Day 4
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It is the day of Tericon. The sun is a simmering orange peel along a dewey fall sky. Dr C. and Dr B. travel through reptile scale-lined corridors. "Now to hold up our end of the bargain." says Dr. C. "The... Walls (if such they be) are crawling with... geometric hallucinations" their contact utters from the shadows of a dim corridor to their left, echoing in hollow tunnels. He's the bearer of the yellow sign. "Our long trudge through the Forest of Despair & Debt is today, huh?" Dr. B, says to C. "We do need to make sure we secure passage with a reliable sub." replies the good Dr. B. "Too bad these corridors are so lively with their Theli-Vril around here, this city of Ahxageg can be swampy and humid." Meanwhile their contact, Ikipr, is having trouble scoring a properly fueled mini-sub to meet them in the digistral-meat locale. He immerses himself in the timeline signal and drowns in it's steep coursing rhythm, searching for secure strategies of escape.
In the same corridors as that B. & C. are traversing, 943.5 shadowwalks the unseen landscapes feeding into the pools of Athiel. He approaches the vile beast, Target184, and picks off the the head furthest to the right with an anachronistic broadcasting device tuned to loathsome tone. The shuggothian beast lets out a horrible shriek and confirms it's own death with retroactive death cry. It's shadowself still swivels about the bloody neck, a shade of matter, broken vessel incapable of even holding the angst which fueled it. Bio-circuitry wires everywhere in a messy stain of red and green. 943.5 fucking bolts barely avoiding the gnarly teeth of the middle head of the beast, adorned with a single horn and lion's maine. He ducks down into a dank corridor in the Lilithian portal sewers. "This job needs to quit taking me to such shitty spots" he thinks.