Damian drifted in limbo.
If this was the purgatory the Holy Order spoke of, it was surprisingly comforting. A shapeless, formless existence, devoid of any true meaning. Nonsensical shapes emerged from towering clouds before collapsing back into a rolling sea of fog.
An ocean of nothingness crashed against rocks of void; abstractions pulled apart at the seams until they faded into a landscape of emptiness. There was no up or down; light shone from all directions at once, casting a myriad of shadows that shifted continuously, as though struggling to snap themselves into a form that obeyed natural law.
Damian drifted through the infinite confines, reaching the edge of the world before realizing the walls before him formed only the smallest lip of a cliff that plunged down into a landscape twice the size of the one before.
He had no body, only a mind that soared across the land of chaotic perfection.
Time was meaningless, distance was arbitrary.
