Three hundred and sixty-five miles, oh, crossing through the seasons~
Temude felt he must be hallucinating.
Why was he hearing lyrics in the background music that had no words?
This must be an illusion caused by extreme stress!
He felt like he was being tossed into an overloaded mixer.
Above him were incessantly crashing tentacles, beneath him were crumbling bricks about to break, his companions' shouts and cries echoed around him, and a flame flickered provocatively in front of him, tantalizingly out of reach.
He almost wanted to curse; the flame atop the tentacles seemed to deliberately remain just out of reach, emphasizing its taunting nature.
The bricks under his feet finally began to crack; his brain could no longer process so much information at once, relying only on muscle memory to leap from one fewer foothold to another.
The last time he felt this cornered was when he fell into a pile of Curse Frogs without any equipment....
