|Barael de Aere|
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Barael feels it again. The release. He stares across the rest of the bridge, and... doubts. It will only happen, again. I'll see them, then I'll get pulled away. It's like Scarwall's the cat, and I'm the... yeah. And it lets me up, only to stomp on me again.
He paces for what seems like an eternity. I... can't... I just can't do that again... it's not fair... Barael looks back at Scarwall, and his face draws into rage. Stop doing this to me!!! Stop letting me free, then ripping me back!!! I hope they destroy you utterly!!! You're a curse upon this land, and an abomination, and a blight...
In this moment, Barael feels something. He feels something. He... feels. Barael's eyes frown, then widen in slowly dawning understanding.
It's cold. Except for a not cold sensation, round his nethers.
Barael looks down at his feet, at the bridge, and sees... strands. He looks down at his hands, and sees the same strands, drawing his vision over his shoulder, towards the gatehouse. So many of them...
The pulling begins, each strand working in concert, gently at first, almost testing their anchoring on each tether. Barael's mouth opens in irritation, as his form starts to suffer the pins and needles of reviving nerve endings. As he acknowledges the pain as necessary, he sees the strands shimmering, weaving into the maps of his nerves, causing them to pulse with an ethereal light.
He smiles, as he's pulled away from the castle. This isn't you, is it, Scarwall? If this offends you, that you're denied even one spirit, then... excellent. It won't be the last. He manages to raise his arms in a rather obscene gesture, and he hears laughter bubbling up from his chest.
He seems to cross an event horizon, and the moment is lost to ultimate gravity. Spirit, strand, soul. Singularity.