Chapter Text
Whatever pain he felt from the impact and the molten earth had long since slipped into numbness. For a span of unmeasurable time, one that flew in seconds and stretched on for eternity,, there was simply nothing.
He could not recall the last time the world was this silent. No inane prattling, no issuing orders only to play time-wasting games, no chaff to sort.
Only himself and his thoughts. As always.
The laws of entropy appeared to operate about differently than his research previously showed. Was this Uroboros, perhaps? Or another virus? Why only now?
Was death the trigger? Or another factor?
Did it matter?
At some point, the world took shape, a dim undefinable space lit only by threads of shimmering light. Vague outlines of people but never with discernible features. Mere figures. Unique voices, names, memories mumbled as though to keep silent would otherwise erase them. They were cognizant of other another and yet…it was like listening to one-sided recordings of a conversation, loops and loops that never resolved.
When he finally gained control of his body, what remained of it, he tested. He observed. He adapted and tried again.
They were incorporeal. Projections? Hallucinations? Not his, certainly. Some words made sense and others were filed away for later. These beings were incapable of proper thought and function. They were not aware of their circumstances and their chatter was grating.
A god, dead or otherwise, deserved peace.
There was no way to measure time but the golden strands grew fewer and fewer as he ascended, their luminescence replaced by a larger source of light. Mythology was mere allegory, but upon looking back, the only comparison he could consider was the River Styx. Had he crossed then, he wondered. Or was this the shore of the living?
As he continued his climb, voices started again. Faintly Russian in their accent. He listened to the cadence and sounds, seeking anything familiar. No. Not Russian. But not any other East Slavic dialect either.
A shout, some rumbling, and then something above him gave way. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he looked at the source of the noise, light blinding.
More shouts. Figures in coats and hats despite the heat radiating down. Waving, shouting; he immediately identified the leader based on body language, memories of a different time tickling his muscles.
A pully system was erected and four figures descended on a metal platform. Two were significantly larger than the others, large equipment on their backs while their other comrades carried…flintlock rifles?
So much for the River Styx.
The language barrier was not as much of a problem as anticipated. Without visible weapons, the strangers were less wary than during their initial assessment. They never lowered their weapons, to their credit, as they ushered him onto the platform.
“How did you get down here?” One asked, accent weighing down the words.
As if he would waste his breath on these peons. They offered little in the way of assistance in finding his bearings. He didn’t need to answer them to discover what he needed to.
“Subject appears severely wounded. Don’t bother wasting his energy,” another snapped.
Upon arriving to the surface, the air was warm and pleasant compared to the fiery volcano from so long ago. His ears perked up at the activity around him, an entire encampment that stretched for miles.
“Get Lord Harbinger Dottore,” the squad leader barked. “Tell him we have an anomaly from the Ley Lines.”