Adam floated in the endless expanse of the Black Sea, or at least that's what it felt like to him, the feeling of floating.
But there was no water here, no gentle current to carry him along. Hell, there wasn't even a here in the traditional sense.
No up, no down, no left or right.
Time didn't flow forward here, or rather it didn't exist at all. This wasn't even space, so time never had meaning here to begin with.
In accordance to Beatrice will, this was place she created as the highest conceptual plane, above even the Spirit World, here Adam existed as a pure idea... That idea being the Story of Himself.
A thought suspended in nothingness, untethered from the chains of reality. He was an echo of himself, a blueprint of a man was best way to describe his conscious existence in this place.
At first, the rage had consumed him.
It boiled up from the depths of his soul, a scorching hatred for Vileth that twisted his ethereal form into something sharp and vicious.
