Feb. 26th, 2010
The past, what, week and a half, has been a special kind of purgatory for me; a kind of experience many of you reading this could only imagine. My detractors would say that I could only imagine it as well. Before this, I was nearly ready to agree with them.
I don’t know how many of you are really aware of this, but for a while now it’s been an open secret that I, the Digimon Kaizer, was previous to that life, a mazoku in service to Xelloss and Lord Beastmaster. Some of you don’t even know what that is. I doubt any of you know what it really means.
More than a thousand years ago I sold my soul to the mazoku at the price of power and eternal life. While it was a major transition, it was really only another step down a path I had been walking since my early childhood. It was Beast Priest Xelloss who started me on the path of sorcery, and it was he who took me further down the path of destruction when he made me his true servant shortly before the kouma war.
Never in all those years of that life, or the accidental next, did I regret that transformation and bonding. Indeed thoughts of my master have often buoyed my flagging spirits in these my years bound to a human body. I await with anticipation the day that my master can break my chains and restore me to my rightful place by his side.
***Madness***However, the mazoku spirit and the human brain/mind/body are almost catastrophically incompatible. Those of you who have seen Slayers know what happened to the Demon Dragon King Gaav. Imprisoned in a mortal shell for incarnation after incarnation he went mad from his conflicting human and mazoku urges and turned on the mazoku. He had his memories, his powers, and his servants, but still each successive identity, each birth and death made its mark upon his mind.
I on the other hand, am exiled here, a thousand universes from the world of Lord Ruby Eye; in a place where all of my magic can not light a candle.; can not summon a single imp. A world where the voice of my master is a whisper in my head that no other person can hear and I am hard-put to distinguish from the whisperings of my own mind.
Is it any surprise then, that as this body ages and matures my mind falls into that pattern the body has set for it? In a world where I am ridiculed and declared mad for service to my true nature, and can do nothing, NOTHING to prove its veracity, even to myself, is it a wonder that the lull of this body’s urges start to erode my will?
With even my master’s voice in absence for nearly a year, over the last few months the siren call has grown steadily more appealing.
***Doubt***I have never, not even in my recent, darkest hours wondered whether or not I was evil. I am evil; I am vice and viciousness and wicked wonder. But when no one around you believes that you are a demon, and there’s no proof such a thing ever existed, it is easy to question whether or not you are one. And the body seizes on the moment of existential doubt and asks ‘even if you are a mazoku, what does it matter here and now? Disregard the voice in your head that says it is your master and maker and live life by your own agenda’.
The human mind is not built to serve; it is built first and foremost to survive, and secondly to lead. It is easy to swear reverence to an absent master who asks nothing of you.
But when a voice you can hardly understand returns after a long absence and gives you difficult, and time consuming orders, it is easy to bitterly decide that the voice is your own mind. For the body to tell you to do as you like.
Last week my mind was at war. The mazoku in me was overjoyed at my master’s sudden return and ready to do anything in his name; but the sullen, independent human was bitter and rebellious, and ready to stick its fingers in its ears and pretend that I heard nothing.
I was distraught. My last really conscious thought was begging, pleading with Xelloss to do something. Show me that I was really a mazoku, burn the human weakness from my soul; show me that he was truly my master.
After that I remember only fragments. Pain, mostly, and the idea of being pursued. But mostly searing, soul cleansing pain. And finally my master’s embrace.
I write now to you as a creature without self-doubt. With time, perhaps they will creep in again but for now: I am become chaos, destroyer of worlds.
And it’s party time.