The darkness, like cold water, begins to drag me down.
It wraps around me like a cold hand, dragging me deeper, even as I try to resist.
The cold digs into my flesh like the claws of some great beast,
and then sinks deeper still, wrapping around my very soul.
But even as I sink further into the depths, a great light appears.
As if a sun had just been born in the darkness.
I stare at it in shock—for within that light, I see life.
I see animals, people, plants.
I see how life is born, how it grows—it's beautiful, I think.
Like some great masterpiece from a great artist who spent their whole life painting this one image.
But even as I watch the lives of every living thing, I watch as each comes to an end.
Each time, a small light falls.
More and more lights begin to fall, like tears,
as if the world itself is mourning every death.
Like a mother mourning her long-lost child.
A sea of lights falls like stars—so many, an uncountable number.
I stare in awe and wonder at the sight, like something out of an old myth.
After a time—with no change—I begin to wonder about my fate.
Am I to spend forever in this place?
Trapped? Imprisoned in this void?
The idea alone threatens to rob me of hope.
A cold hand wraps around my heart, as if testing how far I can be pushed before I break.
And for a moment… it feels like something is watching me.
Studying me.
Like a child watching a strange insect—curious, then quickly disappointed—turning away.
Fear grips me.
And how could it not?
I feel so small… like I am worth so little.
This continues—for how long, I cannot say.
But with each new gaze, comes a new feeling.
Yet they all share one thing in common:
They look upon me as if I were unworthy.
Their gazes shift quickly to other lights—deeming them more worthy than I.
Then it happens.
Giant hands—claws—emerge from the void.
Some massive, some twisted, some feathered or armored.
They reach for the lights, grabbing one or more and tearing them away.
And soon, it is just me.
Relief overtakes me at not being taken.
Then I realize… I am alone again.
The darkness embraces me like an old friend.
And this time, I begin to wonder—
Would it not have been better to be taken?
And so it continues.
I sink deeper and deeper, wondering if this is eternity.
I no longer know how long I've spent here—hours? Days?
Then—sound.
It slithers in, scraping across the void like claws on rusted iron.
A voice.
"Hee-hee... stupid gods, stupid-stupid! All of them blind-blind, yes-yes!"
The tone is high-pitched and gleeful—until it suddenly twists, hissing with venom.
"Puffed-up sky-things, always scheming behind curtains—I know! I see-see what they plot!
Sigmar, hammer-thing, thinks he's so mighty-mighty—building empires like toys!
But I-I wait better. I-I hide better! He doesn't see me—no-no!"
It lowers to a suspicious whisper.
"They think I don't hear-hear... but I do. I always hear. Even in the dark-dark places."
Then, without warning, it bursts into a manic cackle.
"But what do they do, hmm? Steal-snatch the shiny ones, the loud ones, the fire-fire ones!"
Now it's shouting—furious, offended.
"The dwarf-things! Grrrhh! Those bearded rocks with their stubborn heads and golden lies!
And Grungni—Grungni the Stone-Builder! Liar! Trickster! Hiding behind laws-laws and tunnels!
'Forge this, craft that, build-build-build!' Bah! Always digging, always watching!"
The void trembles with every shrieked word.
Then, the voice softens again, pride dripping from every syllable:
"Not like me-me. I am clever-clever.
Smarter than them. Better. I gnaw where they build. I rot what they love.
I alone wait where they cannot see-see."
The silence that follows is... tense. Electric.
Like something is about to explode.
And then—
"...What? What's this-this?"
The voice jerks violently into confusion.
"A light-thing? No... no-no. Not taken. Not stolen. Not broken. Still here—still mine?"
Paranoia claws into its tone.
"A trick? A trap? Is this one... bait? Hah! If it is—they'll regret it!
I bite back! I always bite back!"
Its tone swings again into giddy triumph.
"But no-no... not taken. Abandoned. Yes-yes. Cast aside like trash!"
And now, cruel satisfaction.
"Perfect-perfect. I will make you worth something. I will give you purpose, little rot-seed."
The void tears like paper.
A form emerges. A god—or something fouler.
A monstrous skull, rat-like in the loosest sense, with jaws too wide and horns sprouting like the limbs of a dead tree struck by lightning.
The bone is cracked, pulsing, weeping black ichor in places, and its shape wriggles, never staying still.
Green flames burn in its eyes—bright, mad, watching.
Its mouth peels open, teeth as tall as towers writhing like worms made of bone.
"You-you will do. Yes-yes. I will sharpen you. Twist you. Send you to ruin the man-things, the elf-things..."
A hateful screech—"And the DWARF-things most of all! Grungni's worms—his stone-cursed spawn!"
It hisses, then jolts with sudden doubt.
"Unless... unless you're weak. Yes. Maybe you break-break like the rest.
Maybe you lie-lie to me, like they did..."
It leans closer.
"But no-no... not this one. Not mine. No one takes what is mine!"
A clawed hand as vast as a mountain snaps forward.
"Sleep now. Dream-dream. And when you wake-wake… bring ruin in my name."
As its grip closes around me, sleep consumes me—dense, absolute, terrifying.
And just before the dark takes me, the voice giggles again—quiet and smug:
"Yes-yes… this one will be glorious. They will fear you.
And remember me."