Light was the first sensation it could percieve -- no, it remembered this. The blinding shift from the murky shadows it was spawned from. Unnaturally white, singing its being with a lost warmth never experienced before. It didn't like the sudden change. It had been forced out of the shared womb between Heaven and Hell and Earth, wrestled away from the collective miserable soul it was once apart of, abandoned to senselessly writhe in the wretched sunlight. A sun. It could remember the sun. It could remember the heat of its rays on a face crusted with red. The next memory swept through it like a live wire dipped into a swimming pool, electrifying every fiber of its newfound being. Red splattering the wilting forest as the blurred faces loomed over it, tugging and slapping and kicking and breaking. The bad men. Its dark amalgamation stretched out a transparent limb -- not just a limb, but an arm. The same bandaged arm once unable to fend away its murderers  and bruised by their grip. Despite its effort to retain the image of the being from the memories, all it could muster was formed of hazy shadow, wobbling and flickering as it collapsed on the forest floor. But that didn't matter; the ghastly figure rose, forming itself two chalk-white circles in the middle where a face would be. Its blank eyes narrowed at the sharp pictures before it, overwhelmed by fuzzy colors and shapes and depths. It didn't understand where it was, it was scared. A distorted whimper more akin to an ethereal warble rattled from the entity barely resembling a humanoid as it was drawn to stare at the dotted green above it. Through the leaves, it blinked back at the surprisingly pale sun pinned to a darkened sky winking with billions of fireflies. The moon. It had missed her comforting glow so, so very much.

    Wrapping claws instead of hands around its bare shoulders, its eyes turned to the ground, instinctively reaching its shadowed claws forward to brush a sharpened tip along the rotten skeleten reclaimed by foliage. This was it -- this was him. A he? What was a he? Who was he? As soon as he unlocked a portion of his primitive consciousness, thousands of questions surged forth, tumbling over themselves as he grasped the largest bone and joggled the delicate femur to and fro before wrenching free from its infested grave. Unsure what else to do with his bone other than preserve, he kept it close to his still chest, eventually pushing it through his intangible figure where it disappeared to be kept as a tragic fossil.

    His mind was empty for only a moment afterwards, until a clawed fist clenched and the bleeding red screamed in his mind: revenge. Revenge. Revenge. REVENGE. He would find the bad men, hunt them down like a crazed hound after foxes, tear their loved ones away from their guilty hands to torture them in front of pleading eyes, break their bones to splinters, smash their sneering grins into bloody pulps, flood their airways with filthy water, string them up by their necks in a row. And, by God, he would kill them -- KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM KILL THEM -- no matter how long it took.