06-13-2018, 01:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-14-2018, 08:18 AM by PepsiWhirda.)
Absolute darkness.
A sensation, not unlike floating.
A silhouette, grinning in the gaping void—Omni?
An orb, somehow every color at once, exuding raw power.
The discordant images came back to Remy in a rush. A flash of searing hot pain sliced through his skull, driving him to his knees. For what seemed like minutes he knelt there, both hands clutching the sides of his head, struggling to make sense of what felt like the worst hangover of his life.
“Absinthe,” he decided aloud, “hell of a drink.”
And yet, when his fiery eyes creased open, a vast, pristine white plane encompassed his field of view. It stretched interminably in every direction, punctuated only by a gray pinprick what seemed to be several miles distant. Remy closed his eyes again, shaking his head vigorously.
“Not absinthe.” Somethin’ stronger?
The faint gurgle of running water drew his attention behind him, to an ornamental fountain. Plates of metal shifted back and forth, constantly rearranging its construction. If Remy’s head wasn’t already aching, staring at the confounding fountain would have done the trick. Still, Remy knew intrinsically this was no hallucination—no trick of some foul substance acquired in the webwork of alleys and dive bar bathrooms he frequented.
“Somethin’ much stronger.”
Remy knelt in front of the fountain and splashed cool water on his face, running both hands through his matted hair. What’n the hell is goin’ on? The last thing he remembered was the door leading to the Seahorse’s back room, an explosion, and then… nothing.
"Am I dead?"
The perplexed mutant jumped to his feet, bo staff already in hand, when he heard another voice from across the fountain.
A sensation, not unlike floating.
A silhouette, grinning in the gaping void—Omni?
An orb, somehow every color at once, exuding raw power.
The discordant images came back to Remy in a rush. A flash of searing hot pain sliced through his skull, driving him to his knees. For what seemed like minutes he knelt there, both hands clutching the sides of his head, struggling to make sense of what felt like the worst hangover of his life.
“Absinthe,” he decided aloud, “hell of a drink.”
And yet, when his fiery eyes creased open, a vast, pristine white plane encompassed his field of view. It stretched interminably in every direction, punctuated only by a gray pinprick what seemed to be several miles distant. Remy closed his eyes again, shaking his head vigorously.
“Not absinthe.” Somethin’ stronger?
The faint gurgle of running water drew his attention behind him, to an ornamental fountain. Plates of metal shifted back and forth, constantly rearranging its construction. If Remy’s head wasn’t already aching, staring at the confounding fountain would have done the trick. Still, Remy knew intrinsically this was no hallucination—no trick of some foul substance acquired in the webwork of alleys and dive bar bathrooms he frequented.
“Somethin’ much stronger.”
Remy knelt in front of the fountain and splashed cool water on his face, running both hands through his matted hair. What’n the hell is goin’ on? The last thing he remembered was the door leading to the Seahorse’s back room, an explosion, and then… nothing.
"Am I dead?"
The perplexed mutant jumped to his feet, bo staff already in hand, when he heard another voice from across the fountain.