Deep within Skullius' soul, the will of a certain individual was held captive in what most would likely call a bubble.
A cute word, though.
Prison was more astute.
There was nothing to be felt and nothing to be seen from within the bubble.
Whoever would be sentenced to such a fate of being stored as a mere consciousness was bound to grow insane or writhe in negativity until they snapped.
Anyone but this man, however...
Sila silently coiled within the silence.
If he hadn't been imprisoned for thousands of years prior within the Labyrinth of the Yoke, a darkness that seemed to carry boundless evils being his company for the longest stretch of time, he could have gone insane.
No. Perhaps not.
That was an unfair assessment.
To live that long without needing sustenance, his body having been relieved the need to excrete waste, was naturally credit that belonged to the master of the Labyrinth, Fulgardt.
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