MELTDOWN.

He could feel the touch of insanity; he was soaked. A rivulet coursing from his brow to his cheek, where it parted ways; a droplet finding passage to his lips. The tang of iron had starked, as all was pale above: of abyssal darkness was a silent vigil of severed heads; a silence of grating screams; crying as if sinners seared in hell; their hollow eyes shed tears of blood and peered upon him as a plea.