Like a blossoming flower, he witnessed a parade of limbs rupture through the surface, coiling around one another while expanding outward from the entity's position. The ebon arms varied in size, from that of a normal human to sizes comparable to a redwood tree trunk, all of which began to unfold and stretch towards him.
In the matter of a second, his vision was engulfed by the countless palms. He leaned back, sliding back across the unruly waters as the abyss formed into chaotic waves with the rush of limbs.
The hands reached, grasping at him, clawing, and even slamming towards him. Finn ducked his head as a hand tried to grab at his head, before jumping up briefly as he felt one swiping at his legs. All the while as he evaded the grotesque limbs, he adjusted his balance on the unsteady surface of the abyss.
'--What do I do? These attacks won't stop coming, and I can't hurt that thing. Can I not do anything? Am I meant to just die? No–that can't be it,' he thought.
Before his eyes, the limbs of abyssal fluid shifted; the black substance was dispersed as decayed bone was revealed beneath. Threads of flesh extended, weaving together into muscle for the limbs.
The grotesque shift was completed as Finn witnessed the many arms now accompanied by multiple faces of what looked to be skinless hounds straight from hell. Each of the arms, now layered in bare flesh, grew claws, belonging to the howling skulls that lunged at him.
It was like a nightmarish wall placed between him and the faceless entity, keeping him on the backfoot.
Once more, the young man questioned if his sanity was simply far too gone, though that was no longer a question; he knew the occurrences straight out of a fever dream were all too real.
'I can't–' He thought, finding himself unable to avoid the swarm of hands and snapping jaws.
He was forced to hold his ground, placing his hands in front of his body as he pushed back against the disembodied, bestial skulls and claws. Even if it was a futile effort, he managed to halt the wall of claws and snapping jaws; he felt his muscles coil with strength, burning red-hot from the strain.
It was unquestionable that his jump in levels had astronomically improved his physical capabilities, though it made no difference as the horrific skulls of the eyeless hounds broke through.
"Gah!--" He let out.
Rather than let himself be dragged any further as he flailed helplessly, he took his fate into his own hands, plunging the dagger into his neck.
A cold chill ran through his body as the tip slid right past his skin, skewering his throat as he could feel his life essence flooding out into the unforgiving depths.
["Finn Thorne defeated."]
A chilling frost engulfed him. He perceived true darkness; different from the abyss he was dragged into the depths of. It was empty; desolate, without any true meaning to it. A void in which he floated with nothing, not even a thought in his mind.
[Assimilated ability from ["Finn Thorne"]: "The Art of Dying" | 1 / 5]
Yet, if it was truly death that he had sank into, then he questioned why he felt that strange resonance inside of his chest–
Thoomp-thoomp. Thoomp-thoomp. Thoomp-thoomp.
That rhythm of life echoed through his ears like a light in the darkness; it was the percussion of his own heart, thumping loudly as if claiming to still be alive. No, it wasn't quite that; he did die–he felt that truly within his soul.
Building a crescendo from a quiet thump to a sound that filled his ears, the rhythm of his heart was a reawakening; a return from the other side.
"Pyuuh–!"
As his eyes shot open, he found himself staring at that pitch-black sky again, spitting out the black fluid from his lungs. He was floating on the surface of the abyssal sea, laying in it as its lifeless coolness encompassed his body.
'I'm...alive?' He questioned, feeling his own neck where he knew he plunged his dagger.