Some change, inherent, in the fake-souls – they couldn't see; evidently – even as far as he could – it indicated: The Eye, he'd been seen.

A turquoise, a green, an orange, a purple, and a golden sheet of undulating quadrates; something in the turnings, something in their wriggling, along their surfaces, showed him what they wanted to be.

What they were, or the bodies they sought – or what they had been. A hunched weird female form, in the orange one; a bent over half bovine entity half chimp clambered in the waves indicating its aspirant being; all visible in the purple, basic corpse shapes visible in the rest, but only fleetingly – only occasionally to indicate perhaps the left over shape of what the fake-souls had once – or were to – time was here meaningless – inhabited/inhabit.

The Eye and the World That Saw it, and the creatures visible in undulating orthogonal waves, made of the various quadrates that formed them, flat, two-dimensional between two-dimensional spaces – met.

And –

Seeing them he knew how to kill them.

But –

The orange hunched female quadratic wave – really a fake-soul; only a fake-soul – expanded her matter – if it even was that – to form an encompassing barrier that sought to completely surround him, blocking even the other demons back from simultaneously attacking.

At this distance he saw the distance, and here, saw, what it, in reality – the usual premise – premises – was:

He saw the final reality of demonic reality. He saw that this space wasn't infinite at all. – It was fake infinity made merely from repetitions. These beings were finite. This space was. They had nothing; they had nothing with which to – even talk to him; they could offer nothing but this final realm of deceit – here, anyway, here, in this space – in Final Demonic Reality.

It was here he had discovered the final truth of them – they weren't at their strongest, in fact, here – it was here that they were most weak.

Because past these demons he saw the – truth. He saw it. There.

He was the walls. He was the walls seeing the Eye. He saw the Eye that he had been reduced to: pure observation.

He was observation the same time observation on observation.

Infinite regression – infinitely back.

Repeating regressions; in concentric circles that pulled – in and further down.

They pulled infinitely inside something unable to support it.

Inside something that necessarily ruptured under the weight of that.

Infinitely down.

The Eye went forward.

A fake infinity, only a circle. – From single units of demonic repetition. Panels. They were called. Each repeating unit he processed through in one unity of spacetime.

Final ontology reality blocks.

And each block was an infinite regression; each block was merely a cycle/circle made from fake repetitions down.

And being the Eye and the World that Saw it he saw in units; the panel in which the demon stood. Saw that it was repeated out to from a segment in this fake infinity forward, which was not forward, which was only infinite regression, down:

Infinity made from repetition segments; forming an inner circle down; the demon only the space in which it resided. The demon: infinite regression – this infinity, the only eternity available to them; infinitely inward; infinitely down, pulled – infinitely in/

inside an emptiness that could not support – that which – was pulled into it.

When the Eye and the World that Saw it saw the final reality in which the demon stood. He –

Saw reality at it:

A corridor out the Eye of the Eye and the World that Saw it directed a blocky wave down; intersecting with the reality-panel in which it stood. Undulating, orange, hunched, quasi-feminine, an indication of something like flowing hair: in those sick undulations there was a – soul, a fake one, that still pined for –

The miniature corridor flying out the eye intersected the panel and replaced fake-repetition reality with a hard block of final inarguable reality. He saw it there. But he had not put it there.

This firing of miniature corridors out of his Eye like projectiles, wasn't anything like how it appeared. Because that reality was already there, necessarily – it was merely that its being seen in this fashion, replaced out the fake repetition reality operating over the top of it; no difference between this and the space and the demon itself.

When the corridor out the Eye and the World that Saw it intersected the demon, the corridor segment itself which it occupied, was replaced out, and beneath, the infinite regression was revealed: in an infinitely repeating spiral down, the fake soul regressed into anyway what it already was: nothing.

And –

The fake-soul sunk into the absolute.

Screaming.

