Void Walkers
Chapter One
Born of The Void
"The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it."
― Lois Lowry, The Giver
The eaters were close again; squirming in the darkness with only flashes of reflected moonlight against crazed eyes and gnawing teeth let him know how close they were getting. He remained still, unafraid of their much larger sizes. He watched them come, his eyes narrowing as they drew near. They moved as one, almost as a living shadow—connected and amassed into one massive thing that stood united only to consume him. Him, the strange one, the shock of white in the sea of cannibalistic, festering black.
They writhed in the dark, packing together and pushing one another away when one became too close. He watched them interact, watched them converge on him. His eyes roamed, panning over the small patch of nothingness he stood in, seeing their eyes and teeth floating closer.
They intended to eat him this time.
One burst forward suddenly, charging like an animal and stopping short, slamming his fists into the white sand they stood on, his maw wide and trembling with his roar. A roar he didn't hear, he couldn't feel.
He didn't flinch. He didn't show fear.
They didn't like that.
–
Sometimes he would touch his hand to the sand, watching his fingers sink in to it, rivets up-heaved to make room for him. He watched it all, curious and observant. Like a child, almost. He would sometimes sit for days, dragging his hands through the sand and watching the images he could create. Nothing substantial, nothing of any kind of meaning. Just something.
He didn't feel the sand, he didn't feel himself, he didn't feel the grains sliding along his skin and grinding. He could see it, and that was all that let him know it was real.
He could not hear, he had no ears.
He could not smell, he had no nose.
He could not taste or talk, he had no mouth.
He could not feel, his skin was of living bone.
Only his eyes penetrated through the white bone armor that made the entirety of his body.
Only his eyes.
He could only observe his world through his eyes, through what he could see, and there wasn't much. Sometimes the black ones would come. Sometimes the feeders. Sometimes nothing at all. They would always see his small, white body. They would always attack.
Instinct would make him move. The blood on the sand would make him leave. He didn't like it when the white of his hands was stained.
Whenever he saw them they were in groups. Always in packs. A hazed memory would float in his mind just below the surface. Of he, larger, with a mouth and ears and touch. He'd remember gnawing something. He'd remember power. Then he'd remember darkness.
He was born of an endless darkness. Born of a void. Born of chaos and silence, yet shining brightly as though he didn't belong.
He looked at his hand with his eyes, reaffirming that they were still there. They existed. He existed. He didn't know why, but that was enough for now.
And so he walked.
–
The separation of lands and territories in Hueco Mundo weren't kept by anything like fences or walls. Rather, the edge of a space was lined with the absolute furthest reach of the strongest's spiritual energy. The Vasto Lord's kept to their own, and the adjucas kept themselves in herds, feeding off of each other in a bloody feast until one was left. They would move around, keeping clear of wandering Gillians. The bone forrests were scattered, seperated only by fields of dunes in the endless white desert.
He roamed as he saw fit, going wherever he wanted, eating all who stood before him.
His maw was bloody, the taste of bone and meat between his fangs.
Blue eyes scoured the endless vastness, searching for his next meal. Always, he was hungry. Always, he was hunting.
Always, he was grew stronger.
And always, it was never enough.
Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to it, lowering his small body and prowling closer. A spec of something in the distance, pale, nearly one of the bone-like extensions reaching up from the sand. He'd nearly written it off as another branch, but stopped when his eyes caught movement. Thin and spiked and almost a piece of it's surroundings, it blended in well. He'd wondered if it, like he, had eaten everything else. He hadn't seen another adjucas for days. He'd eaten his own heard when they'd given up, when they'd decided to stop moving forward.
Cowards. Weaklings. Food.
The entity in the distance, though. It was small, like he. It was pale, like he. He couldn't feel any sense of energy from it, nearly making him doubt that it wasn't a part of the menos forest after all, yet...
Something inside of him whispered it is strong.
His maw was bloody, the taste of bone and meat between his fangs. Always, he was hungry. Always, he was hunting. Always, it was never enough.
He kept still for a moment, watching it.
Something inside of him told him that it was watching him, too.
His tail curled behind him, swaying lazily. For hundreds of years, he'd hunted. For hundreds of years, he'd been hunted. In all that time he'd learned wariness. He'd learned to recognize a threat, and it had kept him unbitten.
It was strong.
It gave off no energy. Energy was everywhere. He was inside of a territory.
Vasto Lord.
Not yet. Not this one. Not yet.
The pale, distant creature turned, seeing him.
Too strong.
He watched it silently, claws digging into the sand, body still perched and ready to act. If it attacked, he would defend himself. If it came closer, he would run.
He would not be bitten. He would not be eaten. He would not stop here.
Not this one. Not yet.
He didn't know how much time had passed. The moon never moved, the wind never howled. The sand never shifted.
The blood on his maw dripped thickly, lazily into the sand. The blood on his maw dried, black and flaking in time.
Time. It passed. How much? How long? He didn't know. Maybe hours. Maybe moments.
Not yet.
The pale creature walked away.
–
He didn't remember his evolution. He didn't remember his birth. Nothing ever did.
All he recalled was being. All he remembered was opening his eyes.
All he remembered was blackness.
Things approached him. Large things. Always so large. Some moved their mouths, some moved their hands. Teeth, claws. An attempt at communication usually, probably. He would stand, watching them, waiting.
Eventually they would stop. Eventually they would grow irritated that he did not answer. Eventually they would attack.
He killed them all.
He wondered, perhaps, what would happen if he let them touch him.
Always, his body would move. Always, they would die.
Something deep, something instinctive. Something that might have been all of him did not allow him to die. Instinct. Survival instinct.
It was powerful. It was all-encompassing.
It was everything.
Perhaps that was why they came to him.
Perhaps they viewed him as a threat to their survival.
His eyes always saw the same pattern.
Approach. Move. Gesture. Wait. Attack.
Die.
And he would walk. He would roam. He would see and he would live.
Because there was nothing else.
Because his eyes always saw nothing else.
And what his eyes could not see, did not exist.
Nothing.
No. Something.
In the distance.
Something small. Something white.
Something bloody.
He watched it. Waiting.
It moved.
It did not gesture. It waited.
It did not attack.
So he waited.
It kept it's distance, standing firm.
No words. No plea. No attempt.
Did he see this? Strange. It was different. It was odd. It was new.
It was strong, something inside of him said. Not loudly, not enough to make him worry.
Not yet.
It didn't move, and eventually, after he realized that he'd waited. That he'd been the one to grow impatient, he turned.
And he walked. He roamed. He saw and he lived.
Because there was nothing else.
Because his eyes always saw nothing else.
And what his eyes could not see, did not exist.
Nothing.
–
AN: First chapter of a 200 Prompt Mega Challenge.
Total word count thus far: 1375.
Theme: Isolation
Expect more.