It was with a wretched howl that the cloaked figure realised what he was. A shadow of existence, a farce of living. Trembling limbs draped in white rags of nothingness. What he had been was irrelevant, everything had crumbled away when he had been pulled out of the cycle. It, for it could never be defined as a gender, could see blackness spotted with white from the pocket dimension it now dwelled within. It shrieked out of boredom if not rage, trapped in eternity as it was. Its rage came from the entirety of its existance. All throughout it had craved something higher, something better and everytime it got to that sought after level it turned out to be nothing but a trap and this was no differant. It had escaped mortality but at the cost of living a life.
