The first thing Hiroshi felt was the heat.
It wasn't his heat. It was the radiant, pressurized warmth of the three heroes as they began their transformation into Avatars. From deep within the suffocating layers of the void, Hiroshi's consciousness, which had been reduced to a flickering ember, began to spark.
He was a prisoner in his own skull.
When the three heroes started their chant, the sheer volume of divine mana acting on the room served as a smelling salt to his drowned mind. For hours, or maybe it was only minutes, time didn't exist in the darkness, he had been a passenger.
He had watched through the "Vertical Slit" of his own eyes as if looking through a narrow, distorted window. He had felt the "Monster" persona take over, a cold, calculating machine made of shadow and hunger.
He felt the Kenji's first strike, it was just a projectile to be redirected. To the human Hiroshi, it was an agonizing scream of light that burned his retinas.
