Oral tradition tells of two tribes in Agrilla. Two tribes born of the same sun. They lived and worked in peace. One tribe began to worship an unseen pantheon. Massive stone idols were erected in their honour. The worshiping tribe grew vainglorious of their faith and scornful of the other. They were obsessed with the adulation of their pantheon and rapidly consumed the resources of the land for offerings and material to build and move their idols. The other tribe could take no more and slaughtered the worshipers – weak from their exhausting and constant rituals. In spite, they toppled the idols, smashing them in the canyon. The spirits of their enemies were still zealous and bound themselves to the great stone heads of their monoliths. They struggled to move, but crushed their killers. But they could not give chase without toppling, and the remaining Agrillans fled the land to start anew. The idols were left with a taste for blood in a barren land, wailing in anguish over their lost vengeance.

I wait alone in my abyssal room, closed off from the rest of Nowhere's pelagic envelope. My fist... it can punch. My foot... it can kick. In essence I am the perfect punching an kicking machine. And so I wait... wait for a true contender to defeat in combat so that I may rightly wear this awesome crown. And I've eaten to stay alive for all these years of waiting. I've eaten my own ever-replicating red spheres of nutrition. I am yummy for my own tummy.