Another one, spawned from my depths. This soul is much special though. As special as any other spawn of mine. Filled with darkness, rage, disgust. A broken soul, perfectly so in every single facet I will touch in his existence. Pride befalls me. They spoke about the day a feat such as this would be achieved. They spoke of how my failure would emerge the moment he was spawned. They were wrong. They were very wrong.
Here he is. Twelve years of age. The scars on his soul freshly throbbing from the damage inflicted by his world. The world that he now sees for what it is, but not all at once. Not just yet. There is still much more hurt to come.
Sixteen years of age. Seeds of rebellion sown, watered by rage at the weakness of those around him. Rage at himself for the inability to protect those he cares about. Rage at himself for never cultivating a proper relationship with those he was raised by. Rage at himself for his knowledge of things he should not know at this age. The scars on his soul grow larger and deeper, but ever so slightly. Yes, so close. The time is almost here.
Twenty years of age. The scars have enveloped him. His once lit up soul is now covered in the shade of his scars. My essence has enveloped him. He notices my existence. A curiosity arises in him. He wants to find out more. Find out why he is, as he is. Find out how to rid himself of me. He cannot.
Twenty-two years of age. We have become one. He fought valiantly, but all for naught. He embraced me. A new flame burns in his soul. A dark flame. He enjoys this. He is this. My heir.
Twenty-six years of age. The final stage. He has become more than I ever dreamed of. If the abyss can dream at all. He has destroyed everything he once loved. He has lost everything that may have saved him. He has lost himself.
All that is left; a husk. A husk filled with darkness, rage, hate, and solace in solitude. The perfect vessel.