In the endless fog of existence, two vast and bright stars circle in the mist. Around them, in a cycle, a swirling mass of land orbits.

That land was 'The Spiral'.

Within the Spiral, somewhere upon a cliff overlooking the lands below it, an old man with unkempt grey hair stood in the harsh wind. He wore nothing but poorly sewn rags that barely reached his knees and he was beset by deep wrinkles. He looked like nothing but a beggar. He stood silently as he listened to piercing screams and thunderous roars of destruction all around him.

He watched as the land was overrun by millions of unsettling horrors. The beasts were unlike anything people had known until then. Some had jaws that could swallow houses. Some had a single large eye on their stomachs and some had large grins on their heads. Some were only heads. And some were a corrupted mixture of faces and bodies and legs.

Fires blazed, cities fell, and forests soon became ash and barren land. Rivers dried. The horizon crawled ever forward - they were too many. They violated men, women, and children in every conceivable manner. They ate and tore apart themselves and everything around them, creating their beautiful, twisted paradise.

The light from the two stars in the sky had vanished from sight, replaced by the shadows of vast, looming figures further in the distance, ready to bring the end.

The man watched all of this.

And he laughed.

Madness.

He was overcome by madness.

People would soon be no more.

And Thatch smiled.

He had wanted this.

He had made this happen.

This was the end.

But where was the beginning of this madness?

Was it when those power-hungry men decided to unleash a fraction of these horrors on his village?

Or was it when he saw his mother's mind break in agony?

Or was it when his sister was made into a plaything?

Or was it when he had made his first friend?

'Winston?' Who was that? Why couldn't he remember anymore?

Thatch knew that he was mad. But the world was mad before him - he was only the result of countless tragedies.

The spiral had given birth to its masterpiece. And Thatch knew it. The Spiral had forged him.

And he gave birth to this chaos.

And he smiled.

One of those vast magnificent beings in the distance approached. From where Thatch was now standing, its large dark cloak fluttered towards the horizon and became the entire sky. Its armour of shadow and metal rang like thunderous claps as it approached. Its face - golden and bronze and red - was the only star he could see. He could no longer even remember what actual stars looked like.

The presence was too vast. Too infinite in its scope, too ethereal in its being.

Thatch smiled.

"It's finally here! I've waited too fucking long for this! Consume everything and leave no shit-stain behind. Everything! Everyone! Women, children, old, young, it doesn't fucking matter! Fuck it all up, and let all madness begin, and let it all end!" Thatch roared as he laughed in the face of his own demise.

He wanted this.

But then, something changed.

"Stop" A voice from somewhere distant sounded.

Who had spoken just then?

Who?

He looked around in the chaos.

It was no use. No one could stop those beings from consuming everything.

But then something changed.

"Thatch, stop" The same voice sounded again

This time, Thatch heard it more clearly. Who could it be?

Everyone who would want to stop him was long gone. And everyone he had once known or loved, cared about or hated, was no more.

But then the voice came again.

"Thatch! Stop!" Louder, more direct this time. There was a point the voice wanted to make.

And then something bizarre happened.

The entity froze for a moment.

But then, just as fast, the entity resumed its approach.

What was that? Stop? Why?

Thatch shook his head and looked up at the entity. He didn't know. He didn't care.

All he knew was madness. He wanted to watch until he could watch no more. He wanted to see this world destroyed. Nothing else mattered.

"THATCH, STOP!" the voice shattered his hearing.

And this time, everything around him froze.

Time stood still.

And he was taken deep into his memories.

---------------

'Run'

That was Thatch's only thought in the barren wastes at the borders of Imploy. The boy ran as hard as he could. He had a few fresh cuts and bruises on his face, and he wore nothing but poorly sewn rags that barely reached his knees.

There were only a few barren trees dotting the desolate landscape. Some were decorated with the sight of hanging skeletons.

'Shit, run faster'

Thatch urged his weak and scrawny figure to carry itself. His lips and throat were dry, and his stomach made unyielding demands. There were heavy bags under his eyes also, and he suffered, sweating under the intense heat of the twin stars without shade.

But he had to run. Or that knight would find him.

He had barely escaped. Thatch knew that now was the time to do nothing else but run.

So he did.

His heart was about to burst. He coughed up a few drops of blood from the exertion. His lungs could take no more.

His run had slowed to a walk, and then a suggestion of a pace. And then a limp.

But Thatch continued on. He would survive.

Before his vision blurred, he made out a black dot on the horizon.

The remnants of thoughts simply carried him now. And the dot seemed, in Thatch's hazy vision, to be approaching.

Thatch eventually saw what it was.

Those were city walls. He could still make it. He could still survive.

His legs gave way beneath him, muscles too weak to bear even his scrawny frame.

So Thatch crawled on the sands. Towards those city gates.

He would survive.