With every cycle that passed since Audland had hatched, there had inevitably come a time near the end of each one that Audland privately referred to as, "The Goopening". The sore spots; the sudden feeling of having his limbs crushed or his chest sat on—as though someone had come up behind him to assault him with a blood pressure test by strapping it on without him noticing; the sudden bursting into flame and fury; the silence, the depravity, the whispers in the walls—it all started happening more, and more, with more intensity, fervor, more intention. Every cycle, his body would break down little by little by lot and lot, and so every cycle, Audland would make the trek. He didn't even know how he ended up here. His feet just knew where to carry him.

Every cycle, back at the foot of this... altar. Innately, he knew where it was. Obviously, with his inverse vision Audland could see it, and just about everyone could hear it. But it was more than that—a strange attraction. Audland felt it calling to him, like a sixth sense, like there was some specialized organ buried somewhere in his guts. There was another place he could detect, in Draco—but Audland didn't want to go to Draco, there were a bunch of freaks in Draco. Draco was loud and here, here was at least quiet, even if it was the nigh unbearably stale kind. It reminded Audland of most days in Ursa. Eerily alone.

Audland came in with an offering. The first time, he had not—simply stumbled in, stabilized, and left. The second time, much the same. But this time he came in dragging some poor Lesser rabbit, dangling by its foot, blood trailing out from a single knife wound tearing through the rabbit's jugular. Audland approached the altar, and placed the corpse atop. He knelt, bend down to touch the altar, and closed his eyes.

Or... maybe he closed his eyes? He could never be sure. He knew there was darkness where there shouldn't be. His limbs felt distantly present, and the room felt, if anything—cold. But that just happened sometimes. And sometimes, in the middle of the nothingness, something would simply appear, and Audland could never tell if that's because he made it out, or he opened his eyes, or he was just dreaming or what.

In the middle of his "vision" was a pair of green, glowing eyes. Pupil-less. Glinting. Somehow this factoid could not be less helpful for Audland figuring out which case he was in. He'd learned not to interact with some of the reality bending visions he had, but when they felt real enough, he figured he ought to indulge them just in case.

"Hello, if that's you." Still unsure if his eyes were open or closed, Audland took a shaky breath and continued: "Couldn't guess who you are. If yer anything at all. If you are there though, I'm leaving you a rabbit. It's like, a gift, I guess." Audland's proximity to the altar started seeping into him. At first it felt like sipping bile, then opening his mouth to swallow it. More, and more bile flooded in, washed through him, pitch black and rancid with a hint of neon lime. Audland had to stop himself from gagging. This was just the start. The burn wounds beneath his skin would fester, the light and void would mix together and creep up on him like swirling shadows, the pressure would pop, then thin out, then leave him drowning in air. At the crux of it all, for the tiniest sliver of a second, Audland could almost feel the world bending and breaking, pieces of himself warping, the whispering chants around the alter nearing legibility—and then, everything was normal again. The Goop retreats, back into his body that is presumably made of it. Audland dry heaves pretty hard a few times, a balled fist thumping his chest; he feels in need of a bath. But, besides that: normal.

Unlike the last two time, Audland doesn't leave yet. He stares blankly at the dead heap of rabbit on the altar—or at least, he thinks he does. When his mind and body feel ready to speak, Audland starts: "If- if you are there, if you have any sort of... authority I guess, could you tell me... what I'm s'posed to be doing, in the cave with snow? I know I'm s'posed to be there—I mean, look at me, nowhere else fits, but—I'm not sure... what I was put there to do. I don't know who made me. I'm not sure why I even think that's a thing I need to... well, you get the idea." 'I hope.'

