Doom And Gloom

Doomsday

There was only so far a person could be expected to bend before they would break.

In that regard, Myeol Mang supposed it was a good thing that he wasn't technically classed as a person. In reality, he was probably the furthest thing from human to have ever walked the face of the Earth. He had existed alongside humanity for as long as he could recall, but he had never been one of them. In fact, mankind, to him, were little better than vermin. They deserved every ounce of the misfortune he rained down upon them. Call it a perk of the job; Myeol Mang just liked to watch the mortals squirm.

As Doom, it was actually what he lived for.

Selfish, egocentric, narcissistic; each and every one of the humans were exactly the same. Nothing but walking bundles of insecurity that polluted the skies and tainted the oceans. They only cared about themselves, that much was glaringly obvious to the ageless immortal. Everything they touched inevitably crumbled into dust. Humans were a virus and Myeol Mang was simply the vaccination. Inflicting misery upon them was the closest he ever came to job satisfaction. Such despicable creations deserved it anyway; if he could erase the lot of them, he would have done so without so much as a flicker of regret. Their pain was his bread and butter; Myeol Mang had to admit, however, that the novelty had slightly worn off over the last thousand years or so.

The mortals were innovative, the immortal would give them that much. Regardless, no matter how far their technology developed, one thing would always remain constant. The innate, egotistical survival of the fittest mentality seemed hardwired into every human. The mortal mind was naught but a cesspool of dark desire and self-centred despair; it had been the same ever since woolly mammoths roamed the Earth. Humanity was accountable for its own ruination. Myeol Mang had been around long enough to be certain of this.

He had been the cause of most of it, after all.

Thankfully, Doom would never be on the same level as them. Such insignificant insects were not fit to lick the soles of his designer leather boots. Whilst human in appearance, that was where the similarities ended. On the surface, sure, Myeol Mang was a stunningly handsome man. He was more than aware of it, too. As the immortal maestro of misery, Doom was beautiful in the same manner as a carnivorous flower, designed to attract and ensnare his unsuspecting prey by whatever means possible. The mortal eye saw whatever it wanted to see; Doom was every man's meat and also every man's poison. Inside, however... inside, Myeol Mang was as dead as it was possible to be without the excuse of being buried six feet under.

Feelings were an unimportant part of the past, a hindrance he barely recalled. Myeol Mang didn't think he was missing out on much; if he was to bring about the end of all life on Earth, such base instincts would do him little good anyway. Any flicker of emotion had been snuffed out long ago; as an immortal, he was an expert at turning the other cheek against the weight of the world. Walking a path alone for millennia would do that to a person. Wait. No. Not a person. A being. A celestial being capable only of exacting hurt and pandemonium on all who dared to venture along his path. A being created for the sole purpose of inflicting as much pain and misery as humanly possible.

Doom and gloom; it wasn't just a saying. For Myeol Mang, it was a way of life.

The old Jewish legend of the Qlippoth had always resonated with the ageless immortal. After all, he was the actual embodiment of Doom; in a way, he and the Qlippoth were brothers. A Qlippoth had never crossed his path, but he fully believed they existed. If Myeol Mang had been created, it stood to reason that they had as well. It wasn't possible for all of Heaven's creations to be successful, after all. They had to exist; the Fallen Ones, the Forgotten Ones. God's discarded children; Myeol Mang couldn't possibly be the only one. It comforted him a little to believe that he wasn't the only one fated to suffer in solitude. Although, occupying the chasm between Doom and humanity, the Qlippoth could probably actually be considered the lucky ones.