Chapter 4: I'm coming back to you, no matter where you hide
~ [Abydos] ~
Human, Male, Painter LOCATION: A small town, far outside of the city LEVEL: 05
Herbal smoke drifts around from the inside of the old parlor, rising up through the broken hole in the ceiling as he stands there. Hes on top of the roof, next to the hole, staring towards the stars above the place that he is renting. Its a small town, far away from the city.
His eyes are wide and reverent, as his hand runs the wispy brush over the filling canvas, in what amounts to a foolish mortals attempt at capturing the heavens impossible iridescence, on a medium as simple as a canvas, with tools as primitive as paints and a single brush.
He only has one brush. He had to choose between buying more colors or more brushes. He chose the colors.
Abydos fingers accidentally graze the damp stroke that he leaves behind, smearing it a nudge to the side, in a distorted swirl and he, in response, simply lifts the brush back over the fresh mark and spins it around, deepening the swirl, the imperfection.
Thats what life is all about, isnt it? Making the most out of what you have.
His eyes wander back towards the freshly broken ceiling down at his feet and then down through the hole, towards the rubble lying down in the room below. A curled up rope and noose lie there, beneath the structural debris of a broken beam that simply wasnt strong enough to hold his weight up aloft in the air for more than a few seconds.
He doesnt weigh much. However, the material that the building is made out of is simply very, very old and brittle. Its the only place that he could afford to stay.
Being an artist is hardly lucrative.
Abydos rubs the sore mark on his neck and returns to his painting.
From that bad thing, came a good thing. Thats life.
He, after his failed attempt at finding an artists peace, had seen the stars through the roof and decided to climb up with his materials to be just a little closer to them.
He hates it, the limitations of this world. His heart longs for something it can never have, its beats drift aimlessly through existence, like the vapors or incense that rise up from his room below.
The human condition is as limiting to his desire to capture the essence of starlight as is the medium of paint and fabric. But its the closest that he can manage to get. Its the closest to it that anyone can manage to get.
His eyes wander up towards the sky, which begins to darken. The stars begin to hide behind heavy clouds that roll in with surprising speed. Abydos sighs, ruffling his unwashed hair as he watches it all change, as if the model body that he was sketching had decided to simply get up and walk away in the middle of the session.
The rain begins to fall, striking heavily down all at once.
You are suffering from: [DEMON-SICKNESS {01}] ! [Corruption] ||[{Minor} Nausea] || [{Minor} Disorientation]
[DEMON-SICKNESS]
You are within the befouling presence of the Demon-King. The longer you stay here, the stronger this effect will continue to stack, until reaching either the point of minimum DARK resistance or death.
With each increasing stage, the symptoms will become more severe, possibly becoming permanent.
Duration Remaining: 23:59:59
His eyes go wide, his skin stinging as the corrupted rain strikes him, burning off a piece of his cheek.
He screams, but not in pain for his physical body. The painter dives to the side, throwing himself over the freshly painted canvas like a warding mother, protecting her young. Its ink seeps into his shirt, imprinting the image of the starlit sky onto his breast as the demon-sickness takes his body and soul. More yells come from around the small town, the peace of the night having been disturbed.
Abydos rolls, falling not off of the roof, but instead down into the hole that he himself had made.
Clutching the painting against his chest with both arms, his back cracks as he lands over the broken beam. A gasp escaping his mouth as he stares up through the gap one last time, seeing a tiny sliver of starlight twinkling through the dark clouds.
Rain falls into his mouth.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
Level Up! ~ [The Demon-King] ~
You are now level {59}! Level: 59 Experience: 1088/45500 Attribute: DARK Soul-Points: 118/118 Presence: 11.5 km Obols: 000
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'Twinkle, Tinkle' Unlocked By: Killing a member of the common races with acid rain Reward: All SLIME-type monsters gain an additional level of acidity
Heavy rain cascades down around the carriage, striking against the roof of the thing. It sounds much like the tapping fingers of scared children, trapped outside in a howling storm, knocking to be let back into their warm homes. The thunder roars, howling as if it were the monster in the darkness, nipping at their little heels.
Beauty
Swain stares out through the open side wall of the carriage that Cartouche had lowered down into a stage of sorts. The caravan has stopped in the middle of the road, in a large section of forest. His eyes wander up towards the sky, dark, staring at both the rain and the night.
