❝ was this not what you expected? ❞ for priest hannibal perhaps.
It was beyond what he expected. Magnificent in its horror.
“Nostalgia is a weapon,” Hannibal whispered to him (@godsparticle), watching the high-definition screen flicker with crimson warnings. The voidout pulsed like a hemorrhaging wound on the topographic display. A perfect circle of absolute destruction spreading outward in concentric rings of data. Another lost soul had surrendered to despair, their final act transforming into something monstrous, and with it, the area was surrounded by all-consuming BTs. The results had been breathtaking. For months, Hannibal had been employed to take on the vulnerable who needed to dismantle their trauma. He was their therapist who allowed for a connection, one that had been severed for so long since the abandonment of the Chiral network, now restored.
He had introduced a form of chiralium-infused meals in an experiment. Where porters become reliant on his meals for enhanced performance, ultimately leading them to neglect their own physical and mental well-being in pursuit of the temporary benefits. Their muscles strengthened while their minds fractured, chasing the euphoria his recipes provided even as their bodies deteriorated. Some dishes have side effects that alter perceptions or emotions, leading to hallucinations or heightened aggression. Higgs might even have been able to recruit a few that went astray.
People craved connection with the desperation of drowning men gasping for air. Hannibal merely provided the rope they mistook for rescue, watching with fascination as they fashioned their own nooses.
