It had been nearly a millennium since he last felt an embrace, the feeling both distant and vague - like oak trees through thick fog or of remote figures in dark nights. Yet now he could feel; the warm, soft touch of something, smothering him; comforting some flickers of uneasy fire that he thought had long been extinguished. How was this possible? He knew that he wasn't nearly the biggest human in the continent, but he was easily considered both very tall by anyone. What kind of monstrosity could do this? A Spirit Beast? But it would have to be large and not-aggressive, both hugely unlikely and slightly laughable.

Then he notices the pitch black in which he viewed the world, and then the pounding headache that beat painfully. He tried to open his eyes, but nothing happens. He tries again, this time managing to twitch some previously unknown muscle, but still to no avail. He then tries to move his limbs, but they were limp and useless; no movement there. The headache got worse, twisting his mind - squeezing it, crushing it with pain. He then tries any means to move, shuffling, squirming, trying to get some sort of grasp on his environment or be rid of this headache. Whatever he does, he barely moves but feels the impressions of soft limbs under him.

Then he hears the soft voice. It whispered gently to him, the words unintelligible, but gentle nonetheless. The crushing headache makes it impossible to concentrate for long - everything hazy and unforgivingly hard to grasp. He squirms again, and it again the voice comforts him, but even in its gentleness, he could hear some quietly suppressed panic. It continues to murmur, the sounds softly echoing in his ears, its honey-like, delicately sweet song comforting him. Though he could not make out the words, he could tell that it was distinctly female with its high(er) pitch and tone. Was it human? Impossible, yet the other options of Spirit Beasts seemed just as impossible.

Then he hears again. Not the warm, honey-like murmurs, but a sharp, piercing shriek. He flinches, his ears burning in pain, his head in splitting agony and squirms violently. The voice comes back again, hushing him in that delicate whisper but the screams continued on. Then all is quiet, for a few seconds, then more screams pierced his ears. The foul noise dragged on, scraping like chalk across a blackboard, or the screechings of markers upon whiteboards. He feels something tighten around him, holding him closer and tighter - tighter, and tighter still! Then he hears steps. Quiet steps, but steps nonetheless. He feels his body rise, and fall, while the steps rapidly sounded. He hears something above him, breathing, faster and faster - quickening with the steps and got deeper and heavier and louder and stronger!

Pitter Patter,

More shrieks, more screams, but distinctly quieter than the ones before. And they got quieter still, and the steps quickened and breathing fastened until they were a mere echo in the distance. The constant up and downs with the rapid movements did not do well for his headaches, climbing again to impossible levels of pain; ravaging his mind and twisting it in pure anguish.

Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter.

He still hears the same rapid steps, but now he hears another set of them; a different rhythm, distant and vague, but still there.

Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter.

Both speed up, faster, the rhythm ascending in both speed and volume. The headache rages on, a firestorm fueled by the very noises of the world. The other steps draw closer, now distinctly louder, bolder and clearer than before. He hears the close terror-stricken voice - the sound of a cornered mouse's last gamble, last resistance.

Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter. 

Though blind, half deaf, and gripped with pain, he could feel the enormous tension in the air, a wound string ready to be snapped, a compressed spring ready to be fired. More steps, more breathing, faster yet faster! The headache goes wilder - the tension burning it more painfully than ever. He feels the sweat dripping from his face, his back, damping whatever he was wearing.

Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter, Pitter Patter.

The steps closed in, rapidly drawing closer and closer while the voice goes hoarse with horror. He couldn't take it anymore. The metronomic steps painfully irritating, the voice cruelly terrorizing and movements mixing it all into a storm of anguish and gripping horror. The storm twists faster, burning his head, ascending into a crescendo of pain and suffering and crushing misery...

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Then there was white.

Then there was black.

-

The next time he woke there was no sweet voice, no warming embrace, but the cold, bare touch of cloth. It was indeed the same clothes he had felt when he was with the voice, but it felt devoid of the warm, familial feeling. The headache had finally passed ("Thank the heavens!"), and he finally had the ability to organize his mind - to evaluate what had happened. The fight, the steps, the voice - truly, what had happened? '

'Did I, Tang Jun, die?' He wondered to himself. 'I should have, but that can't be. I can still think, move, even... hear?' He moved his hand, and when it fell he heard the relieving thump, Tang Jun smiled to himself.

