There once was a man that had grown tired of the world that he had known.  One day, he found the means to travel to another land through the darkness that permeated between all matter in existence, slipping from one world unto the next like water through silk. Here, he found a home, though it was surely nothing like his very own.  All the power he had amassed in his previous world had vanished, as surely as he became bound to his newfound existence in this world. Through trials and tribulations the likes of which scarcely find themselves in the minds of even the mad, he forged a new life.

His life was fraught with difficulty and gods and goddesses rose and fell as the seasons changed upon the blessed world he considered his home. Alas, something terrible followed him from his home world, through the vortex of reality he used to bring himself to that very world. It changed him, bringing the slightest hint of darkness to his heart as he indulged in divine wrath, slaying all manner of demons and abominations. The darkness within him swelled and he became stronger, forming a symbiotic relationship where both parties stood to gain.

For a time, it was a satisfactory partnership. Then, the progeny of sin arrived; a creature born of the flesh of both demon and angel. In his struggles, the man slew his foe, losing himself at last to the darkness at a crux of reality. It was what one could consider a crunch point, a tangential intersection of reality, where the destroyer of his reality awaited, slowly creeping upon the fragile world and devoured it.  Trapped in the Void, the man, Icarus Valeon, remained, severing himself from the new world that had formed.

He sent some of his essence forth, the last of the innocence that hadn't been consumed by darkness. Taking on his form and identity, the new Icarus emerged into a world frightfully different than that which he had left. His adventures were few, and none of which could compare to the source, which had become darkness in its own right. The power that had once been consuming of the originating source began to slowly trickle into this newly formed man, armed with partially-omitted memories and the same might of his origin.

It took several months, but eventually, that very same darkness which consumed Icarus now threatened to consume his creation from beyond the Void. Searching for means of self-preservation, the monster he became perhaps felt, instinctively, the only means of their joint survival lay within that unstable flux beyond the fabric of reality. It devoured demons and beasts alike, harvesting their essence for years while still being spurred onward by Icarus' will to protect others. It became misunderstood for its monstrous, wraith-wolf appearance, despite those that bore witness to its utter destruction of those that would harm mortals.

Over the course of two years, the origin, the Icarus trapped in the Void, called back to the piece of himself he severed and sent to this new world. All the while, the darkness he became spread across the Void, extending his influence until there was no extent in the infinite expanse of chaotic darkness it did not see. The many creatures and horrors beyond imagining that tales would be written of were no more than fictitious musings of fools that never saw the depths of the Void.

It was a fabric created from the wills of others, of all imagined machinations that never came to be. It was the personal gray space of all inhabitants that dwelt therein. And it was here, the revenant that had become Icarus sat upon its throne of darkness, made tangible by his will within this formless space.

The beast that even the pureness of the man known as Icarus Valeon could not best returned at last through a gaping maw in lands forsaken by even the gods of this world. It traveled through the mirrorscape of the structured lands, twisted and filled with stench and rot of beasts born of the origin. The prodigal son ventured further, its wraith-wolf body whisking it forth through those very same lands that became less structured the further one ventured. it had no need for fledgling concepts of reality that had penetrated from the real world. Even the land it sped past as a bolt of black lightning was no more than subconscious thought that seeped through the cracks of the tear in reality that connected this world to all others.

Familiar stone structures were no more than disintegrating matter, ashes of nonexistent space. They were shadows of what existed beyond this realm, where flesh and blood beings lived their lives fearing the death and oppression gods and beings from beyond brought with them. Yet, the familiarity of it was what the creature enjoyed the most.

Upon the throne of darkness, the origin gazed at the wolf, holding a hand forth to beckon it as though a master were to call forth his pup home. As they touched, the origin absorbed the wolf, becoming whole once more with a new form of vitality coursing through him. The darkness began to fade from his flesh and the first breaths he had inhaled in years brought life back into his lips. The stasis he had maintained while using no more than will and his very essence to exist was ended. Icarus was alive, once more, and he stepped from his throne, letting it disintegrate as he thought of a stone pathway, the Void conforming to his imagination.

This world was becoming endangered due to his absence, a path he intended to help correct. First, he would seek out those his copy had found and determine his plans from there. For now, at least, his darkness, born of despair and sorrow, were suppressed and replaced by his sense of duty and hope. Icarus was the last hope of his own world and he would become a new beacon of light to guide those within this world.