Bologue hasn't felt like this in a long time, his joints seemed to be sealed shut with iron pins, his muscles as stiff as if frozen, unable to muster even a single ounce of strength. He stood in place for a long time, and only the heavy sound of his breathing slowly broke the dead silence.
Looking around, the mountains overhead were cracked, the shadows divided into distinct boundaries, and the gray-white earth was littered with similarly gray-white sculptures, piled up like corpses.
"What... what is all this?"
Bologue asked in a low voice, but no one in the void responded.
He knew that these gray-white corpses were not born out of thin air, nor were they the product of a bored astronaut's prank. Within this false domain, they must have a significance of existence, one that was closely related to Bologue himself.
What was the connection between them and himself, really?
Bologue couldn't fathom it, couldn't recall it at all.
