The world fractured into impossiblity.
A myriad of stark colors.
Nero's consciousness fragmented, scattering across dimensions that had no names, no boundaries, no logic. He existed and didn't exist, was everywhere and nowhere, trapped in a space between thought and oblivion.
His body didn't feel like anything anymore.
There was no sensation of flesh, no awareness of bone or blood or breath. He had become something abstract, something that observed without eyes, that experienced without form.
Time meant nothing here. Space meant nothing. There was only the endless procession of images, each one seared into whatever passed for his mind.
