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he story began like many so others do; with a spiritual revelation. A spiritual revelation is not an easy event to comprehend, let alone explain, but it happens. Many things can trigger it. It can range from the most surreal ways, like the apparition of a holy symbol on the surface of the stew, or a certain shape witnessed in the foliage of the forest. It can be product of many years studying philosophy, morality, ethics and the ways of self-aware beings. Most often, these revelations came in the forms of dreams; unexplained phenomenon occurred within the mind that can, undoubtedly, change a person forever.
These revelations are stories beyond comprehension for its witness. Of this, there is no doubt. Their message is complex and cryptic, but it is, nonetheless, hinted in such a way that the one experiencing it knows an answer exists somewhere, somehow. These individuals are granted something otherworldly, something pure and so powerful that they’re able to change their whole lives with minimal effort. Where they come from its unknown. How to invite them in is unknown. But they come, and once they do, they fester in the intellect until they either fuse or destroy the recipient. Without words powerful enough to describe it, individuals with this blessing (or curse) are left to wander Vita, and with them the quest to finding meaning.
The revelation of this specimen came long ago and yet still no words even come close to describing what was it, exactly, that came. The great arts, be it those visual, auditory, or performing, lack power to even grasp its magnitude, let alone its concept. Like many other revelations, it resembled a bullet; it came without warning, tore through the flesh of the spirit, and formed a festering wound. Picture a man born with only one arm, grown up into a man, discovering everyone else had two arms. The revelation has that effect; it allows you to understand you’re incomplete. You’re lacking something. You’re half of what you could be.
Years passed, and the specimen has, undoubtedly, understood this. If one owns a creative mind, they may be able to extrapolate that there was something off with him. In many senses, it is true. In many others, it is not. Perhaps he had given something up in exchange for something else, bartering one thing for another. Or perhaps parts of him had transformed into something better left unspoken. Neither you nor I are qualified to dwell on such matters. Do we truly want to understand the depths of one another? Are we prepared to dig down into the bizarre mind of such a specimen, even if we’re inherently afraid to dwell in the depths of our own, normal, vanilla psyches?
Nothing is very ordinary about him, and I use the term ‘him’ freely. I believe it is inappropriate to brand this creature, as alien as it is, as a male. I have my reasons for this. However, as it was born a male, I’ll take liberty in using the pronoun for the sake of simplicity. Anyway, he is not quite ordinary in any sense. I do not mean this in the sociological sense. It is not a matter of received education or its lack thereof, but, instead, of something much deeper. The rituals and instincts present within every race in Vita are, strangely, absent from him. They were there when he was biologically born, but now, they’re no more.
I want to stress this. Imagine a dog. The dog is hungry, therefore it eats. Now imagine a human. The human can eat, or it can hunger, sacrificing his immediate satisfaction for something in the future; perhaps the loaf of bread coud feed his son instead, so that his ill son survives, goes fishing, and makes acquiring fodder easier for the family. The father takes a chance, sacrificing his immediate pleasure, gambling it in the hopes of a reward later on; a negotiation with the future only given to self conscious creatures, an evolution from the dog and its primitive need to satisfy their primal instincts. Nature always builds upon what is already existent. It does not fabricate something completely new. The dog that ate, reproduced. Its spawn became bigger, and thus better hunters, and thus they ate more.
Now witness this specimen, who does not hunger. At all. Ever. Do you know any other living creature that does not feed? Plants feed. Fungus feeds. Mammals feed. Consuming is the first, most basic instinct life has. I eat, therefore I grow. But what if you grow and don’t eat? It throws the whole balance of the world. It contradicts logic itself, let alone biology and every other science available. It is both a threat to the way we’ve interpreted the world surrounding us, but, it is also an extremely rare opportunity to learn about the unknown, about the mysteries of the world, about secrets that could reveal new science, new meanings to our mythology, new angles by which to categorize our world so that we, as the superior race, understand our sacred duty better, or, at the very least, we understand that we have not yet understood even a hundredth part of Vita.
I have tried my best to capture the meaning of the specimen in these pages, using my memory and my detailed records as a guideline to piece this creature’s life together in the hopes that you, the readers, may draw your own conclusions.
To this day, I lack a title for this series of manuscripts. Given that I am at complete artistic liberty to do as I please with this information, I will reference a certain inside joke and brand this series simply as ‘The Worm Omen’, owing none of my readers an explanation as to why I chose to do so.Before you begin dwelling within these pages, I wish to warn you; read this at your own peril.
Baguun IX Wolfhuess.
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