Soaring out of the swirling pool of pus, Thomel swam desperately through what he pretended was just a pond.

A trio of spinal tendrils plunged into the eye to help aid him, grabbing onto his limbs and forcefully pulling him out.

Gasping in the harsh air and the ever-present irradiated dust, Thomel opened his eyes and stared up at the still-dead sky.

The grotesque tendrils were surprisingly soft, it was probably how they had so much dexterity.

It took nearly half a minute for his God to place him down on the ground, he felt the passage of time far more keenly than when it’d taken him up though he couldn’t tell if it was because some of the shock had worn off or if it’d gotten higher.

Gingerly letting go of him, the colossus stared down at him with an unending number of unblinking, giant eyes, many of which didn’t even have eyelashes or sockets.

Grabbing clumps of dust and rock powder, Thomel rubbed it just above and below his eyes, scrapping away hunks of the foul pus and optical fluids.

Once he was done he looked up, meeting the gaze of one of the God's eyes.

“So what now?” He asked his new master.

“Now you must walk away from the shackles, they’ve been cast off but they’re still nearby. Leave them and embrace freedom.”

“Wh-” Thomel started and then paused. “How?” he questioned instead. There was no point in trying to understand what something so far beyond humanity truly meant when it was already struggling to converse with him.

“Consume the shards.” The chorus of voices stated in their sing-song manner of speaking.

Obeying, Thomel unravelled the knot he’d made with the rope and opened up the sack, taking out one of the books and cracking it open to reveal the throbbing goop inside.

Concerned about contaminating it, he lifted the book up to his face, intending on using it as a bowl to drink the shard.

“Stop.” The voices called out poetically.

With the book pressed to his lips, Thomel slowly lowered it and looked back up at the God with lifted eyebrows.

“Wrong words, different idea. Open your chest as I did and push the shard into your heart.”

Thomel’s lifted eyebrows were joined by widened eyes.

“You want me to cut open my chest, force apart my ribs, then stuff this shard into my heart?” Thomel said in disbelief.

“Yes.” The voices eagerly replied

Pushing down his discomfort, Thomel nodded his head and slowly took his shirt.

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“There's no other way?” He quietly begged

“None that you'll understand.”

“Try?”

“We did and you almost broke.”

“Can you give me some of those painkillers at least? Or do this yourself? If I do this I'm passing out and without your help dying!”

“it has to be you. Worry not, duty will keep your hands steady and mind clear.”

Resigning himself to his fate, Thomel brought the shiv up to his chest and pressed down lightly on his sternum.

A droplet of crimson blood slid down the sharpened tip and dyed his fingers red.

It stung but it was nowhere near enough. Looking up at his uncaring God one final time and receiving no sympathy. He continued the operation.

With a short thrust he slid the handles edge nearly an inch into his skin and carved it downwards, rendering a long line down his chest.

He wasn't able to spend any time recovering his breath since the wound was already beginning to clot, so with little preparation, he stuck his fingers into the wound and pulled at the flesh.

Tearing chunks of his skin and meaty muscle away and exposing his mediastinum to the cruel air was agony but it didn't feel important.

He was in horrible pain but it was painful that could be ignored. Like stepping on a sharp thistle bush.

Sawing away at his mediastinum he reached his organs and after peeling away a few layers of tissue he had a clear route to his fanatically beating heart.

Opening the cover of one of the books he grabbed the gelatinous blob inside and shoved it into his chest cavity.

Pulping it with his fists and mushing it onto his dying heart.

It was such a serral and agonizing thing to do but all that pain was overshadowed by the knowledge that this had to be done.

This fortitude of purpose gave him strength and allowed him to endure the mind-numbingly horrendous ritual he was going through.

Mushing the shard into his vital organ felt like he was electricing himself with a cattle prod.

He didn't even know what he was riding to accomplish but after a brief few seconds, his heart began to absorb the shard.

And a surge of pure lightning flowed through his body. Lighting him up like a festive ornament.

The only reason he didn't collapse to the ground was because his muscles were locked in place by the overwhelming current.

He smelt something burnt as he stayed in place, letting his regeneration stitch his body back together and bring him back from the brink of death.

Tearing at his newly regrown flesh and re-opening the tunnel to his heart, he undid much of the progress his hard-working body had made and picked up another book.

Opening up he pulled out the shard and with less hesitation this time, drove it into his heart.

This one felt like he was clutching a giant ember and once he’d absorbed it, a wave of fire swept through his body.

In an instant, his veins went from transporting normal blood to feeling like they were transporting molten lava around his entire body.

Without the electricity to paralyse him, he collapsed to his knees in silent agony, staring up at his ever-morphing God.

The only thing keeping him from screaming was the lack of a pair of lungs, those had been burned away, as were his nerves after a few seconds of utter torture.

The following minute was therefore rather merciful, the fire shard turned out to be far less painful than the electrical one long-term.

Pins and needles jabbed into every fibre of his being as the regeneration began to overtake the damage dealt, trying to not focus on the uncomfortable feeling he breathed in deeply in an attempt to mediate.

That was a mistake as all he could smell was the scent of cooked meat. Soon that smell faded and was replaced by the corrupted odour of the scarred air.

He knew it was time to move on to the other seven now and so with reluctance and a desire to get it over with, he opened the third book, not even giving himself the time needed to properly recover.