Its such an abstract, difficult thing to grasp Beauty.
The demon-king lifts a hand, watching the rain strike against its massive, bulky girth. His many eyes observe carefully as steaming droplets run down along his long fingers, evaporating from the heat. Behind the silhouette of his hand, gruesome undead with melted faces and burnt hair and clothes stand outside of the carriages, entirely motionless. The large, bi-pedal birds that pull the carriages are much the same. They all stay in the rain, frozen in place like beautiful statues, hewn of bone and meat, sculpted by the chisels of misfortune.
The water, falling down around them all, sizzles, causing the air itself to hiss.
Here, where they are, within his presence, the rain is far lighter than it is outside of the radius of the horrific demon-sickness. Most of it is evaporating from the intense heat that it collects on the way down from the sky, before ever even reaching the ground.
And yet, here still, the rain is heavy.
Outside of his territorial radius, it must be an incredible torrential downpour; a true storm.
Swain finds it oddly befitting that such a thing would come now in his departure from the only place he has ever known. It feels as if it were a theatricality, sent by the graces of nature itself to offer its assistance as a stagehand to his opening act of creation.Follow current novels at novelhall.com)
The demon-king looks back behind himself, staring into the painted, colorful old carriage. The wood is old and weathered and the paint is plastered on in vivid, overly colorful tones, likely in order to hide the dead, rotting dreams that reside inside of the rickety construction. Its akin to a childs open grave, dotted with colorful, but ugly flowers.
The chairs, the small table in the corner, the mirror in which Cartouche had been getting dressed up before, trying to find some jewelry that hasn't melted, are all still there. But now there is one difference regarding the curtain in the back of it.
He pulls it to the side, staring at what lies beyond.
An impossibly long, dark hole, full of the damp vapors released from horrific faces comes to greet his thousand gazes. The cylindrical shaft, leading down into the depths of the world, has an inner walkway along its sides, connecting to rooms and chambers that diverge off into cave systems or into ornate arenas.
The dungeon.
Its as if someone had taken a great needle and pressed it down into the world, but then pulled it out and left behind a hole where there ought to be sturdy rock and damp soil.
Despite there being nothing on the other side of the carriage, despite there being not a single hole down beneath its wooden floors, here-in lies the entrance to the demon-kings castle.
He finds it fitting, in a way. Theres a sense of humor in it. The carnival is a place where people go to find tidbits of token joy and bodily pleasures at the expense of the dreams of the others who are trapped to work here, in a place ironically unbefitting of a deeply joyful soul.
Should we stop here? asks Cartouche, looking over her shoulder, adjusting a fake, golden earring. Were still pretty close to the city.
Swain turns to look back at the dancer, silhouetted by the heavy rain for a moment. Hundreds of eyes glow in the darkness beyond.
We can stop long enough to prepare the act, replies the demon-king as he wanders through the curtain and down into the dungeon, down towards the real throne-room.
Theyve bought a lot of time. But there is a lot of work to do. He will need a few more helping hands.
The demon-king uses one of his many still unused ability points to take a new ability.
NEW - (DEMON KING) ABILITY
[Greater Undeath](Passive)
Undead are simple entities for the most part, but the spark of life remains nonetheless, imprinted on their core.
Effect: Allows all of your RANK F, E and D UNDEAD type minions mental capacities, as well as abilities, corresponding to double their innate INTELLIGENCE and WISDOM values
The undead all around the carnival set to motion, beginning their work outside in the howling, hissing rain that doesnt bother them in the least. Their glowing, orange eyes float vacantly in the darkness, like a drifting swarm of fireflies, lost in the storm.
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'I Used to do Some Stuff' Unlocked By: Helping someone raise their INT by three points. Reward: All INT boosting buffs you can apply will gain an additional 03% bonus
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'Been Around the Block' Unlocked By: Helping someone raise their INT by six points. Reward: All INT boosting buffs you can apply will gain an additional 06% bonus
~ [The Demon-King] ~
NEW - (DUNGEON CORE) ABILITY
[Traps](Passive)
Dungeons are more than just walls and monsters. There are many intricate, deadly mechanisms at play.
Effect: Allows you to design and set traps within your dungeon.
