Alex shivered. The remaker had looked at her. Its single eye, woven in to a patch of ceramic-white flesh, protruding from where the mouth of the man it was before had once stood. The cultists were too preoccupied marvelling at the splendour of the creature in front of them that they'd forgotten about the world around; about Alex. She could have fled then and there, understanding as the situation was getting out of proportions, but she didn't. She, like the hooded men all arounf her, stood in awe of the monster that had risen from the blood. Even Cashew's cries and paw smashes from inside the car's driver seat didn't wake her senses up. She was too far gone.
But then the remaker screeched. Around its snow-white body appeared rays of photons. It had prepared to teleport. Vanish to some other place in order to carry out the duty it had been born to answer the call of: Make other, still imperfect humans, into beings of pure beauty. So why was it, then, that the creature hadn't tried to attack Alex? After all, she was still very much human, and humans are imperfect, that much everyone knew in this day and age. The answer must have lied in what the teenage girl remarked a few seconds after the creature of nightmares that had become the cultists's leader had vanished into the ether: There was no more monster to look at. So the cultists looked at Alex. Looked at their peers. Looked at Alex once more. The great bowl in the center of the church lay apparent under the heat and the sunlight. And the black liquid inside notified everyone on the scene of its existence in a subtle yet terrifying gurgle. A signal that the blood demanded more. More souls to purge of their patheticness. More souls to break and mend and make into a remaker.
So the men in black rushed to Alex's position, and while the girl knew hos to defend herself from someone, she couldn't do anything against so many. Punching and fighting and crying as she could, they brought her to the blood-filled bowl. And there they stood, immobile, their brown-black coats gently moving in the wind of the texan desert. And the cadaver of the gigantic dead creature in front of her, from whose innards the content of the bowl has been taken, lays calm yet, and unmoving.
They push her in.
She feels like drowning. Her pulse skyrockets up towards the sun. A sun she fights to see more of as the black goo in which she if forced to bathe envelops her whole. This blood's definitely magic, she thinks, as she knows in what contenant she is, and yet she can't take foot anywhere. Below her, a black and unending abyss. And she sinks and sinks and sinks... Last rays of light pierce through the dark from atop her... And there she's gone. Gone. Gonna be remade. Into a remaker.
She is teleported. To someplace else. Here all is a pure white. No hills and no buildings to obstrucate her line of sight. No clouds in the sky. No sun either. The heavens are barren as is the soil of this strange hallucinatory land she's stepped in. Except for one thing. Creature ? Person ? ... God ? She can't help but put her hand above her eyes in visor. The thing's imposing. Tiny as a twinkle rom this far away, but it's coming towards her. Slowly, surely. And growing in size by the second in doing so.
The thing flies above her, unconcerned and unbothered by her presence. It doesn't even look at her. The creature is indeed gigantic. It moves in ether as a manta ray in the ocean. Calmly, with great wing-like appendages of golden shine and still white complexion. Ten meter or more in length, the behemoth threads a carefree path in the emptiness of the plane of existence it calls home. Alex shies away from asking the beast about where she is, what she's doing here, and why. Perhaps the divine fish couls have answered. Perhaps not.
She takes another look at her surroundings, walks for a bit. What better can she do? To her surprise (and horror), she remarks that populating the white wasteland she's in right now, are innumerable statues. They look as if carved from the exact same material as the ground beneath them, but that's not their only particularity. Their most striking features are, one, that these are statues inspired from humanoids, and two, that the poses said humanoids assume are terrifying enough to send shivers running down Alex's spine. For in fact, all these human statues seem blocked in time in the middle of an event of tremendous pain, stopped in the middle of dying, it seems. One puts his hands in prayer abover his head, as he lay legless on the ground. Another is strangling himself, and yet another is controsionned in such a way that all the muscles in his body are tense from some sort of aching pain.
And the golden-white god from space has finished covering Alex's perimeter. It's going back to looking like a little white dot on a giant white sky. And our texan girl feels like waking up...
