The Bellators

3:10:3

 Near pitch blackness to the naked eye, for no light could reach so deep as to breathe the depth of which it would be drowned. Silence isolated and dominant in the black space, a void detached from reality.

From the floor protrudes hard rock, jagged and coarse, eroded and weathered. Shaved over the course of centuries, today's surface would be replaced by that which resides right below, the lower layers destined to one day be in the position at the top where it would be their duty to feel the overwhelming current chip away at their bodies until they again would be replaced, and the cycle would continue as it would always by nature's law. A vicious cycle with no victory, and yet one that would be naturally maintained and enforced, unable to avoid; for to avoid it would be to suspend the current altogether, and to do such a thing would be to terminate the world that perpetuates the current.

Amongst the rocky floor resides other rocks of the same natural ecosystem although displaced, namely the huge spikes once stalactites that proudly hung from the ceiling but now sit down on the bottom floor either still facing straight down plunged into the surface or fallen on its side. The spikes are not wholly together, for chunks of rock have been bitten off the sides and for some the tips, leaving it in a state almost weathered like the floor. Some of the remnants remain large, greater than the size of man, others split although still in chunks heavy enough to sit although badly deformed, yet many have now been chaffed into pebbles spread across and only held down by other constructs.

Some of those other constructs are too jagged substances albeit unnatural but instead chunks of wreckage, segments of former walls and floors now broken into bricks the larger of which sit on the floor. Extending out from the piles of debris stand wooden shards of destroyed furniture, although furniture remains largely intact such as the majorly whole albeit heavily ripped couches and sofas that lay whether it be proper or on its head. Much of the white leather that once was the gentle cushions no longer remains, instead torn and exposing the metallic base underneath. Spread apart but titanic to much of the smaller remnants are the fragmented chrome disks many of which cut into the ground thus leaving them standing up, no longer breathing light but instead corpses of the lair. The cracks have damaged the smoothness of the material too, and sprinkled with all the dust of the scraps the chrome face appears more of a lifeless gray.

The debris at this moment in time has made the decision whether to sink or float, for there wasn't any suspended in between. What lays on the floor is majorly large and heavy, being the furniture that managed to remain mostly in one piece or at least pieces large enough on their own to still plummet. There are tables too, some of which are stuck in the piles of chunks, one of those tables being made of the black crystallic surface once smooth but now battered with edges chipped from.

Accompanying some of said tables are chairs, for while they are not that large their weights do drag them down, the metal weights visible through the torn apertures in the leather. Some lay on their back and others are stuck in between other pieces of remains, a portion of which by chance stands upright due to the suspension it's locked in, almost as though still attempting to maintain its former condition of purpose although an attempt in vain.

Far the submerged wasteland spread, far across the deep dark floor, littered with the furniture that was meant to give life to what was meant to be a home.The heaps of red theatrical seats and the large flower pots no longer served a functional distinction to rocks, the rubble mayhaps variant on shape and color but nothing more.

In the detritus of old furniture lies that which once brought the most peaceful comfort a home could bring, the wide yet slim board cushioned with a whole mattress large enough for a being to lay whole: the bed. While they vary in measurement, all of them are still luxuriously large with the smallest being king sized, the cushions risen by the head to function as pillows. Although now many of those cushions have been snagged and ripped up, no longer comfortable to lay on as there are now gaps exposing the metal underbelly, a solid support yet one that requires a cushioning layer above to be relaxing. Some of the beds lay on their sides, sandwiched between other rubble, and some are completely capsized and only exposing their metal bases. Sandwiched in a golden heap of rubble surrounded by more chairs and tables is a bed larger than all the others, remaining on its side as the heap grips it on its edges, letting it hang like a spear jabbed into the ground. The golden pile spreads for longer around the bed, withered and no longer shining as royally, instead more of a dusty yellow.