At the bottom of the world, there is movement. A body falls from above, carried by a swarm of eel-like scavengers, their bodies escorting this battered form. From it's position atop the head of the packs head, The Abyssal laughs, it's yellow eye glowing in the darkness as the swarm moves at its command, relishing the clarity that identity brings. To think that hours ago it thought this would be its end, its return to the origin. Well, it still is its return. Just in a different way. Another laugh rings through the ocean, as The Abyssal catches sight of the lights below, urging the swam onwards.
The swam descends, past the patrolling forms of abyssal guards to the reef below, to the black coral that has consumed this graveyard of ships, eerie green lights glowing within its structure. Towers of iron and flesh slowly grind their way across the seabed in the distance, disturbed currents drawing any fish foolish enough to venture here into the mouths that cover the outside of these structures.
The abyssal pushes off from her escort, her one arm grabbing onto a warped piece of an old handrail that juts out from the wreck beneath the coral. At the centre of the reef is a lake of brine, filling the deepest parts of this graveyard. Drifting from railing to old bones to any handhold it can find, The Abyssal makes its way to the lakes edge, eventually resting by one of the mouth-like pipes that continually vomits new brine into the lake. The Abyssal looks down at the lake. And as something within senses The Abyssals presence, the surface of the lake distorts. Ink black stains spread across the brines cloudy-white surface, filled with faint impressions of gnashing teeth, while half-formed arms reach out of the now turbulent pool, grasping towards the Abyssal with clawed fingers even as they begin to decay and fall apart. This is what it was afraid of? This collection of pathetic weaklings without a will between them?
The Abyssal gestures, and one of the scavengers flits towards it, before sinking its teeth deep into The Abyssals side, swelling as it drinks deeply from the blue blood within. The Abyssal winces, feeling itself grow weaker as the blood drains from its body. It commands the rest of the scavengers to turn upon themselves, and they do so in an orgy of violence, scraps of torn flesh falling into the lake and further exciting the presences within. The victors shortly emerge, their scarred bodies fat from the flesh of their comrades. The abyssal gives them another command, and they land upon the coral and begin to warp, their eel-like bodies growing squatter and wider, as fins begin to protrude from their sides and thicker armour forms around their head.
An imperfect imitation. But enough. The Abyssal thinks, before it commands the scavenger feeding upon it to stop, giving its bloated belly an appraising look. This will be enough of a gift to its kin. Enough of that sensation, that moment of awakening. A sensation like this, the thoughts of something as it gains a self... What would happen if that was returned to the origin
The Abyssal grins as the scavenger dives into the centre of the lake, which immediately falls still for a single moment, before erupting into activity once more, far more violent than moments before, all centred around the point the scavenger entered as everything lurking within the lake tries frantically to reach it.
For one, it gives me a distraction. The Abyssal thinks, as it releases it's grip on its handhold and allows itself to fall into the lake, back to the origin waiting just beneath its briny surface.
