Altair could feel his teeth grinding; it was overwhelming to insert someone else's comprehension into his own—a rancid sweetness of a power that was not his own, yet his to command. He could stop. He could turn it all off, yet with the enemies he now possessed, could he truly afford to back down?
Grasping that rancid flame of sin, Altair poured his will through deep into his Astral Sea, seizing the hundreds of Forsaken Souls. In mere heartbeats, as their comprehension melded into his own, Altair no longer saw a corporal realm but one that transcended what he knew.
Motes of molten light danced like unfathomable constellations across his iris as deep as the ocean depths. It swallowed him, pulling him under into depths of some unknown nexus as he struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of understanding that came with his Psionic Mind, removing the mental cap most mortal or immortal creatures held.