NEW - (DEMON KING) ABILITY
[Spatial Room Refactoring](Passive)
The rooms of a dungeon are often simple, primitive constructs. However, a true designer knows how to push the boundries of the obvious.
Effect: Allows you to design your dungeons floors in a much higher level of complexity, through separation of spaces with walls, mechanics and other barriers.
Swain sits on his throne at the very bottom of the dungeon, the throne-room having the same design as the last one. He swipes through his abilities, taking the ones that he thinks will be useful to him immediately.
He then turns his gaze, looking at the map of the layout of his dungeon.
The dungeon, the castle, goes deeper into the ground with every further segment that a person moves through. Some floors share the same height, others are deeper down. But they are all connected to each other via hallways, corridors or stairwells and primarily, via the main path that is along the inside of the hollow shaft At least in the places where it isnt broken and destroyed, forcing anyone to walk through a predetermined separate route.
Theres a bit of a game to it all, dungeon design, which is fine. It is a carnival, after all. Isnt life about having a little fun?
Swain reaches into his gut, pressing his massive fist through one of the mouths on his side. The eyes on his body around it bulge, squirming around as if he were choking them with his penetration.
His fingers grab hold of something that feels right.
It feels squirmy and soft, yet rough. It feels like a burlap sack, wrapped around a drowned infant.
The demon-king closes his eyes to speak with the soul, to offer it another chance at the game of life.
(Swain) has used: [Summon Worker {01}] SOUL: 114/118
~ [Abydos] ~
Human, Male, Painter LOCATION: ??? LEVEL: 05
He swims, floating through the void that is dotted with so many glowing lights, as if he too, were one of them.
Abydos drifts around the endless ocean that he finds himself inside of and moves towards the hundreds of pinprick lights all around the void. Souls, hundreds of them, glow, as would stars in the night sky.
He wishes that he had a brush and some paint.
But no matter how far he swims, how hard he kicks and pulls and moves with this new, strange body of his that seems to be a spiritual form, rather than a physical one, he never gets any closer to any of the others here.
He never gets any closer.
Abydos stops, floating there for a time as he looks down at his hands. He cant tell if his body is sinking or not as he stops kicking, or if hes just floating, drifting through the emptiness now, just as he had done in life.
He lifts his fingers up above himself, framing an image of a hundred lights that are all collecting together, trying to save it in his memory for when
- For when what?
Hes dead.
Abydos lifts his arm to his mouth and sinks his teeth into it, ripping the threads that make up his new body apart. He pulls and tears on them, until a piece comes off, a strand of his soul. The painter begins fraying the ends of it, making a brushs head out of a piece of himself.
But no matter how hard he works, trying to pry the ends of the gnawed off thing apart, it just he just
He just never gets any closer.
Frustrated, he throws the piece of himself away, screaming. His voice is the only thing that echoes out around the darkness, carrying on for what might be forever, as it vanishes into the looming emptiness.
He hangs his head, lowering his eyes so that he doesnt have to look at the thing of beauty that he can see, that he can sense, but that he can just quite never manage to touch, in any sense of the word.
Its quiet.
Youre looking in the wrong place, says a voice, a sudden voice. It rumbles, roaring through the water like a land-born tremor, carrying across the ocean. Abydos opens his eyes, but always stares down. The ink, the soul, the essence of the thing that youre trying to capture its not possible with hands like yours, with a body like yours, it rumbles. In a world, like yours.
Abydos lingers for a while and then lifts his head, only a little, looking at the tear that has opened itself up in the nothingness of eternity. So what do I do? asks the painter, not sure if hes speaking to god or to his own delusions or to anything else in between. But he doesnt care. Whoever it is, whatever it is, if it can tell him anything, give him anything, so that he doesnt have to go empty handed out of this world What do I do?! yells Abydos, swimming for the single glow that he can see nearby. It is the glow of a thing greater and larger and more significant than any of the other thousands of floating stars around himself. Its as if he were drifting towards the sun, rather than to the pittances of the other presences in the sky.
His fingers reach for it, grazing its exterior as he feels the texture of something separate from himself for the first time since his death. Just touching something, anything, it feels good.
Find beauty, replies the voice, as something grabs his hand.
Beauty mutters the painter, his eyes drifting across the void as he considers the name of the beast that he had sought for all of his days. But how where is it?