Tian Jun had no qualms about dying in particular, and when you get to as old and experienced as he had been, you would tangle and scrape with death with every attack or moment. But this situation was so bizarre that Tang Jun had a hard time realizing and putting it together.

'Who was the voice? What was the voice? The steps and screams, why did they happen?'

Questions, questions, questions, but no answers. He could barely think while the headache raged, and the tiny amount information he gathered was useless without a bigger picture. Tang Jun again tried to open his eyes, without luck and wriggled what he could of his body. There was no longer the soft impressions of limbs, but a spongy, bed-like surface which cushioned his body. Tian Jun also felt the movement of something hard, stone like swinging from his neck. It was cold to the touch, but it contained the familiar feeling of the voice. He was even more confused, his mind feeling heavy and tired.

'Now I'm on a... bed? Do Spirit Beasts have beds? Or was it now a human? And is that a stone on my neck? What is going on?'

Thinking and more thinking made Tang Jun's felt even more tired, his body losing energy to the soft, cushiony surface sucking him in.

'What's going to happen? A kidnapping, some miraculous savior or...'

Tang Jun's mind lost all focus for a second, as heavy sleep threatened to seep in.

'... or some benevolent God?' He finished tiredly.

He let his mind rest 'for a second', he told himself, but the drowsiness relentlessly gripped him and did not let go. He tried to keep his mind occupied, trying to recall as much as possible of the voice, cultivating the Mysterious Heaven Skill (to his surprise did nothing) or anything that he thought would stall its arrival.

'nnn... don't go... to... sleep... so... comfortable... no...'

His pleas were in vain. In a span of a few minutes, he was in deep, dreamless sleep.

-

His mind floated here and there over the next couple sessions of consciousness. Every time he woke up he would think intensely about everything, scrambling about his mind to arrange things, remembering things, see if any mental damage has occurred, and every time in minutes, he would fall dead asleep by overexertion. Tang Jun continued to try to open his eyes, move his body, until one, exhilarating day, he strenuously managed open his eyes and let the light into his world.

He saw a sharp light, a flood of gray, intense darkness contrasting the sheer brightness of the room. Colors flooding in, brilliantly lighting up the world, stinging his eyes from the sudden difference and piercing his pupils in pain and light and -

Tang closed his eyes. That was too much in too little time; he needed time to adjust to his new found light. He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and carefully took in the light. He saw a gray room, a marble carved window hanging to the right, the sun shining brilliantly illuminating the room, the blue skies, and white clouds as calm and still as ever, and a... crib and two tiny hands...?

He jerked upwards, startled, then moved his hands up and down, left and right. The two tiny hand also moved up and down, left and right, copying his exact movements.

'...Huh?' Tang Jun thought. 'What are these...?'

He moved his hands again, clenching his hand, then releasing it. The tiny hands seemingly maliciously copied, shocking him and making him even more confused (if that was at all possible at this point).

'Uhh... okay....'

Tang Jun turned his hands, wiggled his fingers, twisting them - whatever he could think of, the hands followed suit.

'No, no, no, no, no...'

The hands did not agree, copying everything and everything he did.

'Why am I so small? What devilish art is this!? Or am I hallucinating, or am I dead?'

Tang Jun was very logical and inquisitive by nature, and he explored all possible options before deciding on the most plausible one, but in a case like this where every possible option is shrouded by uncertainty and as impossible as the rest, Tang Jun had only speculation to ponder or give. He pinched himself (the tiny hands did as they were commanded), and Tang Jun felt the sharp pain that served its duty of reminding him of reality.

'So I'm not hallucinating...' He didn't know whether to be delighted or to be frightened by this, but then he realized another possibility.

'Perhaps it's a really deep illusion...'

Tang Jun knew a few powerful illusionist Spirit Master's in the Douluo Empires, who would use illusions to trap enemies into attacking their allies, tormenting them with traumatic memories, or just generally breaking their spirit and mentality. They were few and far in between, but would easily and effectively serve as a support master, offensive master, or control master and could fit in with basically any formation. The likelihood of one doing this, however, is just as low and impossible as the other options. Why would a high-level Spirit Master who specializes in illusions, find him/save his life, then trap him into an illusion of being a baby?

It was indeed quite a ridiculous idea, but when it came down to it all, they all were just as, if not even more ridiculous.

This was not fun.

Not at all.