What would you give to fill the void inside you?

My name is Yorei. Once, I was human, felt the beat of a heart, knew warmth and pain. Now, I’m a shadow, invisible to the living, wandering a world that no longer belongs to me. I see what you cannot: creatures that feed on your passions, your fears, your voids. They are your reflections, distorted, hungry, waiting. I am merely a witness. This is the story of Elias and his greed—not just a craving for wealth, but a desperate attempt to escape the emptiness that devours from within.

In a city where skyscrapers clawed at the sky and neon breathed cold light, Elias lived as an ordinary clerk. His life flowed between office walls and a lonely apartment, but inside him was a void, whispering that he was nothing. I watched him from the corner, where shadows thickened. There stood it—the Devourer, a creature with no eyes, only a gaping, bottomless maw like a black hole. It waited.

Elias noticed how his colleagues boasted of cars, watches, lives he didn’t have. Their smiles seemed to him the key to the fullness he lacked. He began working overtime, taking loans, buying suits, cufflinks, the latest phones. Each purchase stirred the Devourer; its maw widened, and the shadows grew denser. One day, in an antique shop, Elias found a black obsidian cube, heavy, as if an entire world was trapped inside. The old woman selling it, her eyes like murky glass, said, “It gives what you want. But it demands in return.” Elias bought it. The void screamed, begging to be filled.

At night, the cube whispered, “Name your desire.” Elias answered, “I want everything.” Not money, not power—everything. The cube glowed. By morning, Elias had a promotion, his bank account swelled, people noticed him, envied him. But the void didn’t vanish—it deepened, as if the cube had carved out a piece of his soul. The Devourer grew, its maw touching the ceiling, shadows flowing like tar. Elias didn’t see. He bought houses, yachts, surrounded himself with people whose eyes were as empty as his own. He stopped sleeping, stopped eating, his skin grayed, his hands trembled as he touched the cube, whispering, “More. Give me more.”

One night, the cube opened. Darkness poured out, thick as oil. The Devourer stepped forward, its maw closed around Elias. He vanished, becoming part of the cube, his voice merging with its whisper, calling to others: “Name your desire.”

A month later, Elias’s apartment was sold. A new tenant, Lina, an artist whose paintings no one bought, moved in with boxes and hopes. Her greed was different—she craved recognition, for her name to echo, for her work to live forever. She found the cube in a closet, tracing its surface. “Beautiful,” she said, unaware it was listening. At night, it whispered, and Lina answered, “I want to be known.” By morning, her sketch reached a gallerist. Her paintings sold, her name flashed in articles. But the shadows in her apartment thickened. The Devourer returned, its maw growing with her success.

Lina didn’t notice how her paintings darkened, how her hands shook, how she pushed away friends and envied other artists. The Devourer whispered, “You’re not enough yet.” One night, she painted a black canvas with a shadowed figure and a bottomless maw. The cube glowed, darkness poured out. But Lina didn’t vanish. She became its brush. Her paintings, filled with darkness, sold for millions, but everyone who saw them felt cold, fear, emptiness. The Devourer fed not only on Lina but on those who envied her success. The cube wove a chain, where one’s greed fed another’s.

I left Lina and the cube, which waited for its next host. The Devourer doesn’t vanish—it waits for someone else to try filling their void. The philosophy of greed, learned through my wanderings, is simple yet profound: greed isn’t just a craving for things or fame—it’s an escape from the void within. The void isn’t an enemy; it’s a mirror, a question: “Who are you? Why are you here?” By silencing it, you open the door to the Devourer. Elias became its shadow, Lina its brush. What will you become

The void isn’t a curse—it’s part of your nature. It calls not for things or fame, but for meaning you’re afraid to seek because it can’t be bought. I see you, I see the shadows, I see the Devourer waiting in the corner. And I ask: What would you give to silence the void? And what if it’s the only thing that makes you human?

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