Locked, hidden.
Unravelling tendrils of another kind, only the marks of the forgotten overworked.
After that splash, abstract rage swirled with the vhs flicker of the rust hub, overtaken him.
What came to him was a cave of animal skulls, with an avian hawk with a skull for its head.
"What are you?" Said the soul.
"I'm a freak, as you am I!" It cackled, rather mischievously. The clacking of the skulls came with Its jaws, simulating the laughter it had.
The hand's push and almost violate the soul, pulling it away from the demon. Before the human soul could gasp, the demon noted it.
"You've been saved, saved to another way." The skull bird said.
Then, Kyros was pulled by an indeterminate force. Through time that felt meaningless at that point.
Then the mini excavator came, small. Approaching, he was pulled not by gravity this time, but with magic.
He was deteriorating, feeling like he was going to lose consciousness and into nothingness, if he could take a leap into the excavator then at anything to resemble the last remainder of his mental stability. Everything was pulling him apart to the bone, yet the excavator was the again, again within his consciousness.
He had to take a leap on blind faith that he was going to make it, otherwise face the unknown.
Shifting, melding, smashing into it. Static then followed with cold physical sensation piercing through, pushing through. Becoming his blood and body. Together with the construct which felt impossible. He could not breathe, then he could. Through the cacophony of his blind eye the static began to clear.
He was deteriorating, feeling like he was going to lose consciousness and into nothingness, if he could take a leap into the excavator then at anything to resemble the last remainder of his mental stability. Everything was pulling him apart to the bone, yet the excavator was the again, again within his consciousness.
He had to take a leap on blind faith that he was going to make it, otherwise face the unknown.
Shifting, melding, smashing into it. Static then followed with cold physical sensation piercing through, pushing through. Becoming his blood and body. Together with the construct which felt impossible. He could not breathe, then he could. Through the cacophony of his blind eye the static began to clear.