Northern's rest was soothing, deep—a solace that pulled at his very soul. It was a rest he craved, needed, from everything. Chaos had drained his body to the core, and using Omniform with his two clones had only deepened his exhaustion.
The deep sleep seized control over him, not something he could fight, but something he savored deeply.
And he was beginning to savor it too much.
Northern felt a subtle crawl of something slipping past his mental boundary. Yet he remained powerless, trapped. If anything, all of it felt like a dream, a tempting escape from the burden of living, the weight of being human.
It continued, lulling him deeper and deeper into the abyss of rest.
Until a terrifying pressure crashed down on him and his name crawled out in a familiar voice.
