His name was Thomas once. He was just a man. He lived a normal, but a more honorable life than most. When it ended abruptly, an unexpected and unfortunately timed accident-- as most lives do, the Light shone down upon him. It didn’t matter how he passed, it was too soon but all the same he had been chosen. He felt warmth in that moment, even in death. He felt what it was to touch divinity after living a simple, good life. However, much like life happens, unlife happens, and things don’t always work out as intended. As Thomas was in the midst of his transformation, Void energy blasted his transforming body from all angles and clung to the would-be angel. The Light abandoned him in retreat, a complete and instant withdrawal. All a result of unfortunate, terrible happenstance.
As the Light left him, he felt cold and alone. Thomas’ mid-transformed wings began to distort as his chiseled form crumpled in the wooded area. ’What is happening to me...?’ he gasped the words. The honorable, but simple man did not even understand his ascent into the Light, let alone its massive failure. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen yet from his mortal life.
Void energy bogged the man-turning-angel down and shadows warped his transformation. Instead of an angel’s wings, they grew into a grotesque span of arms and hands. His form tripled in height, a massive distortion. The abomination that was left of what was once Thomas screamed out in agony through the change as darkness swarmed him like wounded prey. An average, handsome face he had no more, instead a veil of white hair covered his entire face and his eyes glowed beneath. Lastly, horns sprouted from both sides on the back of its head and rounded out, black and grotesque. From afar the horns appeared to make a black halo as if the Darkness mocked the Light with what was taken.
Thomas was gone now, perhaps he contributed his body but what would remain of his mind after this? He was not a man, not an angel, not a demon. An abomination. Slowly it stood and towered as if part giant. Eyes shone from beneath the veil of white hair and the wings of tangled arms began to span out. Something terrible had been created here, but without purpose. A blank slate, tabula rasa. Yet it wanted to understand. It wanted to kill, but it did not understand why.
And thus, The Decimator was born. Without practice or wavering the demented creature flapped its wings of tangled arms that were eternally reaching for something they could never have. And as simple as that, The Decimator was in flight. A terrifying sight to see. It was unnatural beyond anything Rhy’din could fathom. The mutation sailed over all the lands and cast its shadow below. It took in what it could. It would observe, learn, understand with child-like curiosity and innocence. But just as strong as there was innocence, or perhaps ignorance, there was malice that loomed through its presence.