He had the strange sensation of being looked down upon-from an unfathomable height, from an entirely different level of existence. Intense discomfort churned within him, yet he sensed not the slightest malice.
Any creature in that situation would have understood one thing instinctively. Even a stupid, foul-smelling worm would have known it could be erased with ease, and that the other party simply had not done so.
An intense sense of suffocation persisted throughout.
It left his mind somewhat dazed, but he also knew the suffocation was not the main cause of that daze. Rather, all these forms of discomfort were consequences, not causes affecting one another.
Gradually, he became so dazed that he could no longer sense the passage of time.
At one point, he even thought that if this continued, he might reach some strange state in which he could no longer perceive his own existence. He had no idea what that would bring. He only knew that the slightest thought of it filled him with fear.
And so fear joined the torment.
He did not know how much time passed.
Creak!
Ruger's eyes snapped wide open. He lurched upright, nearly tumbling off the recliner, and the force of his movement made the Old Recliner give a piercing creak.
His mouth gaped open as he expelled a breath, then drew another in sharply. He repeated this several times, unable to stop.
It was an instinctive craving, a craving from the depths of his life itself. Reason told him he had not been suffocating to death, yet he could hardly control himself. The prolonged torment had left a deep imprint, as though he needed to draw all the air in the Library into his chest.
Only after quite some time did he fully settle down.
When he looked beside