He did not know how the Howler had become separated from its group, or how it had come to find him. He supposed that Crayak's minions had senses beyond those of most mortal creatures. It could not hurt him, of course, no matter how hard it tried. And try it did. It shrieked and clawed and shot and stabbed, but every blow passed through him.
At first, the Howler found it incredibly fun: an extra challenge for its game, a bonus level with harder settings. Eventually, though, it became bored and petulant. It was not a pleasant look for a killing machine. It stomped around his home, kicking at walls and growling about the unfairness of it. He was being so mean, taking away its fun? Why wouldn't he start bleeding, already?
The Howler wandered and wandered, bored and frustrated. He worried that it might be trying to gain information, but there was nothing to learn here that Crayak did not already know. This was only a physical location at all because he had fancied having a place to be. With nothing to find or destroy or do, the Howler had no idea how to spend its time.
So it talked. Talking had always seemed interesting when other species did it. It had never had to talk to other Howlers, but it could not feel them now. The others were detached from its mind by the walls of his home, and it had time, for the first time, to be alone inside its own head. And to have a real conversation.
"What are you?"
I am the Ellimist.
"Why?"
Because I made myself this way.
"Why?"
Because I became more than what I was born as.
"Oh…"
Do you have more questions, little one?
"What's born?"
To be born is to come together out of separate elements, to combine different parts to bring about a unique new whole.
"Oh. You were born?"
Yes. A very long time ago.
"Was Crayak born?"
Perhaps. I imagine so.
"Was I born?"
No. You were created in a factory. You were made from carefully predetermined amounts. The same amounts used to make all of your siblings.
"Oh."
Yes.
"Is it a bad thing to be made?"
Not as bad as it is to be unmade.
"What does that mean?"
You will find out eventually. But it is not my place to tell you.
"Oh. Do you have anything to shoot?"
No, I do not.
"That's no fun."