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[metabolizes]

WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

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less an inbox prompt, more the [irradiation of wally's mortal mind]

[redsoil]

[ It's been a while since the conclusion of the Werewolf game, and the dissolution of the eclectic ( and dangerous! ) green team. But, some things persist, and even as time passes, there is unfinished business. An apple thrown into the air awaiting gravity to snatch it back to the surface, the inevitable shift of seasons, the steady waltz-march towards a mortal's end. The absolute blinding pressure that will drop into Wally's mind one cold morning, like the sun has decided to go supernova and sear the flesh from his bones.

It's the sudden proximity of a life he's probably never quite led: sore hands tightening around the haft of a spear while his heart thunders agonizingly in his chest, battering hot and hard in his throat that builds a fearful ache into his jaw. The gasping for air that surrounds him, sunburnt skin and jingling reins as his commanders call for a rally; there's blood on the ground around him, the clatter of metal weapons. The cry of an enemy as they descend upon his staggered, shocked form — death, death, death. Death, that never comes.

It's the foreign feeling of relief-elation-awe-mindless-terror, as a massive fist made of the sands of his beloved homeland burst from the ground and carries away the descending enemy, crushing their body into meat and a weak shower of blood. The haunting cry of a hundred soldiers catching their second wind, as the sands breathe below their feet, like an animal with lungs expanding and muscles bunching as it rises and comes to life. The harsh sun blotted out by the shadow of a rising, monstrous, eldritch figure that towers above him — their war god, their desert god. Masked and unknowable, mouth held in silent severity as he moves the desert itself like a storm, waves of soft earth rising in waves to tip and tumble his enemies until their bodies are drowned, lost, crushed below the land. Within the god's body.

The horror-love one feels, knowing that their god is with them. That it could be him, plunged so deep within his god's body — flesh, bones and blood becoming one with a being that walked on two legs as he did, yet was also the sands he could gather in his palms and see slip away through his fingers. Fleeting, free. The vision of divinity through the eyes of a normal mortal man: beautiful, yet madness-generating. It crushes into Wally's mind... and abates within moments.

A text message follows, from @/SET. ]

I did not forget. Let me know if you want another!

this is fine.gif

[metabolizes]

( he hadn't forgotten, exactly, the brash and probably irresponsible wager he'd made with set — but he was sort of hoping set had forgotten. wally certainly wasn't going to be the first to bring it up again. so when it happens, it happens without warning — and it takes a long, long moment before wally is coherent enough to respond. when nabu had taken over his mind, it had been ... well, uncomfortable, the thrumming force of a presence trapped inside a body much too small and much too resistant, like a pervasive migraine piercing through his skull, behind his eyes. only when the helmet had come off had the pain receded.

this — he'd estimate it's about ten times worse than that, though also about ten times shorter than his time sharing a body with doctor fate. small mercies, maybe. )

another what

( as if he's actually going to acknowledge any of that. he is, in fact, rationalizing it to himself as they speak — a psychotic break, an aftereffect of vibrating through walls one too many times, not a fucking vision — even though he can still feel the prickling heat on his skin, the arid desert wind, the wet spray of blood streaking down his face. even though he stumbles down the hall, as if the floor beneath his feet is caving in, shifting, sinking under his weight upon it. even though his heart is hammering against his ribs at a speed normal men would die from and he feels like his chest might crack open like a walnut, like his blood is boiling with an unfathomable awe and terror — like he might be suddenly and violently sick, dread settling heavy in his gut when his mouth goes dry and his throat itches and he thinks whatever comes up will be only sand. )