A man sits with one leg to his chest in a place where life decays and flourishes in the wonders of
humankind. But this god is lost to time both living and dead, there and not there. “I know you’re there,
reader, and you probably want to know my name. But that name I do not deserve. I’m just a hollowed form
of my past, barely able to stay in this form," he says, raising one of his hands as it fades in and out
of reality.
“But you’re most likely curious about what I am the god of. Well, I guess I can tell you: I’m the god of
the ones who are Hollow like me missing parts of themselves, the parts that make a person a person, or
sharing in between two people." As he moves the draped covering off his chest, he reveals a hole in the
center, with half of a sphere flowing in a circle, glowing with blue energy.
"All Hollows, even me the first Hollow only have half of a soul, while the other half is shared with
another person connected by the soul. But I only have half a soul, the other gone to time over a
millennium."
The man rises and walks to a door standing alone in the middle of the place, with no wall or room
connected to it. He opens the door to a field of grain, where farmers harvest without noticing The
Hollowed God. As he passes, the grain does not move for him.
"I had someone I considered my brother, even though we were not blood related. But there was one thing
that made us related: our souls were one, split between us. And I’m going to tell you this story of a
dream between two brothers."
on a stormy night man running not for his life but the life of two orphans as he sent a letter to the
church of the Man God for aid of a cruised sickness upon these children but unbeknown to any one they
were never give souls as they ware just an empty body a husk of no one just barley working one purely
just off of the instinct of what the body needs but thing in this world does not always gift the helpers
of the world as a crocked howl echoes through the patch as a creature with fur as dark as the night eyes
Hollowed with as a crimson gold standing as tall as a lonely willow tree bare in the cold autumn night
rain falling on to the back of many bones of the creature standing there staring in to the man eyes as
man look and only blinking once as he opens his eyes see nothing but the path to the church as her steps
forward as chill goes down the spine of the man from the breathing of not a being with a soul but a
thing with a blood lust so thick and potent even the air itself runs in fear