But he was more interested in what was happening inside his own head. A strange and continuous experience; consciousness.

It was much more interesting than this place; where he was; if he could walk the corridors – a strange image/thought, he thought – of his own mind, he wondered what he might find... there. Behind these doors, at intervals – for there were doors.

He thought, momentarily, he saw these corridors – that he could even see them – and those; and perhaps even something of what was behind them; briefly, upon that plane. – As if he had imposed it there – but this was a strange imagination, a fantasy. – Yes, it was certainly the case that he had retained certain abstract notions; apparently – even irrational fears – perhaps they didn't leave.

And really only what had left – was his life and who he was.

He saw certain things in that instant – but he shut himself off to them. He stood, eyes closed, despite what he heard even, in order to fight with his mind in some fashion to make it reveal –

He saw again those corridors, but – it hurt him, he was imposing something, he was forcing something upon – but it hurt him; it hurt him desperately – searing in fact his mind –

that –

Something there, but he –

he stopped, he ceased; he had to, he couldn't; there was no way that he could –

He stopped.

It made him hurt worse.

His head.

Even language; became, something not very fluid like. – It was. – It was harder and it hurt. In a fashion that might even be permanent. Whatever this was or – who?

He could do some serious damage fighting with himself.

Figures in the distance fighting – clouds of fire, even screams and tribulation, reached him on the wind.

It was some kind of raised, flat entrance place – he said to himself in his own mind; the mind that – he could lose himself in constant reflections; interminable ones, of this kind, he recognised, even now.

He knew even right away that this was pointless, anyway – there were actually events in reality confronting him, even if somehow they seemed less pressing.

A brief explosion between – could be – human beings;

– kicked. him. out. his. head.

It was a plateau, area, of some kind of entrance, atop a hill; behind which a sheer cliff. – On this raised plateau, some kind of dome behind. This event – it was obviously some kind of combat, even magical, though perhaps merely explosive. He increased his pace, and set out toward it.

Why not, it was clearly –

And then a strange idea infiltrated his head.

He didn't know who he was, and this was clearly happening – but some, vast, strange, concept, sat inside him. Only outlined; only hinted. But desperately, and in relation to him, specifically him, strange.

It was centred in some sense upon the centrality of his consciousness, in connection to – not just these events – that he was witnessing and quickly approaching, but something too in terms of the nature of –

And this made no sense.

Story –

But not.

Nothing quite so... banal – something strange in it –

Maybe even wrong.

Immoral. Maybe even twisted, corrupted, ruined – despicable even, but really.

And wrong.

– Something darker than this plain sat on him.

Something so dark that –

He didn't want these, thoughts, and in fact; he focused on what he was currently witnessing in order to –

He rejected them –

Something so dark a mind could kill itself in response –

Two women and three children; tall, strangely tall, but obviously children, and two attractive, one middle-aged, the other not – women; they were fighting, holding off in some fashion –

Demons.