Time had lost his meaning for him, thousands of year turned into millions, militans became billions, the same process went over and over again, the total time that he awaited for the right host had surpassed more three billion years.
Every soul in the universe had to pass through death's door at one point in their lifetime; the rule was set from the beginning: everything had to die at one point. The only thing that remained out of him in there was a chain of thought of a reserve of magic that he couldn't use yet.
He watched as millions passed through the door each minute; even those who were counted as gods among their people finally fell to the hands of the last darkness in their path, but he was different! His ideas didn't let him die; the world was vast, as vast as one could imagine, but the biggest cage that held someone within the shackles of reality was time.
