Every word was steeped in a sense of cold self-dissection and a profound loathing for its own origin.
'I am the product of a failed 'fusion'... a twisted Echo of a 'dialogue.' I am a paradox that should not exist... an eternal hunger, imprisoned here.'
The voice of the Son of Divine Remains held no pride, none of the majesty befitting a divine being. There was only a raw, naked denial, stripped of all pretense.
'They wanted to create a tool, a nexus capable of understanding the Divine Remains, of drawing upon its power, even of controlling the Gods... Instead, they got me. A being with consciousness that despises its own origin.'
'I can perceive all things, yet I feel only the Void. I crave 'resonance,' yet I find that all connections ultimately lead to pain and Destruction... A flawed creation.'
'I am the 'heart' that keeps this facility eternally running, and I am its unhealing, 'festering wound'.'