A corridor out his Eye intersected the demon back behind, replacing out the fake repetition panel of demonic corridor reality with a hard block – this was how it appeared; this was a mode of understanding it – merely seeing what was already there;

Seeing the thing upon which this fakeness was imposed. Out of reality it sunk in regressing circles beneath, screaming. He saw it absorbed into the absolute in agonies of forcing the demonic out of any relationship to deceit; into final unutterable truth, which process for the demonic there was nothing more painful than.

And he didn't know how or even in what sense. Even with what organ. He heard its agonising scream.

The bovine undulating half chimp quadratic fake-soul demonic being thing retreated back behind. But his merely seeing what was really there, dissolved it in an internal implosion – in a mini-corridor flying projectile fashion from his Eye.

[an absorbing/replacing sound-effect accompanying; for reasons he couldn't absorb]

And –

The demon was reduced out of Final Demonic Reality into the truth of the final regression beneath in which it truly resided; no deceit left even from itself, in infinitely regressing spirals, down/inward/down/inward/down/inward/down.

Two hundred/eight hundred/ten thousand demons approached – an army of half-indicated varicoloured, undulating waves; of orthogonal shapes; invisible on the side – two dimensional fake-soul entities:

He saw what was really there and consequently those things were infinitely regressed out of all deceit into absolute nothing.

And after the destruction finally of ten thousand fake souls.

The Eye and the World that Saw it – saw what was really there.

He saw what was not fake. He saw –

The Eye and the World that Saw it saw what was really there.

He saw it was not just as a weapon, not just as a way out, it was –

– It was but – him?

There being nothing else on the horizon, merely being two beings set between grids toward; they proceeded, at first in silence; merely being in relationship to place – and what that did to their respective interiors.

The King in Grids and Mind and the Golden Bow by him, set out towards the dungeon at the end of the corridor-plane. At first over corpses and then merely between planes of the semi-transparent – penetrable in terms of the individual reality-segments – grid-barriers that had descended on a world.

This environment forced them into pathways there was no alternative to; toward merely dungeons teeming with demons led by a duke of them; a former Cyclops who was merely the first in an aristocratic tier that led all the way in an infernal hierarchy towards. The

Monarch.

A name flashed through him that he did not light upon – a title – forcing his consciousness out the second it did – the Demon

Queen of Hortag –

Monarch.

But –

And he was merely seeing the plane before him and the strangely flat turning away edifice, an illusion in two dimensions, or a structure merely projected – it made no difference whether the thing itself was a deception of deception – or whether or not this was its reality:

there were demons inside subterranean mazes, and he had to kill them in there. – And this was enough respite from the perturbation in his soul. And the pain. And the source of it he longed more than anything to remain ignorant of – or not exist; or not exist; or not exist – this, he could do this or not exist.

He felt his mind operate between the grids that had descended. As if he had been made for this. As if the grids themselves were part of that mind – that his exterior world and that interior were exactly the same thing. Despite his pain, his ignorance here, and only here, was his salvation.

His ignorance was set between planes, his not knowing was rendered sacred here. In fact this whole sick world; this whole compulsively reduced universe, into straight line easy parallels of understanding, of simply moving forward and repetition, here, his ignorance – which was the opposite of his unidentified pain and the same time the thing that held it in abeyance, was rendered holy.

There being no barrier between his exterior and his interior, here, in fact, this place was ignorance, a great ignorance before, a great not knowing. – But as a concept even, and he didn't even know how much of this playing through him, how much of this was even his thoughts – but it was ignorance, not mystery.

It was a not knowing that was only meaningful in terms of the gird; in terms of the compulsive repetitious planes he processed through, only in terms of its being a kind of respite from, and a solution to... knowing.

It was confused. Just like he was. It was just that there was no separation between his interior and his exterior. The grids were in his mind, were his mind; he hardly knew.

He went forward. Approaching that turning away edifice and what it contained. Toward. Inside – greater respite in greater death. Greater distraction in greater repetition; greater release in greater quantities of blood; of gore; of the slick organs he'd toss at the walls – panels – smearing them with it.

He would kill them, and let the pain slay him.