Archerus finally stopped leaning against the tree outside the asylum and peddled into the forest yonder. He walked with a light step, but was not cautious. His posture was proud and alert, yet his face was devoid of any obvious emotions. Each step caused the slightest hint of a hiss, as the blue energy swirling at his feet made contact with the blanket of freshly laid snow beneath him. Upon contact the energy seemed to contract, and moved in a way that suggested rejection to the terra, trying to avoid any contact whatsoever. Of course, when you're attached to a shoe, this could prove to be very difficult.
The forest became more and more alive with flora the further he stepped into the busy maze of tree's. Dead, reaching branches were replaced by flourishing bushels of illuminated emerald leaves, untainted by the white powder that had grasped at their brethren with the strongest of winter's icy grip. The fauna too, was becoming more and more noticeable as Archerus kept striding deeper into the now warming woodland. Small critters of various shapes and sizes scuttled around his feet with each step, and clambered around the soft bark of the tree's, adding small squeaks and shrill clicks to the grand and eternal symphony of nature.
Indeed, it seemed as if the entire climate had changed, let alone his location. In actuality, however, he had not moved an inch. Any surveyors of the goings on around the asylum, would still see a peculiar, yet somewhat average man, leaning against a dead twig of a tree. His mind was the only thing that had left his body, if one were to believe such things could take place. No matter what you believed in though, the glazed over, blue hued optics, and the rhythmic myoclonic twitching of his facial muscles portrayed a man that was no longer aware of his physical presence.
In the lush, warm forest that housed his mind for the time being, Archerus finally arrived at his intended destination. A small bushy thicket, enclosed within a makeshift oval gate structure, carved from several white-barked oak. The clearing was laced with a heavy scent of fresh, wild onion. His nostrils flared as he took in the many scents that assaulted his senses, a plethora of delightful fragrances courtesy of the collaborative effort of the great green conurbation. Suddenly his pupils dialated, as in the middle of the thicket the ground was starting to shake back and forth. Not the natural tremors of an earthquake or distant, heavy movement. A jagged, intense zig-zagging shake. It was as if the entire continent was rupturing, splitting down it's equatorial seam. Archerus was tossed onto his back, cushioned by the reluctant bushes beneath, as they writhed and snapped beneath his foreign form. He managed to prop himself up onto his knee's, much to the annoyance of the crushed flora smashed into the dirt beneath him, who were now literally attempting to drag him back onto his rear. His eye's began to shake with tremendous fear , a unwilling emotion forced upon him by an unseen force. He resisted, keeping his watering optics wide open, gazing with utmost terror at the dark red and black rift that had opened before him. What horror could be responsible for cracking the forest floor itself, and shaking the world so violently?
Then, all was quiet. Save for a whisper of a high pitched buzzing that echoed through his ears and into his brain. He came apart from his spirit self, and lost control of his vision, his sight was forced to flip itself over in the air, and lay upon his own form, sprawled among the many biennial fingers that grasped at his torso, looking onwards at whatever soul-devouring abomination had cracked the earth itself to present to him. Darkness enveloped everything.
Archerus opened his eyes again. Infront of him was a abandoned insane asylum, and harbouring the pressure of his back was that familiar dead tree. Indeed, all was right again, save the nail marks in the earth beside him, and the strangest itch in his throat, indicating a long session of harsh, forced screams. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and wet his lips. After hoisting himself up off the ground, he carelessly wiped the dirt from his underneath, and gazed around himself in a ninety-degree arc.
Archerus finally stopped leaning against the tree outside the asylum and peddled into the forest yonder.
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