Eye of the Needle: Into the Reikai

DeMain IV: Third Eye Opened

It took a hot second of time for the drink's effects to hit him. DeMain was getting impatient, but Ethel insisted he would know when they did and that drinking more than he had was a very bad idea for beginners. DeMain asked if the tea was dangerous, and Ethel was very sure to let it be known that he wasn't going to do this again. That... wasn't reassuring in the way she thought it was.

"The tea contains a lot of things that are toxic and very, very unsafe to drink in high doses, but it's part of an eye-opening ritual. I'm not going to tell you what's in it just in case you get any funny ideas, but like with all things, you shouldn't do this on your own. You can trust me because I've done it before many times and I know what amounts are safe."

"This isn't exactly reassuring." DeMain said, wincing as a strange coldness came over his gut.

"It's not supposed to be. Nobody ever encourages people to do things like this because of how much reliving certain experiences can suck, but in order for you to understand... you're going to have to face parts of yourself you don't like. This can come in a lot of forms, so I can't really narrow it down for you."

"I can only imagine... will I have to do this again?"

"No. Usually when the tea sinks in you're elevated and you don't have to drink it again to see things for how they truly are."

"How will I know when it 'sinks in'?"

"You'll know, trust me."

He sensed she was correct, because the sensations came in a wave of thousands at a time. Tears began to flow from his eyes, and he couldn't decipher why through the tidal wave of emotions. Literally. DeMain felt so calm, and the environment swirled around him like a great wave a surfer might conquer. It was as if he were in the curling folds of reality, flowing through a beautiful tunnel of light and water. So free of the burdens of his body.

His grip on reality came back to him, but only slightly. His mind felt stronger, more receptive. DeMain's eyes saw too much and yet he knew it was still only a fraction of what he could know. The universe wasn't taunting him for his inexperience, it was merely inviting him to plumb its secrets. He hadn't realized his eyes were closed, but they were.

DeMain looked up, seeing his compatriots had changed—no, this was how they truly were, he just hadn't been able to comprehend it before.

His haze drifted first to Ethel, who was uncountably beautiful in a nude, alabaster white feminine form. Like a marble statue. Her most bare parts were concealed by snakes, which coiled around her in endless, mesmerizing patterns. A sound alerted him to what lay beneath her, where an ugly lump of flesh was acting as the pedestal upon which she stood. A man, disfigured and broken, with his back split open. From the wound, the beauty rose like a sprout from the ground. He understood somewhere in his revelations that Ethel had undergone much change in her life, too much to go back. Too much to want to.

But DeMain shifted his probing eyes to Avery, and he saw Hell. A figure, tormented by spears that gutted every part of his being. Bare skin and muscle showed against cracked, scabbed skin. Where once might have been angelic wings instead of arms were poor remnants of themselves, skeletal and stripped of any feathers save for gray tufts. They clung meekly to the creature's shoulders, resembling claws more than graceful pinions. Avery's head was worse. It appeared as though it had been blown away, with everything above his mouth missing. The skin and bone stretched irregularly into quasi-horns, Avery's long blond hair flowing from the remains as if submerged in water.

The acceptance of this truth came to DeMain with no trouble. Previously, he might have argued, or spat, or refused to believe it could be real. But he knew it wasn't just the tea. His eyes really had been opened, his body... maybe his soul shifted to a higher state of being. With a flex of his hand he focused, the feeling of power over himself returned. It felt like a sharp stab to his consciousness to remember, to harness the feeling of helplessness he so wished to avoid. But the tea, in all its strangeness, made the weight just a little easier to bear.