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The lives of unimaginable millions carved their existence on his bones. His flesh dried and cracked, turning inhumanly pale and hard like stone. Soon his bones would melt into the golden substance flowing within this vessel— within him.
He recalled things from billions of years ago— or did they happen yesterday? The lines between past and present were blurred beyong distinction. He couldn't rationalize them properly no matter how hard he tried. He tried it before, apparently, and it only fastened the inevitable decay of his mind.
Gold fell from the corner of his eyes in thin lines. They shined in the light with sickening beauty much like the injuries of his fellow Heirs. All are amazed by the "holy blood" that escapes their body and forget that, if they're seeing it, it meant the owner of it was carrying a wound deep enough to hurt.
Pieces of his newly broken "flesh" fell and scattered, turning into crystal-like fragments and re-entering his body. Not to restore him, but to become one with his soul in the accursed ichor inside.
Memories pilled on memories. His head hurt to recall non-fragmented moments and he choked on unspoken words.
Before his skin turned into rock it had long since started to burn. Much like Mydeimos once — or maybe he hadn't — told him to, he ended up scorching his own flesh. Was it by his own wish as punishment? A collateral damage of the Coreflames, perhaps? He couldn't find the answer.
His vision became strange. Abandoned were the colors and stable shapes, now his world was decorated in shadows and weird, pale looking humans. They were more akin to souls or ghosts, but alive. He could identify them, of course he could. He spent so much time cutting up each one of them. It would be nonsensical to not recognize the soon-to-be mauled bodies of the sacrificial lambs.
His vision may be gone, but he would never forget how Cifera's rib cage looked in the light of his fire. The broken pieces of bone on torn flesh were no different than the other cycles, much like how Hyacinthia's body never changed from a charred corpse regardless of her approach to heal him.
In the end, they'd all perish.
His mind was fleeting, vanishing along his self. He felt numb. Not even the raging inferno inside could wake him from this nightmare. He was fated to hear their wishes, their cries, their pleas, their love, all before they are swept away by fate's cruel hands.