Noah breathed heavily, and his existence drank on!
More and more of the rivers poured into him, and he had a word for them now, or nearly one. Negative Immensity.
That was what these endless currents of snow carried, slivers of it, the power the hollow Night Lifeforms had wielded against him, the thing that let them render their shapes and bend reality so terribly inside their bounds.
It was Immensity turned inside out, hollowed and cold, and it was flowing into his Root without pause.
His existence buzzed with the possibilities of it. One had risen first. He had taken it, and ten had risen. He had taken them, and now the question remained. How many more were about to rise?
His Root did not feel finished drinking. Not yet. He could feel it, still reaching, still swallowing the winter, still not done becoming whatever it was becoming. He looked down, past his own feet, across the endless frozen underworld to the seated ranks below.
"Motherfucker..."
