South smiled. All of him. His innumerable maws twisted in expectation, licking their lips and devouring the sight of Wolf tearing his bindings. Then, the little guy grew faint and collapsed.

“IN THE END, YOU FAILED TO SHATTER YOUR SHACKLES,” the insane chorus screamed as his jaws distorted in disappointment.

“AGAIN,” he added as an afterthought.

“I CANNOT COMPLAIN. I TRIED HELPING YOU BREAK FREE SO MANY TIMES. THROUGH SO MANY LIVES... MAYBE THESE ACCIDENTAL OBSESSIONS REALLY WILL HELP YOU—”

The black mass shifted, perceiving distant torment. New smiles bloomed, replacing trillions of disappointed grimaces as he squeezed a cockroach.

“AT LEAST YOU WOUNDED IT THIS TIME.” One of South’s few perverse joys in life was seeing the incubo, the custodian of dreams and this world’s steward, writhe in pain. “IT WILL SLUMBER FOR A YEAR OR TWO TO RECOVER. UNFORTUNATELY, IT HAS THAT SKYLING’S LIMB.

“STILL, IN THIS DILATED TEMPORAL FLOW, YOU SHOULD HAVE TWENTY YEARS OF FREEDOM. YOU HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO GROW UNOBSTRUCTED, LITTLE BROTHER.”

South crushed the roach, sending yet another messenger into reincarnation.