It's about time, he knows.

He's been here, in this strange city, for weeks. No idea how he got here, really - he'd gone to sleep one night in his loft in L.A. When he woke up, he had found himself in an alleyway, and his first thought had been that someone had drugged him, kidnapped him, and maybe stolen a kidney before leaving him in this dank corridor between two abandoned-looking buildings.

On checking himself he had found no injuries, but that didn't alleviate the fear that surges through him - there's a reason he hides from the world, figuratively as well as literally. Or at least, a reason that makes sense to him - he's seen the seedier side of life, the dark, stinking underbelly that occasionally gets peeled from the earth long enough to reveal to those unfortunate enough to witness it the harsh, raw reality of life.

He doesn't like going out, doesn't like being out. Once he'd realized he wasn't in L.A.

(not in kansas anymore toto)

anymore, and after repeatedly being assured he was, indeed, still sane, he'd wasted no time finding a place to call home, to hide from the world.

He'd managed to glean at least a little before the fear had climaxed, overwhelming curiosity and the need to orient himself.

Even with his somewhat skewed perception of the world, that little bit had been a lot to swallow, and more to get used to.

But he'd settled into a routine that restored a semblance of comfort, of home to his rattled soul...and as the weeks passed, the fear had abated to the point he'd felt ready to venture out of this lofty level in the taller of the two buildings he'd somehow managed to wind up between.

And it's about time, too. His hands are restless again, needing something to do, something to occupy him.

He'd ventured - furtively at first, then with less hesitation - out of his home in that abandoned building.

He needed something to work his hands upon, something to keep him inside. Even now he could feel the fear creeping up his spine, a cold, slimy, vile thing he wished he could be rid of forever. Sometimes that fear spoke in rational tones, bringing memories and stories of corruption and greed, of the dangers that could beset him; other times it's less rational, reminding him that out here is a world he can't control, that will eventually destroy him, that wants and seeks and needs his destruction.

He can control it, most times.

To his shame, there are times he can't as well, sending him fleeing to the safety and confines of the known, the ordered, the comfort of a world he can influence and preserve. More often than not in those times he'd found himself a trembling, fetal curled bundle of nerves and muscle and bone at the base of his front door, staring up obsessively at the multiple layers of locks and latches as if in fear that some force might burst through them all to consume him.

Thus far, today was not one of those days...but even so, he felt the need to hurry, to find what he needed and get back home.

He'd ventured some distance, simply looking over the buildings, statuary and architecture surrounding him, when his eyes had found what he'd come to search for.

South of him - the direction he'd come from - he'd passed a temple, all fountains and stone carvings, white marble a shining beacon in the day's light, nearly dazzling to look on. Ahead, he could see another temple rising over a row of buildings, Gothic architecture built in strong stone.

Neither of these was what had his attention, for between them is - to his eyes - a treasure trove.

The ruins before him to anyone else would look like a sore upon the earth, a place of desolation and destruction. What had wrought this ruin is unclear to him, be it man, beast, or simply the work of time and decay. The stones themselves, shattered profusion in bits and pieces as well as great slabs of marble, littered the ground like fractured dreams on the earth amongst rotten teeth sticking out of the same.

His eyes saw riches, wealth beyond measure. The sight of so much uncarved stone near stole his breath, driving the incessant fear back into its cage for the time being as he moved amongst the wreckage. Inside the stone he saw flitting shapes, shifting forms begging release from his hands.

One piece of stone, marble white and solid and near perfect in its untouched beauty, jutted up from the other remains, and for a moment he sees some dark shape inside it. He can feel the power in that stone, dark and hungry and wanton, seeking its release, needing to be free.

The stone shows its age well, weatherbeaten and worn from what perhaps could have been centuries, millenia, even eons of time acting on it...and yet still, here, it waited.

For him.

All for him.

He's not even aware he's walking towards it as a man entranced by blinding beauty, his hands reaching out to caress the stone, which he finds to be cool even in the bright light and fair temperatures of this day. With a sigh of pleasure he leaned against his find to revel in that coolness...

Nothing ever goes completely unnoticed. Not here, not in Its land, in Its world.

Well, perhaps not Its alone. But certainly It was here long before all but that damnable Nexus, trapped in the bones of the world, until Its Shell came along.

Now the Shell stands on the brink, a brief promontory over the waves, a smile on the Shell's lips. That smile is neither peace nor pain, neither heat nor chill. It is not a smile to curdle milk or a laugh to cause miscarriages, not a glare to make the birds drop dead or spit to burn like acid.

It is the Hollow.

Entropy given form, breathed to life and filled with malice.

It does not care for good. Nor for evil. It is in truth neither, despite Its cunning, Its cruelty and malice.

All It wants is to feed.

The house behind the Shell is a place of silence. Death. Three empty husks, their life force taken, the breath sucked from their lives.

There had been no magic there, but there had been enough to revitalize It, to give It strength...for Life is Its bread and drink.

But magic...ah, magic. Magic is Ambrosia, Nectar of the Gods, and those foolish enough to use their power in Its presence may well find themselves the weaker for it.

And the more It feeds, the more powerful It becomes.

Now It watches as another life is taken, fed upon, though not in so...elegant a fashion as It feeds.

Imagine the power that would be brought to bear to stop such a thing.

Imagine what It could feed upon...