First, there is pain. A sharp throb that rhythmically twists my chest. Something itches at my brain, a worry that I can't quite place. But before I can place the thought, something locked away in my brain awakens from a long slumber and unfurls its claws.

The thought from before vanishes. So do the rest of them, and everything else inside me entirely until I am left a hollow vessel.

It bellows inside of me, a nature of ugliness and destruction and fury. It's primal and old and new all at once—something I know that has been waiting to awaken since birth, simmering in my veins and patiently waiting for the moment to be set free.

It sinks its claws into my mind. And then I know nothing but rage.