The skeleton's hand retracted, the red glow of its metal gauntlet dimming to nothingness and leaving them in darkness once again. But the centipedes did not stop their journey into Lokus' insides, continuing to chew and crawl inward.
If one followed the path they had taken to get there, the gaping hole in his stomach, one would find that it led to a certain place nestled in between his stomach and his large intestine. They pushed both away to make room for whatever it was they had planned, carving out a section of his body for themselves.
Soon, they gathered together into a tight teardrop-shaped mass that wriggled and pulsed in varying rhythms. Over time, that pulsing slowed and stabilized, and with a dull, macabre shock, Lokus realized that it had begun to match the beating of his own heart.