Audland would wait for a while. Long enough to hopefully parse whether or not he was talkin' crazy to an audience of none. Maybe a response would never come, and Audland could take it to mean something. What exactly, he can't say for sure. But any answer is an answer, even if it's an unvoiced one.

~~~

(OOC: Audland brings the altar an offering, stabilizes, and then asks potentially no one about his purpose in the caves. Note: not trying to powerplay Rrevalk, Audland just experiences visions, delusions, and the Void due to Forsaken Mind and Energy of the Void.)

The vague whispered that filled this place began to rise, to blend together, a susurration hissing into a cacophony. The voidlight shifted, and black smoke boiled up, rising, thickening, shrouding and choking all around Audland.

There were visions, briefly. The sights of Chaos; nothing new for a Valkhound like him. Blood. Gore. War. Conflict. Death. Triumph. Loss. Strife. Savagery. Claws and fangs, and rising violet flames.

The whispers became a roar, as the soft hiss of surf could become a tidal surge, bellowing every crash into his ears. Was it the beating of his heart? Was it truly voices? Was it something bellowing, snarling, battling? It was everything. It was all those things! It was-

-silence.

Light. Perfection. Order.

And it was not beautiful. Disgust roiled through the room. Through Audland. Disdain, for the crystalline chains that appeared, the rows of perfectly ordered, identical beasts, silent, obedient, and all those things were antithesis, nemesis, enemy of all he was. The march of mindless slaves: his chaos, his freedom, burned. Audland would ache to disrupt it. To swipe a hand through those ordered rows, to rend savage claws through those blank and perfect forms. To shatter the crystalline facade and show the hollow emptiness beneath. There was no life, no change here. Only stasis, unchanging, never adapting, never living. It clamped a hand around its pawns, collared its soldiers, it changed them where Chaos freed them all.

Indignation rose at these fetters, surging and boiling and burning and

REVOLTING. DESTROY IT. Were they words, spoken? Or a command, a concept roaring through the mist?

Had it been his own thought?

Purple flames rose, blazing cold and then searing hot, rippling over the neatly ordered regiments. The perfect little chess pieces, arranged across their board, were scattered. They did not scream: only faltered, felling, melting, faceless and mindless.

Their loss was no loss at all.

The flames rose, licking at the ceiling of the tunnel, burning away the billowing smoke, and-

-the vision ended.

Sorry for the minor delay; also, the narrator... such as it is?... may well be unreliable!

@Audland

Light, sound, and smoke began to circumscribe the ground where Audland stood. Before he could fully realize the change, they struck him; poured into his every orifice, snuffing all that was him out. Audland was no longer solid, no longer fuzzy, no longer blue. Audland was a collection of particles among particles, rolling smoke and bubbling oil. Audland was a monster roaring, was the monster's roar, was the axe swing and the tooth bite. Audland was going to choke and throw up at the same time, face down on the floor.

From one vision erupted another. This one... Audland really couldn't tell if it was different from the previous. If it had a different origin*. It felt different. At first, it felt much the same from the waking visions of being in a battlefield that wasn't there; but then, moments later, it revealed itself to contain information that deviated from the norm. Something real, and new. Audland couldn't parse the barrier between himself and the feelings and voices being inserted into—or arising from?—him. It rebuffed that idea that he had begun to understand from the moment he started using the magic of his stone: your body is not your own. Your mind is not your own.

Whatever this is, it is embedded inside you. It is what makes you: every strand of hair, every fluid or gas, every fiber of being. There's nothing you can do to claw it out. This is what you are.

So, let's focus on what you're not.

The clear, crystalline palisades of Order were revealed to him. From the eyes of an eagle, Audland got to see it all, or at least every part that mattered to him. Every structure and every being, so perfectly aligned. Every crystal lattice without dislocation. Even faces had unevenness; these faces had none. Audland's entire body recoiled in the opposite direction; it lunged, or wanted to lunge, like a hungry animal seeing real food for the first time in weeks. It would be so easy. He didn't need to topple the whole structure; he just needed to create one black dot, remove one fragment, move one thing out of place. Just one little push in this DISGUSTING, REVOLTING empire of dominoes, and the whole thing could crumble...

...Ah.

This was the alternative. Freedom wasn't really free, but some things provided no freedom at all. Fire lapped up the bodies of the expressionless mass of peons; a painfully ironic echo of every time Audland had ever stifled his gasps when black flames had erupted from his own body. Those creatures, the creatures of order; they melted away like snow. Some minds were made to be broken.

The smoke relented, unveiling Audland's sight and mind. He was back in Tunnel K, fallen on his knees, staring at the altar. At the place where he'd put his offering. Audland dry heaved ragged breaths. A hand went up instinctively to grasp his aching head.

In a few moments, Audland gathered himself and got up to leave. He understood better now. He could put two and two together. Ursa, Order, him. Someday he would see it all relate together in real time.

He didn't say anything when he left. He didn't really want... to be thankful, for this. But there was a nod of acknowledgement, to the altar. Just in case any of that had been real.

*HE SAID IT !!! ROLL CREDITS. this has been.. Our Origin (joke)

- exit -