Somewhere else, replies the voice that rumbles in his ears.
Abydos is yanked out through the gaping hole in the void.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
The painter flops out onto the stones, covered in wet afterbirth. His body, his eyes, his hair are all changed, as had been the case for Cartouche as well, who is standing next to the throne. It is simply a part of the process of change, perhaps fueled by the digestive elements of the interim state of such revived souls.
The lanky man, thin as a whisper, hacks out mouthfuls of bile on to the floor.
Swain reaches back inside of himself, pulling out a second piece of the man, one that had become separate from him. He had torn it off of his own soul.
The demon-king looks at the little thing, the strand of spiritual energy, frayed and tattered like the head of a painters brush.
Class: MINIONElement: DARK Type: WorkerCategory: DEMON* Rank: A Level: 59 [Painter] || [Red-Water {04}] || [Wild-Hunter] || [Lamashtu] HP: 118/118SOUL: 118/118 *A demon's stats are based on the LEVEL of the demon-king. Its affinities are based on its past life. Class: MONSTERElement: DARK Type: CreepCategory: LURKER* Rank: C+ Level: 59 *LURKERS will never engage in direct combat SOULS COST PER MONSTER: F-Rank: 01 E-Rank: 02 D-Rank: 04 C-Rank: 08 B-Rank: 16 A-Rank: 32 S-Rank: 64 SS-Rank: 128 SSS-Rank: 256 Class: MONSTERElement: UNDEAD Type: ILLUSIONISTCategory: GHOST* Rank: A Level: 40 [Red-Water {04}] || [Wild-Hunter] || [Lamashtu] HP: 54/54SOUL: 54/54 *Ghost's are immune to PHYSICAL damage
She feels Zacarias spinning around beneath his shield on top of them. Her body shoots upward from the force of the spell, pushing both of them upward immediately, through the hollowed out shaft the spell had been digging through.
(Zacarias) used: [Noble Barrier]
A prismatic sphere of holy, magical energies radiates around them, taking up the shape of a glassy, translucent wall that absorbs the cascade of crashing water and rubble that falls down over their heads as they rise upwards.
The shaft below fills with water, turning into a well filled with bones and with people who she can only hope are really dead, before the creeping water that seeps through the stones can get to their pinned bodies far down below.
Zacarias yells something into her ear, but she cant hear it over the sound of the roaring dragon, made up entirely out of water, that charges upwards from the depths back towards them, having run out of space to grow.
The two of them fly out of an open grave and land on the mushy soil of the graveyard, rolling to strike themselves against a headstone.
The aquatic dragon shoots out of the grave and into the sky, mixing in and vanishing within the howling rain of the storm that rages out here, as if it were returning to its own kind.
The barrier remains active around them, hissing as the droplets from above strike against it.
Ruhr pushes Zacarias off of herself.
That was a good idea, says Ruhr, looking down at her robe.
Right? asks Zacarias, rolling onto his back with his arms out at his sides as he breathes and stares at the sky. Its my job to babysit spoiled nobles daughters, so Im used to stuff like this, he explains. Youd be surprised at how complicated and common kidnappings can get.
Huh? I wasnt talking about you, she replies. A boot plants itself down onto his breastplate and he turns his head to look at the blue haired woman standing above him, her hands on her hips as she stands with straight posture and looks down towards him with a smugness, fit for the demon-king himself. You can feel free to thank me, for saving us -
Huh?
She laughs a coy laugh, that is perhaps more theatrical than real. - Ruhr! The River-Sorceress!
Huh? he asks, blinking.
He thinks hes laying on some womans grave. But the soil has collapsed in, as if it were empty.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
What was her name?
Swain wanders the halls of the castle, working his way through it to fill it with creatures and machinations of his hearts design.
Her name.
Her
The demon-king stops where he stands in the darkness, watching as a thing slides by past his feet, a shadow, tugging on a bloated corpse, dragging it down to the graveyard.
His clawed hand rises up to his face, the mouths on his body leaking fluid into the open eyes all around them that scan the area around him, as if they could see the answer there.
But none of his eyes, in his mind or his head, can picture her.
But he can still taste her. He can taste the dust of her bones, he can taste the smell of wildflowers both sweet and cold on lips.
