--- Insanity ---
A lanky figure pushed through the brush and brambles of the Viridale forest. Escaping through the rough of it, he stumbled into a clearing -- The tops of the trees spaced out so that the noon's sun could peek to the forest's floor to shed light and warmth onto his features. Dark sienna skin, clad in black scaled armor, and then most noticeable feature; long horns that protruded from his skull, shooting up two inches before meeting a sharp bend that pointed them forward.A fiendling. Born a monster to live as a monster. He was no stranger to the cruelty of sentient beings, and by far no stranger to surviving on his own. They came hand in hand for one born as he was. But that made him strong. It taught him how to be resourceful and to only rely on himself. Others were merely tools that try to project their beliefs and psychology on him in hopes of understanding. No. In hopes of changing him. In hopes of using him.
The fiendling reached for right his horn like he always would when thinking; twisting his index finger and thumb of his right around the pointed tip of his horn while he gazed to the skies, letting the warmth of the sun wash over his tired and anemic appearance. His recent return left him with a lot of questions -- or rather -- answers to his questions, which brooded a lot more questions in turn.
Why was he alive? Why did he exist? The Druids of the Glade had told him that he had no place in the balance. That he was product of an unnatural occurrence; the mating of an outsider with a mortal from the Material Plane. This made him unnatural ... inconsequential. Something he refused to believe. Whether it was the ego from his human half crying out to him or if there was truth to his significance, it could not be measured, weighed, or proven.
Such is perception and reality; forever damned to never bear any form or manner of determining the discrepancy between the two. Popular belief and the most common projection reigning as truth and reality. Even when understanding this, the fiendling demanded answers. And for that he would look to the only person in the world that he could trust -- Himself.
The tiefling dropped down on the soft forest floor, folding his legs together as he rocked side to side in another thoughtful habit.
"Zack has faced a lot of dangers. Being drowned, lynched, pushed into fires, stabbed, had magics cast at him, and has even come face to face with menacing dragons. Each time Zack has escaped with his life," he said to himself while furrowing his brows.
"... was it luck? No. No. The world is keeping Zack alive. It must be. The world needs Zack. It has to be the world that allowed Zack to exist. It had to be the world that has kept Zack alive for all these years and it's keeping him alive for ..."
"... for something. Something that puts Zack in an objective state of being that attracts those that inhabit the world. A center of gravity for all sentient beings' malice and hate. But why make Zack so hard to kill ...?"
"... especially when it's so easy for Zack to take their life, so maybe ..."
"... just maybe that's the point and ..."
"... All the world needs is Zack."
That was it. All the world needed was Zack, and that his existence spent in exile and all alone since birth was part of the entire purpose. But Zack hated the world for that. He hated the world for creating him to exist that way and then turn around and taunt him by giving him human blood that demanded him to socialize, wish for companionship, and to try and fit in -- When that, in this world and its current state, was impossible. As he was not part of its balance.
That only meant one thing: he would have to change the world. Create it into a place he can enjoy. One that has a place for him in the balance; the new balance he would create so Zack could exist peacefully. That was his purpose.
The others were wrong the whole time. His existence was never inconsequential.
Their existence was ... is.
He was sure of it.
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