Floating… he felt like he was floating in a vast, freezing cold emptiness. Milo didn’t think he was unconscious… he could feel the freezing chill of the dark void surrounding him. Was he in that weird floating ovoid? For some reason… he didn’t think that he was. Milo felt as if he were going somewhere… and he had no idea as to where that was. There was a feeling of speeding through the void, though nothing indicated if that was indeed what was happening. There was no air resistance or anything, he simply felt as if he were moving somewhere.

Somewhere far away.

He continued to float through the void, speeding along to his destination while trying to scream. Milo strained his voice again and again, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hear his own voice. Overwhelming fear flooded him as he began to thrash about violently, his limbs not connecting with anything in the frozen void. His body began to ache from the horrid engulfing freeze, his fingers going rigid and his skin beginning to feel as if it were being split open by the cold.

His lips began to crack open and the chill felt like little knives punching through every single pore to freeze his sweat. Was that what was splitting his skin or was it the cold by itself? Milo had no idea how freezing to death felt… he’d never been this cold in his life. The pain began to blot out most of his thoughts, his agony and terror driving him nearly mad as he began to pray desperately.

“God please…” Milo mouthed, though the words didn’t reach his own ears “God please let me go home! Lord please get me out of here!”

Not long after he uttered the prayer, the freezing cold was replaced by intense summer heat. His face suddenly met ground and he felt little blades of grass touching his freezing flesh. Milo shuddered and immediately curled in on himself, coming to lay on his side and basking in the heat of the sun as he shoved his hands into his armpits. He shut his eyes as warm tears seemingly cut furrows through the frozen skin beneath his eyelids and down his cheeks. Milo felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, and his skin felt like it had been split apart by a razor-lined whip, but the euphoria of the summer sun and the light now surrounding him mitigated his agonies.

“He is not the one we had meant to summon master Haylue,” A woman’s voice said from above him “But he is still an outworlder… will he do for our task?”

Milo opened his eyes to see two cloaked figures standing directly over him, their shadowed eyes looking him up and down in an almost… appraising fashion. Milo coughed as he tried to stand, but his frostbitten muscles seemingly refused to work, sending him crashing back to the grass when he got on all fours.

“C-call nine-one-one!” Milo urged through his teeth “Or g-get m-me a blanket!”

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Milo had no idea who these people were, but since they were speaking English that meant they should understand him. Kinda weird that he somehow ended up next to folks that could speak his language… This was Japan after all… but wait, what had the girl said? An outworlder? Summoned? The hell were they on about?

“He will do.” The other cloaked figure, his voice aged and gravelly “The master will want him in good condition however… You will have to heal him before we cast the waves.”

Milo furrowed his brow at the words as he looked up into the old man's hood. His square face was set with deep wrinkles, a long white beard coming down to cover his chest. Milo shuddered when he realized that he couldn’t fully make out the old man’ eyes… all Milo could see despite the sunlight was two bright white specks where the eyes should be…

The woman at least he could see the face of. With high cheekbones and long feathery black hair pouring down her rust colored cloak, Milo thought she might look like some kinda fancy lady at a ball had she been wearing a dress instead of those culty looking robes. Wait a minute… oh God…

These were cultists! Talking about their ‘master’ and how they would want Milo in ‘good condition’. Oh yeah, these were absolutely cultists and he needed to get the hell out of here before they fed him to their cannibalistic cult-leader. Problem was that Milo still could hardly move, and every time he adjusted himself his skin felt like it split open further. This agonizing pain elicited cries of agony from him as he writhed beneath the two cloaked strangers. Milo felt like a muscled up freezer-burnt worm as he tried to wiggle away from the two, his vision beginning to tunnel from the dizzying effort it took to simply shuffle like this.

“Ah,” The woman’s eyes met Milo’s, and he was shocked to see the crystalline purple hue they possessed “Finally, he shouldn’t have been awake this long…” She finished, turning her gaze upon the old man, Haylue.

Haylue then began stroking his snow-white beard “A good sign.” Haylue said after a moment “Marish… help him into the blackness, I wish to hurry this along.”

Milo’s eyes widened as the woman immediately darted forward, closing in on Milo with murder in her eyes. He tried to duck his head beneath his arms to stop the boot from hitting him in the jaw, but once again his muscles failed him. The tip of Marish’s boot collided with his chin, knocking his head sideways and laying him out. Spots danced in his vision and he coughed, a fresh wave of dizziness coming over him. He lifted his head from the dirt to glare at Marish, gritting his now-bloodied teeth as rage filled him.

“Not many could stay conscious after receiving a kick like that, very impressive.” She said, looking to Haylue again.

“A very good sign.” Haylue said again “The master may enjoy this body over the one we had chosen before… despite his preferences.”

Marish then grinned and turned back to stare almost giddily at Milo as she reared back her foot. Milo couldn’t even bring himself to try dodging the kick, Marish’s boot slamming it into his face and flattening Milo’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood flowed down over his face as he sputtered through split lips, his consciousness finally fading.