I disengage the suit, and clothe myself in a more… human attire, cloth. I adopt a flowing scarf, it pacifies my mind to feel it swirl and flow with the wind. I attempt to live among the new growth, to become one of the living, a natural occurrence upon the planet. I walk through forests, and the creatures eye me suspiciously. They’ve never seen anything like me before, and react with aversion. Can they feel the death within me? Gut them. Rip their peering eyes out and feed them their own distrusting visions. I wander for years, through forests, over ravines, with dense jungles. It is not uncommon that I become prey to creatures that still feel hunger, something I cannot do. I need not to activate the armor to deal with them. With my bare hands, their vitals splash the ground. Their hollow bodies splash against trees, rocks, and occasionally other members of their hunting pack. I, on occasion, invite these roaming packs of dinosaurs or wolves, lions, fanged elephants to encroach upon me. It’s almost humorous how little they can compete with my power. Not to say that I do not let them feel power, over the course of time, my cloak becomes tattered, and I enjoy it more. The small things in life. Their claws, descending from the hidden branches, or toe-talons leapt from the ground have torn into me, searing them with my burning blood. When not in the suit, it does not bubble forth from the wound, but simply flows, boiling still. The innards of these creatures are easily cleansed from my body via electrical charges.

Curse it all. All I have is life, and yet death is what drives me to life, endlessly, pointlessly. Am I driven to death because it is what I cannot have, or because I can find only nothingness in life, and have embodied it internally, wanting to be nothingness. A side effect of the Gravity Surge’s immense, incalculable powers. Powers that are far beyond my comprehension. No; the drive of death is the Gravity Surge’s power. My mind, my mortal mind must still adapt, and cope with these powers.

Result or cause: Does it really matter in the final analysis? My life has become something I can never hope to comprehend, a single path in a meaningless ether. And yet, it is I who gained these powers…

It is all meaningless. My powers, the cosmos, it is all emptiness and isolation. But life… it is the ability to ascribe meaning to pure and simple being. We do what we have to do.

Eventually I find myself atop the tallest summit in the land. It looks over a vast and expansive desert, but behind it, a giant forest. In the distance: mountains, snow and mountains. The contrast in these areas, so close, I become aware that it is a nice place to stand, to think. This place offers the most variety in views. As I stand atop this peak and look over my world, my Loameria, I can only think of how it all looks the same. Everything. Landscapes, they all have their elements. I hate them all. Looking over the majestic rolling mountain tops, the open plains, the dense forests, or the deepest valleys. I can only feel boredom and apathy for this planet that I had once abandoned; inadvertently caused the destruction of. It didn’t matter, life found a way. That action, however, could not restore my past. Nothing can. I am eternally as I am, anything else is a lie. I am unsure if I ever felt anything other than this abyss of emptiness. I want to believe that I must have, before the Gravity Surge, but cannot recall any instance of it. My life is a death eternal. I will die until the end of time. I do not know when that is, but I hold hope that it is soon. Days and nights flow over me.

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