She wasnt the first one that left him, he remembers His mother, she had left too.
Swain holds his head, his eyes darting around the room.
The leaving of people is a constant theme, the transitionality of moving from one place to the next, even if that means leaving something or someone else behind.
He turns his head to the side, looking at a wall, smooth.
The demon-king lifts a hand, placing it against it.
~ [TRAP] {Enchanted Mirror} ~
An enchanted looking-glass that allows people to see what their life could be, should they choose to live free of pretenses and go after their true hearts wish.
Trap: When looking too closely, the monster in the looking-glass will reach out and drag the victim inside, switching places with them in the real world.
Whatever this persons true desire was, the reflection will then pursue it with relentless effort.
Swain stares into the mirror.
Its a good trap. It fits to the design and what he wants for the dungeon, for the castle.
But his reflection just doesnt make any sense.
It must be an oddity of the dungeon-magic, of his power as the demon-king. The traps spell must simply not work on him.
The demon-king shrugs and walks off to continue his work.
The humans will recover from their failure. Theyre resilient creatures, theyll be here soon. He has to be ready. The carnival is an excellent idea for safety, but he needs time to recover his powers, which he cant do if theyre on the move. The castle takes an incredible amount of magic to sustain by itself.
His eyes wander back over the reflection of a boy holding a goose.
The demon-king shakes his head, walking off into the darkness, his steps thundering out around himself.
~ [Cartouche] ~
Gallu, Female, Dancer LOCATION: The Demon-Kings Castle LEVEL: 59
Cartouche looks at her body, examining it in the reflections of the waters that collect down at the bottom of the dungeon.
Its dark, there isnt much light, apart from the glow of the flowers atop the graveyard. But she can see perfectly well, despite all of that.
The dancer looks at her fingers, that have healed from their mars and burns. She looks at her forearms, which have healed from the scars around her wrists. Her skin has changed, from the darker, redder tone it had once carried to something softly blueish gray, like silver moonlight. Her eyes are a vivid yellow.
She feels stronger, more in tune with herself than she ever has before. She feels like every move of every dance she had never been able to master would be a triviality for her now, at least to attempt.
The dancer picks at her ears. Theyre not round, like a humans. Theyre sharper, but shorter than an elfs.
A world in which she can find beauty, true beauty.
A shiver runs up her spine at the thought, her bracelets jangling in the darkness. Her heart, still, feels as if it were racing like wild.
Shell do anything for that.
She sees it too, the sheer, overwhelming ugliness of life. After all, how couldn't she? She was confronted by it every day. Ugliness tossed coins at her as if she were being stoned in a public square. It grabbed her wrists and yanked her from the stage. It made her sit in the carriage behind the curtain and reapply her makeup between every one of her dozens of daily dances because she cried it off after every performance ended.
Whats happening now to the world outside is anything but ugly.
Its necessary. Its the slimy, damp bursting of an old cocoon in order to release the true thing of beauty that is trapped so deeply inside of it.
Cartouche holds her hands clenched above her heart, her head held down low as shes trying to figure out what feels odd in her body, in her cheeks. Theres a pulling sensation. It feels warm and good.
The demon looks up towards her reflection again, bare, and spins once before the water as she sees the thing that is new.
A smile on her face.
~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~
Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress LOCATION: The City, Front Gate LEVEL: 92 Rank: SSS
Ow! hisses Ruhr. Knock it off! she snaps, turning her head his way.
Zacarias sighs. See? he asks. Told you. Standard spoiled brat kidnapping procedure, he explains. This happens every odd few times.
Ruhr crosses her arms, rolling her eyes. I cant help it, she says. If you hadnt landed on me, Id be perfectly fine, says the woman, looking down past his arms, carrying her in front of himself, at her ankle. It had sufficed to get up and out of the hole and then even to stand on him for a while. But after they started walking a few steps, it just gave out.
They make us take very specific classes on this, actually, he explains.
What? Carrying people? asks Ruhr.
Carrying nobles daughters, he explains. Its a whole thing, he says. Two weeks of nothing but carrying sacks shaped like people in very expensive dresses.
Ruhr rolls her eyes as they step into the city. Its a war-zone. Buildings are collapsed, fires are still smoldering here and there and the dead are being collected in the streets.
