I hate mortals.
I hate THIS mortal.
I will hunt them down in the deepest, most remote universe in the most chaotic reality.
I will find them.
And I swear to make them pay.

---

Seeing its guardian on the ground, crawling not because she wanted to but because she was suffering the pangs of these new sensations, the shadow calmed down a little. It tried to calm its non-existent nerves on the inert objects in its library rather than on its proud protector.

-What caused the Rupture...

The shadow remained motionless, plunging back into its first few seconds.

-I remember the Void. I still have a few snatches of the knowledge I had when I was just a drop in the ocean of the Primordial Void. I remember a voice. I remember this mask. I remember... that this vulgar mask was modelled by hand by an Author. Then the black. Not the black of nothingness, but the black of existence.
-You have been given life?
-I AM NEITHER ALIVE NOR DEAD. I exist. But I exist because someone, a purulent vermin, a mortal, has torn me from the Void.

In the usually monotone voice, anger had given way to burning disgust.

-Who is this mortal? This... Author?
-They for whom I devote all my research to make them taste an immortality of suffering, Nāga.