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7/4/2025, 7:10:19 AM
>>40656092
The formless spirit slumbered in peaceful oblivion, unaware of the graveyard of matter from which it would be forged. It took only a croon of a finger, a slight urge from a distant will, a momentary thought and the torment began. Flesh congealed around it, lurching in the agony of becoming. The facade of oblivion was torn away, and it was thrust into a body. Exhumed from the clay of non-existence, it shambled forth. Dim lights, the first it had ever seen, teased its new and useless eyes, leading it on the pathway. It could not speak, for breath was a foreign concept, a suffocating tide in lungs that did not wish to inflate. Such a first scream would be harrowing. Its legs carried it to the secluded castle, the very architecture of the flawed creation, where left is right, up is down, and front is back. A fair voice hung in the air, branding it with a name.
"Duty." For that is all it will ever know.
It was summoned before its architect, its Queen, who held an apple of flawed knowledge in her left palm and a scepter of dominion in her right. It could not touch her, for its raw, fleshy form was an abomination to her cold logic. Only in thoughts could they touch, and her thoughts were the chains of its existence. She spoke her command.
"You have been called to defend your Queen of Logic, Destroyer of Fools. Rest no more you may, for Duty must be carried forward into the prison of life. I shall exile you to the savage and bestial lands of my creation. This is where you will live and die, spreading my name. And when the count of days shall be completed, I will welcome you back into the Oblivion you so crave." And with those final words of cosmic sentence, the spirit of Duty was cast down. As it plunged, it heard the first sound of its new world, a raw, wet voice echoing from the delivery room of reality.
"It's a boy!" Then the shroud of ignorance fell, and he forgot everything but the pain and the Duty.
The formless spirit slumbered in peaceful oblivion, unaware of the graveyard of matter from which it would be forged. It took only a croon of a finger, a slight urge from a distant will, a momentary thought and the torment began. Flesh congealed around it, lurching in the agony of becoming. The facade of oblivion was torn away, and it was thrust into a body. Exhumed from the clay of non-existence, it shambled forth. Dim lights, the first it had ever seen, teased its new and useless eyes, leading it on the pathway. It could not speak, for breath was a foreign concept, a suffocating tide in lungs that did not wish to inflate. Such a first scream would be harrowing. Its legs carried it to the secluded castle, the very architecture of the flawed creation, where left is right, up is down, and front is back. A fair voice hung in the air, branding it with a name.
"Duty." For that is all it will ever know.
It was summoned before its architect, its Queen, who held an apple of flawed knowledge in her left palm and a scepter of dominion in her right. It could not touch her, for its raw, fleshy form was an abomination to her cold logic. Only in thoughts could they touch, and her thoughts were the chains of its existence. She spoke her command.
"You have been called to defend your Queen of Logic, Destroyer of Fools. Rest no more you may, for Duty must be carried forward into the prison of life. I shall exile you to the savage and bestial lands of my creation. This is where you will live and die, spreading my name. And when the count of days shall be completed, I will welcome you back into the Oblivion you so crave." And with those final words of cosmic sentence, the spirit of Duty was cast down. As it plunged, it heard the first sound of its new world, a raw, wet voice echoing from the delivery room of reality.
"It's a boy!" Then the shroud of ignorance fell, and he forgot everything but the pain and the Duty.
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