The words of THE Beholder were always heavy to hear.
But right now, Noah seemed to be hearing them in passing, as if they were distant echoes rather than direct address. He was lost in the sensation of utilizing all Four Aspects of the Oldest Paradox of Existence simultaneously.
Chaos bloomed around him in that black dahlia of obsidian rivers.
Existence rotated above his left hand as that multicolored Dyson sphere of Civilization.
THE First Tongue stretched behind him as that endless Grimoire of Phonemes.
Paradox twisted through impossible geometry as that gold and obsidian Mobius strip.
All of it powered by Infinity that emanated from his finite form like light from a star.
And as he maintained this ridiculous display, he actually felt some form of strain. A sensation that came from something he had not actively sensed since he made his admission.
The strain came from his Depth.
