Channel
***Warning for self harm, violence, blood.***
The plush chair seemed to hug his form, something he had not been very accustomed to lately, the emptiness that had been consuming him from the inside was trying to fill it's own void. Try as he might, the every-present pounding of his heart could be felt in his head and he attempted to isolate the sound's vibration in his horns, but it was no use. He channeled all he could of himself, his feelings, his emotions, his very soul into that point, desperately needing to silence the yelling of ten thousand voidsent screaming in discordant operatic melodies, giving a feeling of flesh rent from bone and tendon, but instead, applied to the inside of his mind unraveling his brain.
His blood boiled and he could feel the emptiness of the void overtaking every aspect of his senses. Mizuhiro struck out with clawed hands, and slashed at his own flesh along his chest and arms, causing rivulets of blood to follow in their destructive wake. He could feel each and every ilm as they ripped through, he dug deep enough down to part muscle from vein, expose arteries that were normally hidden. Even with as much pain and horror as it manifested in his mind, he still felt more in that moment, more than in recent memory. The blinding white hot pain that pulsed in his vision, momentarily caused the screaming of the void to get washed out, the tinnitus in his horns rang out with every sawing cut and tear. The hot drip-drip of blood tapping on the stone floor sounded like the second hand of the clock as the time of his life continued to tick on by.
There was no music, only the screams, but even with so many of them calling him home, he felt the thumping of a drum beat, the raising of another scream began to resonate separately and purposefully. The wailing began to overtake the chorus of the rest, and it's familiarity haunted him, stabbed at his heart. It was as if his entirety was spinning, round and round and over and over, causing his dizziness to increase. He needed to know where it was coming from, this low guttural growl, harmonizing on it's own with itself, with a scraping blood-curdling shriek that echoed like a bat locating it's prey in the darkest of caverns, he could feel the hard pangs of hunger welling, driving him to feed, nothing was clear, his vision all a blur... He took one step, then another, and another, and on and on...
It didn't matter where he looked, walking along the nearly empty streets of the Goblet, but there were beacons out here, signalling for him, coaxing and calling him home, like the sirens of old, demanding sacrifice of ship and sanity, to crush them both on their rocky shores. Mizu could feel the smashing of his will and rationality against the sharpest of objects, a slivered, shattered anvil, wrapped in barbed wire, ripping apart his lucidity and all reason... The rise of the chorus had matched his screaming now, pulling the ten thousand cacophonous voices into one, coordinated, identical song... The burst of white light had sprung forth in front of him, the beacon lit and answered, he bolted quick and dexterously to capture it in his arms, claws digging deep into it's flesh, along with his horns and teeth goring the entity of light, cutting it open and allowing him to feed freely on the pure fount of aether he had seized for himself.
But in few, short moments later, the song ceased, the beacon fell dim and dull, along with everything that he had been conducting, the orchestra stopped, instruments clanged to the ground. He crouched over the poor man, body now shriveled and desiccated, his aether fully removed so much that only a blood covered shell of what he had been remained. There was another scream, a mortal one this time, one that shredded vocal chords and throat-flesh in a horrific display of regret and sorrow. The Himaa dropped the corpse and stood above, tears streaming down his face along with the blood that trailed down his extremities, "No... no.... no......... no............," he continued to repeat over and over, his black-lit eyes glowed as they sought a way to escape. He was flooded with self doubt and mortification at his actions, he had been past all of this, hadn't he? He had fallen asleep, something he had been doing more and more lately, and woke up as if from a nightmare that just didn't stop when his eyes opened, and revealed the fact that he had done this, he had let himself go, allowed his weaker nature to prevail...
He could not hold back the floodgates of pain and regret, but knew he needed to run, there was no explanation for what had happened other than the obvious, and he needed to distance himself from it as soon as humanly possible. He picked up his feet, one after the other, faster and faster and finally until he found the end, he vaulted over the railing and down into the chasm, sliding with the rocks, and he prayed desperately he would not stop until he hit the abyss.