The world snapped back into place.
Corey reappeared in the grand hall, and the moment he did, he staggered.
A groan tore from his lips as he fell to his knees, and his hand gripped the polished floor.
His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and cold sweat poured from his forehead, drenching his back and chest.
His skin was pale.
His lips were cracked.
And his eyes trembled.
Blood trickled from his nose, ears, and the corner of his lips, and his body shook violently as if he had been pulled out of a blender.
His consciousness wavered.
His mind... barely clung to sanity.
He gasped again.
Then again.
Each breath felt like knives stabbing through his lungs.
He tried to sit, but he fell forward and barely caught himself.
His hands dug into the floor, and even though the polished obsidian surface felt cold to the touch, his body felt like it was burning.
The pain wasn't physical.
It wasn't ever spiritual.
