It was cold, a chill that sunk into his bones causing his very flesh to tremble and wane.
’Where am I?’ Mr. Valen thought, and then narrowed his eyes; he had not ant to think.
He looked around him, from his left to his right, at the sky and the ground, and found only an endless void. He stood atop nothingness.
’What is this?’ He asked again the thought resounding in his mind (confirming imdiately that he had lost the ability to speak).
Looking to his form, he discovered that he was naked, but that small detail remained irrelevant.
Suddenly, sensing sothing, Mr. Valen raised his head and saw a gate. To call it rely a gate, however, would be an insult.
It was a colossus of black iron, its archway a jagged maw that split the void itself. It was not rely large; it was impossibly large, a structure that defied scale, its height swallowing the horizon, its width vaster than the ruins of this shattered worlds.
The chains that bounded it were not re materials of tal but serpentine monstrosities, each thicker than ancient tree trunks, their surfaces etched with screaming faces frozen in eternal tornt.
And upon those chains hung... him. Or rather, statues that looked like him.
Seven statues to be exact, each an odd, twisted reflection of Mr. Valen, each at least ten feet tall.
The first statue was a towering figure with corded muscle bursting with power, its stone flesh straining against its bonds as if it might snap them through sheer force.
The second was him as well, but he now resembled a hollow-cheeked effigy with its jaw unhinged in a silent scream, its throat carved open in a ragged, terrifying gash.
The third was him as a gaunt, multi-faced thing, its skull split open to reveal a labyrinth of veins where a brain should have been.
Fourth was a sinuous, androgynous form, its body more woven through than sculpted, woven not with thread but with thorned vines that dug into its own flesh.
The fifth looked less like him and more like a skeletal dead thing, its ribs cracked open like a cage, emptiness swirling within it.
Sixth seed to have been sculpted by a schizophrenic, bearing no resemblance to him in the slightest, its features lting and reforming in a constant, brief optical illusion.
The last was less impressive, a faceless him, its head bowed as if in prayer... or condemnation.
In that mont, sudden wrenching pain tore through Mr. Valen’s chest as a green wisp of energy was ripped free from his body.
With it twist, it streaked toward the muscular statue as though drawn to it by so unknown force.
The mont it struck, the statue’s eyes flared with bloody light, and the void shuddered with a proclamation that bleed into his ears so that Mr. Valen clutched his head in pain:
"I AM GOD’S BODY. THE ETERNAL FLESH. THE ONLY TRUTH."
The words seed like a brand, searing into his soul as painfully as it could, and when the agony subsided, only silence remained.
The silence was profound, suspisious, a suffocating hand clamping over his mind. ’I must find a way out-
Mr. Valen tried to speak but was assaulted by pressure, one that nearly pushed him flat on the ground.
His spine locked, his breath dying in his lungs as if it was restricted by so primal instinct, one older than fear (and it was coming from above).
And so, slowly, he forced his gaze upward and saw:
There, a thing beyond the gate, leaning over the structure’s impossible height like a child peering into an anthill.
It appeared humanoid in only the vaguest sense, its form dwarfing planets, its presence crushing the void beneath its regard.
Its skin was the color of drowned stars, its limbs elongated and grotesquely elegant, but all that was irelivant in the face of it’s eyes:
They spun, faster and faster, vortices of infinite black, whirlpools of predatory hunger, sucking in light, thought, aning, it was horrific.
But strangly, Mr. Valen was not afraid, not like he was before, for the longer he stared, the wider his own lips stretched, his mouth twisting into a grin he did not command.
The thing smiled back.
And then—
---
"Shit!" Mr. Valen cursed as he forced himself up, his breath seizing in his throat. The first thing he noted was that the world had beco impossiblly clear, the details of even the smallest stain visible to him.
Looking around, he saw that he was naked in an empty room, the blue lights now dimd by the overpowering rays of grey daylight.
He stood up and noted that the lines, and demonic dipictions he had seen the night before were gone, as though everything had been but a fragnt of his imagination.
But he knew it was real.
The first thing he did was feel his chest for the grotesque scares left behind by Athyst’s claws, but all he found was his bare chest, (unhard).
Eyes widening in surprise, Mr. Valen looked down at his body and saw (to his surprise) that the scares on his stomach were gone, and the scares that were supposed to be on his chest were nowhere to be found.
’I have a six pack?’ Mr. Valen thought quizzically as he gazed upon his stomach now lean and sculpted instead of malnurished.
Suddenly, Mr. Valen felt his eyes spin and he bent, clutching his knees.
"Argh!" He barfed, thick slimly liquid flowing through, pouring out of his stomach and onto the white, marble floor in great quantities.
"Shiiiii" the greenish goo hissed as it dissipated, a bitter slling vapour filling the room.
Mr. Valen retched, his eyes narrowing as he stood tall, cleaning his mouth with a frown, "It was definitely real," he groaned.
Looking around once more, he noted nothing but a small window that allowed the light to bleed through, so he moved to the door, griping the handle firmly.
"Hmm," the frowned once more when he could not open the door, even after twisting the handle.
He rembered that Athyst had locked the door before leaving-
"Bang!" He stomped on the thing out of sheer frustration, but when the door flew into the other room, (ripped from its hinges) he knew sothing was off.
’My strength,’ he noted, a with a slight tremor in his arm.
"Bam!" The wooden door slamd on the ground, the sound as though it had falling of from an elevated position.
Walking outside, Mr. Valen discovered that he stood atop the upper floor of a luxurious apartnt, or penthouse.
There was a foul sll in the air, the iron stench of blood.
Stairs with golden rails led down to the living room from both sides, the walls painted white, sotis decorated by one painting or another.
Walking down the stairs, he found a mirror that had been hung up and peered into it with great curiosity, eager to understand the state of his eyes but what he saw shocked him greatly.
In the mirror stood not a man, but a blackened shadow of a man. It had no hair, its skin was dark as night, and its eyes, oh god, its eyes (voids of swirling black) were singularities stuffed into a humanoid form.
He blinked and he was himself again, his pupils swirling like two black holes, the sight profoundly unnatural.
"My God," Mr. Valen muttered, as he stepped back, his breath heavy, ’an avatar?’ he pondered, knowing exactly what it was.
But there was no one here. aning that it belonged to him.
Mr. Valen upon noting this, stepped closer to the mirror and there it was, an androgynous humanoid with sculpted pitch black skin and void eyes, it’s dark aura resonating with him.
His own eyes mirrored this being, dark iriss spinning periodically but other than that he appeared normal... Ish.
Breathing in, that foul stench assaulted him again, and as he looked down Mr. Valen saw a trail of blood, (droplets) leading him further down the stairs.
Floor to ceiling windows revealed that this house was sowhere in the woods, but he paid this no mind, as his instincts (and the trail of blood) led him to a door in the living room, one that raidiated a frightfully ominous aura, a red and blue butterfly perched at the knob.
And then he felt it: sothing behind him, watching, peering into his very soul.
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