Day 301, it wasn'tmuch different as 300 or 299, probably no different from 302 either,at least as far as he could tell. On that note, as far as theinsectile boy with infantile reasoning could tell he'd been at hismakeshift camp for roughly three or four months. At first thingsweren't all that bad, no, they were quite terrible in fact. If therewas anything that remained static in his mind was the night of seeingwat was left of Pastoria, fleeing off into the marsh, or at leastwhat was left of it. As a matter of fact, he'd found that for themost part, the broken machines used to traverse those grounds hadbeen more an asset to him than was the dusty, long-dead plant mattersurrounding it. It was his intrigue and lifeblood at first, ifnothing else, stripping it of its parts gave him time to think andreflect on why and how he was able to rend metal sheets apart if hepulled hard enough with all four arms.
Over that time there was a change, he'd reflected onthe passages of instruction he'd been given, and his silent,everpresent guardian, and from there he'd begun to think on every bitof old-world history he could dig up in some corner of his brain.Gradually names of old rulers and political figures appeared, butwithout face or much more than perhaps an important deed for one inevery few. It was trivial, but it took his mind off of things.Perhaps its one significance was that a spark was made. He began torealize the greatness in these people he'd pondered as he troubledhimself with busywork of taking and tinkering by his lonesome:greatness. Then that was all he could contemplate, his machinationscoming to fruition soon after that he was chosen by Arceus of allthings to be the next in line for that greatness. For a mere child itgoes without saying that he was at first overwhelmed to think thatone day people would be marking time by the years before and afterhis presence on the planet, but perhaps he matured rapidly from suchconstant meditation, or perhaps something within his damaged mind hadfinally broken and he'd realized that he had no reason to hideamongst the wreckage and wait for his body to wither away and starve.Little Avanto then realized that he was not merely an insect burrowedinto a hole within the wall but a diety who had built a shrine inthose past few days, and those followers outside that would not paytribute and worship in the name of Arceus were destined to suffer, tobe made sacrifice.
It was like this that he had begun his means ofsurvival, stealing, kidnapping, murdering, so began what he mentallyreferred to as "The Blur", his life descending into aperpetual cycle of bloodshed, the days and nights blending togetheras even his progress was hard to reminisce on past its state at theexact moment. Sometimes when he'd get hold of some means of writinghe'd find that he had no way to be sure of any dates, relative ones,even. No help was it that his sleep cycle degraded into "restwhen not busied", his body newly attuned to survive almost awhole day without sleep, and with his increasing fanatic loyaltytowards a god with mistaken intentions he'd often do just that.
Today ended up being no different, the boy robed andperched atop the marsh's entrance gates, scoping out the town'sremains, wondering if his little bogeyman act had yet shattered thecitizen's will or if he'd need to just cripple their supplies andpopulation further today. Something in the back of his head, thoughcertainly not the seemingly mute pokespirit, assured him that it wouldbe much better if he needed to persuade people just a bit further.