Darkness surrounded the entirety of a strange world, but not empty.
Within this void of unconsciousness, a point of light bloomed like no other.
It wasn't considered harsh — pure, and somehow fundamental.
This was Vyus's awareness, detached from his broken body. He felt an instinctual pull towards it.
That light that bloomed — Vyus's imaginary transparent hand attempted to grasp it, to feel it.
But, his touch passed through that light. A sudden event occurred, as the light seemed to expand rapidly.
It wasn't consuming the surrounding darkness — it was simply becoming one with it.
The result was a vast, luminous sky, just as sensational as real life — but this was real life.
He inhaled the fresh air into his lungs, which resulted in a minor cough. Vyus was still alive, which was unfortunate for him. He wanted to die.
Pain flared throughout his entire body, his ribs, his throat, the countless bruises that he got, from that jaw-dropping clash.
It was in the middle of the morning when everything was calm and forgiving.
From head to toe, he was drenched in blood, which was sticky, dry, but also cool, as if it was frost itself.
As usual, Vyus's mind looked back from the flashback of what occurred — the frenzied stabbing, the enjoyment that he had, and that demonic smile he'd worn.
He mustered the strength to turn his gaze onto the surrounding environment — the mangled ape-thing lay only a few feet away, looking as disgusting as ever.
'Well...isn't this just a pleasant thing to wake up to...' Vyus thought, as he turned his gaze right at the sky.
'Who in the hell...cares...?'
It was too much for Vyus to comprehend. The victory, the slaughter, the loss of control, the memory of his near-death, the crushing weight of the Deep One's annihilation.
He has lost it. His eyes darted around wildly, unfocused. He only saw the flashes of remembered horror.
The very foundations of his sanity were dying, and it was from the sheer brutality of still living.
'I...simply wanted to die, and get it over with...'
His gaze fell upon the claw of the beast, which was lying nearby, still coated with blood.
Something flickered within Vyus; he snapped. He scrambled towards it, snatching it up.
The sharpest point that he could see, he used that to stab the palm of his hand. He did not even flinch, nor even let out a sound.
"Monster," he spat out, with a sign of disgust in his voice. "Useless...Deep Demon!"
The grip of his hand on the claw tightened. Tears of rage and despair blurred his vision.
"I couldn't even control myself...I'm so fucking weak!"
He then deliberately jammed the sharp tip of the claw out of his pierced palm.
Fresh, bright blood welled up, which mingled with the darker, drying blood of the beast that the claw already had on.
But the pain acted like a lightning strike through the storm within Vyus's mind. It didn't fix what was broken, but it released a primal survival instinct; Adrenaline.
It wasn't born from mere excitement but from sheer agony and desperation.
It was surging through his veins again, adding a sense of familiarity to his thinking.
His eyes locked onto a nearby tree. In mere seconds, he lurched towards the tree, with a specific intent in mind.
He ignored the pain in his once-impaled hand, using his good one to wrench and tear at a jagged piece of sturdy bark off the tree.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he retrieved the claw from his bleeding hand.
He then forced the base of the claw against the wood, angling it with his literal teeth.
With desperation, he used the strength of his jaw, biting down hard, and forcing the wood fibers to grip the claw's base.
The result was exactly how he wanted it — a vicious-looking dagger — part wood, part beast, held together by his bloody-minded will.
He glared out into the dawn of the morning. The silent forest of his Nexus no longer appeared broken.
"I'll...survive," he declared, his voice croaky.
"No matter how messed up this paradise of hell is, I'll survive."
Then, to finalize it, he took one last gasp of air; "Because...I'm...hell itself!"
***
The Kingdom of Eutoria were moved from the rumoured horrors of the Deep — a body was missing from the count.
Unfortunately, no one was interested in such a topic, as the Deep Ones were a forgotten race by many.
However, within the hallowed, dust-mote-filled silence of the Royal Archives, a promising researcher did not give up. He was passionate about the topic itself. His name was Anderson.
He was talented like no other. He was a man who was addicted to writing documents, about information that the world would benefit from.
However, that's all surface-level information, as his passion delves deeper.
The eradication of the Deep Ones had a mystery behind it — the body count that took months to accurately calculate didn't line up with the amount of Deep Ones there were, around a few days before the invasion.
For months, under the guise of a historical mystery, Anderson pursued his private obsession; reconciling the numbers.
He tapped his finger on one column. The topic was mainly the Crest's official count of slain "Deep Demons."
Then, he turned his gaze upon another — a compiled estimate of the population, before the invasion. This was mainly based on recovered records.
He ran calculations again. This time, the numbers were horrifyingly close, a testament to how scary the Crest's precision could be. But, it was not exact.
He heard survey reports that accounted for collapsed tunnels and unrecoverable bodies.
But even factoring that in, Anderson's cross-referencing kept leading back to the same inconsistency.
One.
Not hundreds, not dozens. There is just one single Deep One unaccounted for in the final tally.
The official reports declared total extermination, a closed chapter celebrated by Eutoria and its neighbors.
Yet, the data, if Anderson's painstaking work was correct, falsified this belief.
'A clerical error?' he thought, still shaken by this discovery.
'Or perhaps... an escapee? Butt the reports claimed that the perimeter was absolute...' He leaned back, his thoughts at the edge of his mind.
A single survivor after a near-total genocide... was deemed insignificant for counting, perhaps to the politicians and generals.
But to a researcher obsessed with facts, it was a loose thread. And loose threads, Anderson knew, tended to unravel the greatest mysteries.
'What...did the existence of one missing Deep One truly mean?' These thoughts spiraled around his brain.
Ultimately, he made the conclusion to drop the case, not entirel however, but to work on simply as a hobby, when he is free.
But, this sudden feeling may serve as a stepping stone, to successfully unravel this mystery.