As the man looked up, allowing himself to bathe in the abyssal liquid, the ceiling was etched with a circular design of multiple lines carved in, slowly pouring out a thicker, more concentrated fluid. It trickled down upon the man's body as he welcomed it, with his arms held out as if ushering in an unseen embrace.
"...Yes. Come to me, Dread…"
'This is what I've sought for so long. Though, oddly enough, when I think about it…What brought me here? Every now and then, I hear it–a voice; young and innocent, calling to me. It's a girl. So familiar–so nostalgic…I wonder,' Krimjaw thought.
Within the twisted, distorted chasm that was the mind of the dutiful follower of the cult, memories were foggy and melded together; a forgery of madness. Still, Krimjaw wholeheartedly welcomed the concentrated essence of the fallen Primordial aspect as it rained down upon his skin, seeping into his pores.