Pitch-black darkness surrounded him.
No sound, no temperature, no boundaries.
There was only a sinking, falling sensation, endless and infinite.
Like a stone cast into the deepest ocean trench, pulled by an unseen gravity, falling, falling…
Then… pain.
The tearing agony of a Soul being ripped apart.
It was as if someone were using a dull knife, slowly and patiently, to peel his consciousness from a firm Anchor Point.
Every pull brought a sharp ringing that echoed in the Abyss of his consciousness.
Ian's consciousness forcibly gathered itself. Amidst the inertia of sinking, he struggled to bring forth a sliver of clear light.
He found himself falling, passing through layer after layer of viscous darkness.
Far below, there was a pinprick of light.
It was faint, like the last oil lamp at dusk.
The point of light grew larger, brighter, drawing ever closer.
Then… he crashed into it.
BOOM…
