Sometimes, I was exceptionally curious about my own existence. Fine, I knew that in most cases, the girls at home only had four words to say about me: freeloading and waiting to die. Occasionally, they added prefixes or suffixes like stay-at-home dad or idiot. And their assessment wasn't exactly wrong. If I were a pot of soup Sandora had simmered, then the toxic content in that soup would at least match the traits mentioned above—I considered that a virtue.
But aside from freeloading and waiting to die, I occasionally pondered some very profound questions. Such as where I came from and where I was going; the dialectical relationship between the Void and the Abyss; why I had no face after becoming a Void Creature; whether the things Sandora ate were stored in some kind of space, or simply vanished in a nuclear reaction. These profound questions often sent me into an ethereal state. That state usually came before dinner, so the girls at home often said that I shut out all distractions at mealtimes and wailed while waiting to be fed. But I knew I was thinking. Sandora was the one wailing to be fed...
Fine, I admitted that this had only crossed my mind because Viska had suddenly told me that, in the distant God Realm, Father God was agonizing over a five-billion-year plan. He was studying me and preparing to devise a clearly definable racial classification for all Void Creatures. There were currently three members of this race, including me—and one of them was at the completely unrelated other end of the Void.
Could I horrifyingly announce that one-third of my entire race was already missing?
"Void Creatures are Void Creatures. What's there to obsess over?" I scratched my head and looked at Viska with complete confusion. "Isn't