The cycle of death and resurrection continued with rhythm that became almost familiar in its horror.
Twenty-three times he died. Forty-seven. Seventy-two. Each death carved new understanding of pain into his consciousness, each reformation bringing him back to face the creature that had just destroyed him. The Absolute Mutated Corrupted Terror killed him with claws and teeth and Corrupted Embodiments, finding new ways to end his existence each time he returned.
But each time, he took something from it.
Assimilate. Assimilate. Assimilate!
The word became his defiance, spoken or thought in the moments before oblivion claimed him. Ninety-one deaths. One hundred and three. One hundred and nineteen. His Inner Dominion grew heavier with each cycle, territories expanding and strengthening as they integrated the Depth of an Absolute that was slowly being devoured piece by piece.
On the one hundred and twenty-third time, he noticed the creature's movements had slowed.
