to all of those whom unwillingly sacrificed their souls for my continued existance. I may be a horrible being, considering that by devouring countless evil souls I also became 'evil', but I am still honorable. It is the last rope I hang on to to somewhat enjoy living. Everything else already lost meaning to me.

Isn't it depressing? I hang onto a broken pride, a pride so twisted and corrupt that even I know it. However, that's what eons of loneliness, with the only company being the voices in your head telling you to kill yourself and the mindless souls that roam this hell, does to any sentient being.

And yet, despite that mind-breaking depression, I keep on fighting. I keep on wondering, eating and searching for a way out of this place.

I have already lost hope. And yet, I keep on searching for that light I lost. But no matter what, those voices, those accursed voices, keep destroying that light every time my hands reach out for it.

"You will never find salvation..."

"You should die! Murderer! Monster!"

"You think that you're any different from those things? You're just an idiot..."

Despite learning the art of 'ignoring everything', you cannot run from yourself. The voice of my subconscious knows more about myself then I ever will, and I know it. I ran out of tears a long time ago though - or I would have if I was physicaly capable of crying.

It is not like I have not considered suicide. However, my morals challange me and forbid me from doing so. As I already said, killing myself would be an insult to all of those I devoured, despite the fact I don't actually care about them. And yet, the voices say I should kill myself exactly because of it.

It all comes down to a question of morals. Is it right to devour others to keep living, or is it wrong?

Almost every living being, as far as I know, has their morals set in stone. And yet, I, whom has millions upon millions of different sets of morals, does not. This is one of the many side-effects that absorbing memories does to you, unfortunately.

How many times have I wished to be like the people in my memories? Living happily with my family, playing with my siblings, laughing with my parents and running through colorful cities? I cannot answer my own question, as it would break my mind once again.

The saddest thing about all of this is that I do know a way to get out of this place, but it is impossible for me to grasp it with my own hands. I would need assistance from the world of the living, and the chance that I just happend to be at the right place at the right time is so small, that saying 0.000001% would be an exaggeration.

And yet, here I am, still searching for that beacon of hope. Many times have I come extremely close to escaping this hell, and Every. Single. Time I have failed.

But, despite all of those failures, I keep on searching. Sometimes I wonder why myself. Perhaps fate is guiding me? Or perhaps I'm just hard-headed? Who knows?

And for once in my whole life(?), that hard-headness will finally pay off...