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0 The Deep Astral |
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The Tome of Gateways—though tangled in arcane threads and locked in the merciless hovering weave of the Astral Plane—beckoned Gale like a lover. |
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And how very fitting. |
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How he’d torn through the strands with a desperate cry akin to the height of passion. |
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How he'd continued on despite the unbearable pull of his soul to the Material, which sought to tear him from those heights. |
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He would return all that was lost. There was nothing in all the realms that mattered more. |
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Gale pressed onward, the Weave singing in his veins, and fought against the Astral current. |
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With a ting, the final braid majestically unraveled. |
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The Tome, yet untouched, opened suddenly. |
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An empty page. |
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An overwhelming peal of dread. |
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A swirling mass of absolute blackness. |
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With extraordinary quickness the mass lunged for him, striking him dizzy in the center of his chest. |
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An unrelenting myriad of unexplainable visions rushed through his consciousness like a flood. |
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Gale clutched at his heart in agony. |
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The mass shoved itself unforgivingly through his sternum, filling him up as though he were a cavernous, empty vessel. |
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Ever-wanting. |
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Ever-hungry. |
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He could not escape. The dark energy bound him in place as terror took hold. |
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Something in the Weave had twisted and tangled, wound tighter and tighter as he writhed. |
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The Tome, at once, slammed shut. |
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The fraying knot in the Weave snapped. Gale felt it like a limb. |
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He screamed and screamed and screamed.
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