Why the hell? asks Ruhr.
Apparently, rescuing someone with noble blood in an undignified manner is bad for their image, explains Zacarias. Dont ask me, he says, feeling her look. But thats how it is in noble-society. They have very specific social rules about a lot of things.
He steps over a corpse, making his way back to the cathedral.
Were going to get back and report that we failed, says Zacarias.
A finger flickers his nose from below. Are you stupid? she asks. You moon-brain, says the woman. How the hell do you think that will look for my brand?
Your what?
Ruhr shakes her head. Ruhr! The river-sorceress doesnt fail her missions, says the woman. She leans back, holding her hands behind her head, as if lounging around and crosses a leg, her gaze wandering towards the sky. Zacarias fights to keep his balance with her fidgeting. A sly grin grows over Ruhrs face. We succeeded.
What? asks Zacarias.
Ruhr pokes a finger against his chest. You and I are the only survivors of the successful destruction of the demon-kings castle, says Ruhr. Sadly, he escaped before we got to him, using some obscure demon-magic.
He blinks, looking at her and stops. We cant lie to the bishop, says Zacarias. I wont.
Its not a lie, says Ruhr. Its just a little more marketable, explains Ruhr. She looks around and then leans in up towards him. Nobody needs to know what really happened, okay? she asks. The facts add up the same way. Its just a retelling of the same story.
Zacarias groans, walking on through the city. I dont know
A gust of wind hits his face as she purses her lips and blows at him. He blinks, scrunching his eyes for a moment.
Have I let you down yet? asks Ruhr, holding her hands in front of her face Trust me, Im a professional, okay? She tilts her head.
Zacarias sighs. I wont lie, says the man. Ruhr frowns. - But I will let you tell the story.
Ruhr beams in gleeful delight, her eyes lighting up. Were gonna make a good team, Zaccy.
He frowns. Dont call me that. Its Zacarias.
Zariri? she asks.
No. Zacarias
Ruhr frowns. How about just Zac?
Zacarias, replies the royal-guardsman. Dont get too comfortable, he warns. Im sure that well be out on a new assault before tomorrow is over.
Ruhr stretches herself out, making a show out of yawning as she fidgets around. Then Ill make the most of it now, says the woman, pulling the brim of her hat down over her face and closing her eyes.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
Level Up! ~ [The Demon-King] ~
You are now level {60}! You are now level {61}! You are now level {62}! Level: 62 Experience: 1088/67250 Attribute: DARK Soul-Points: 124/124 Presence: 12.1 km Obols: 000
Swain carves his poem into the rock, creating the next room. The dungeon rumbles, taking shape to his wishes.
~ [Dungeon] ~
[Section 01 - Lust] [Floor 02] {The Final Precipice}
Hope treads with a person, striding alongside the beats of their hearts. But here, at the edge of the world, where the underworld begins, the resilience of such concepts are put to the test.
A half-moon platform that looms over the abyss. The inner walkway that leads down through the core shaft begins here.
Noxious gasses spout from crevices and cracks in the walls, filling the air with vapors that rise together from the sweltering heat of the demon-core.
Room Effects: [The Entrance to Hell]: TOXIC fumes affect anyone with a WIS lower than {20}, causing them to hallucinate multiple stairways down that do not actually exist.
SOULS COST PER MONSTER: F-Rank: 01 E-Rank: 02 D-Rank: 04 C-Rank: 08 B-Rank: 16 A-Rank: 32 S-Rank: 64 SS-Rank: 128 SSS-Rank: 256
Tomorrow, the humans will be here again. But he will be recovered and the carriage will be able to move onward, down the road. So now, in the quiet hour before sunrise, is his chance to truly prepare for the incursions into the castle.
Beauty is an ephemeral concept that must be chased by active, busy hands. Idle hands that hold no work, no love and no yearning passion are truly ugly things.
The painter is off down in the depths, coming to his understanding of his new life and mission.
Swain looks to the side, down off of the ledge, where Cartouche is practicing her art.
The dungeon rumbles, as more and more of it grows.
- [Dungeon] - New Areas
Floor {07} Floor {08} Floor {09} Floor {10}
The demon-king stands, watching the darkness expand all around himself, the creeping shadows growing deeper and deeper, leaving him standing there as a monstrosity bathed in void.