Sparks of color, some muted and others quite bright and unreal to the eye, assaulted the blackness and caused a dizzying show that, were he any sort of epileptic, would have had him twisted in on himself, writhing in agony and bucking against the pain. He could hear what he only assumed was the Apocalypse ringing out, shrieks of terror, shouts of prayers that would forever be unfinished as they would always just stop short of the absolute 'amen', most likely dead before their message was sent off to the deity that had forsaken them in this moment. Children cried for their parents, parents cried for their young, friends wailed their regrets and lovers said nothing as they either had gone first or were using their last seconds to kiss their last. Above it all rose a chilling and almost inhuman cackling, a mad laughter that he supposed even if it wasn't real would seep into the marrow of his bones and haunt him late at night and in any moment of silence.<br/><br/>It was hard to say how long he'd been in this realm of nothing, this gateway of near-death but the oxygen assaulted his lungs, inflating them so that his chest had to arch to be able to withstand the force and the exhale was a painful shudder bringing with it the realization he was laying on an uneven surface with jagged pebbles, or what he supposed were pebbles, cutting into his cheek, neck, and right arm that was twisted cruelly under his body.<em>It really hurt.</em><br/><br/>"...ren? Seren!!!"<br/><br/>That voice, it was full of distress, pain, helplessness. He knew that voice. And that name, was it his own? Surely not.<br/><br/>Hands grabbed his shoulder and ribcage for he was laying on his side nearly rolled onto his stomach and could not present this person both shoulders for an even hold when they began shaking him violently. Like the shock of oxygen the movement caused him to jolt, gasp, and even fly a hand to his mouth as he staved off hurling whatever was left in that pitiful stomach as he rolled free of his assailant's grasp. Something came up anyway, a rather salmon colored concoction that led him to believe he'd ingested milk at some point and the absence made him shudder then quickly go rigid as something cracked under his knee.<em>Ah hell... those weren't...?</em>He stared at the broken leg to his glasses, sighing heavily. Of course. He put them on anyway, carefully tucking the wobbly limb so if he didn't move too swiftly they'd go without slumping at an obtuse angle on his short, cherry-round nose.<br/><br/><em>Oh right...</em><br/><br/>"Fucking hell, Heather." It was all he could think to say upon laying eyes on his best friend, who was covered in ashes, a few wayward teeth in her blonde hair, and who looked for the most part a survivor from a really low-grade zombie film. Looking down at himself, he could see he wasn't much better, the jacket he'd been wearing littered with things he was sure were not supposed to be there. It wasn't really clicking that they were in a sea of bodies, some intact and others in so many pieces not even the King's Horses and all of His Men could put them back together. Then again, he was still half convinced he was stuck in the nightmare that had begun with the lights and unseen carnage. He gulped heavily, his throat parched and begging for sating, that hot chocolate he'd had long gone. The water fountain had melted. Perfect.<br/><br/>"E-exactly what happened here?"