Little girls ran around the circular room dressed in bright, flowery attire – the serpentine designs on their garments seeming to swirl and morph into varieties of diffuse, protean images as Wella sat, immobilized, strapped with leather thongs upon a large and gleaming black-painted chair in the center of the chamber, fastened with innumerable instruments of bondage upon that horrific throne, terror-forged within the most insane and blasphemous nether-regions of the astral plane.

He, himself, naked and thoroughly exposed – being most vilely penetrated from below with a strange apparatus and silenced from above with a translucent, seemingly living, rubber-coated restraint which covered his mouth and, through the auspices of a sinisterly-placed insert, prohibited him from hardly any movement in that region leaving him, to a markedly increasing degree, choking – choking on his very own spittle, incapable of draining in the natural fashion, thus, draining down his own throat, causing his chest to convulse as the fluid seeped down into the passages of his lungs in pain-filled spasms.

The eyes of the girls seemed to, increasingly, take on an inhuman appearance, widening and eyeing him, coyly, with the appearance of calves as they spun, faster and faster, in widdershins, through which his hallucinatory vision seemed to take on the shape of a non-differential stream of colors, shapes and brief ascertaining of individual figures, careening ever-faster in a left-ward circular fashion, blearingly and increasingly non-comprehensibly present in his most certainly incomprehensible state of bondage.

An explosion rent an opening in the space on the wall opposite of him and through that opening came a woman who both seemed old and young – brittle yet pliable – a crone and an untouched virgin all the same. A shapeshifter. Alternating her appearance between that of a human girl, that of a human (if transgressively so) old crone of a female, that of a faceless vinyl and leather-clad horror whose sex could not be readily ascertained by any human comprehension.

The being manifested drew from a thick and brutal belt a long, willowy, yet threateningly thick wand-shaped instrument and waved it in a quick, downwards, left-turning fashion in the direction of the rent from which she had entered. The rent closed. First, leaving a pulsating seeming scar then, a vague trace of structural damage and then, so quickly in fact, nothing at all. It turned, in its last, sexless manifestation, toward him, the clicking of its sadistic boots echoing ever and yet ever closer towards him in his bound domicile.

With a slow and predatory gesture she lowered the wand to his naked core, pressing upon the area of his solar plexus. His own physical, life-blood, flowed, in reverse current, out from his veins, draining from his heart, into the instrument of torture which she wielded and, as the draining commenced, he could feel and see with sickening observation his veins collapsing and blackening, the path of collapse spreading out from his solar plexus toward the extremities of his body.

The entity lifted its wand-shaped instrument and swirling, crimson-colored filaments could be seen dancing upon its tip – the shaft of which seemed to gleam with an overly full, overly sensual texture, being filled with his living essence, prior to replacing it into the slot on its belt. From the area where the little girls were dancing, now appearing as simply a dangerous swirling mass of blurring colors, came the sound of thousands upon hundreds-of-thousands of layered and diverse voices. Some deep, commanding, exhorting – some screaming, hideous, insane – some pleading, crying, begging for recourse and others simply giggling, screeching with a blasphemous and horrid glee.

Wella felt the chamber begin to fill increasingly with the unmistakable scent of expanding ozone, like one would smell when standing upon an open field as formidable thunderstorms approached. Both inserts penetrating him from above and below began to enlarge themselves upon telepathic command of the entity before him, pushing him toward an ever increased state of violation. The myriad restraints holding him, tightened.

The vinyl and leather-clad horror pointed with a long gloved finger toward the swirling mass and spoke in a non-gendered robotic voice yet filled with cunning.

“Those are the ones that you summoned in the ritual – the ones that you desired to enter you through invocation. Now you shall experience the breakthrough which you have so long sought.”

A snap of her fingers and the swirling entities in their circular composition began to close in upon the area where he sat immobile upon his throne of torment as the inserts began to move further and further inward, causing blazing and mind-shattering pain along with the burning sensation of his now collapsed-veins, spread like worthless black tributaries of a dark sea across his physical frame.

The entity before him began to levitate into the air, above and beyond the swirling mass of entities bent on permanent intrusion and, for a moment, in a lightning-flash of acute clarity, he could see himself outside of himself in his genuine stature as he now existed – a starved, emaciated and naked being – alone – lying, in fetal position, in a small metal cage on a strange, remote and alien planet millions of universes away – a vast black and star-filled sky threatening from above and an oxygen-deprived harsh and alien atmosphere oppressing him from all around. That was all that remained of his old self, his root identity before the split – what now inhabited his physical body and the comportment of the same was yet to be seen, however, from the nature of the entities who now intruded, the insightful should begin to come to certain conclusions.