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How scary. His better judgment was telling him not to do this. Which was a good thing, he supposed. Despite what the world thought of him, he must not have been totally mad. At least part of him still knew when he was thinking crazy thoughts.

And yet.

In the raging storm of his mind, his better judgment was not the prevailing wind. He could sense that much, too. In this fleeting moment, when his racing thoughts were bleeding into the swirling power of the fusion forge--with its emboldening, euphoric effects--Morgunov could tell that he was about to make a very unwise decision.

Because why shouldn't he, hmm? Was he not the Mad Demon of Abolish? The Maniac of Maludona? The Whackjob of Warway?

...The Lunatic of Lotorevo?

Yes. He had embraced such things long ago. Cowing in the face of danger now would be silly. Pointless. And a self-deception, besides.

Sure, this might well be one of those moments that historians liked to go on and on about, when a famed intellect finally went too far and ended up destroying itself. Hoisted by its own petard.

But such nattering ants would never understand, anyway. Cautionary tales? Playing it safe?

These were not how knowledge was accrued.

Morgunov breathed even more deeply than before--perhaps even more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, for that is how all of the ardor flowing into him made it feel. And with his mind, he seized control of the flow, both within himself and by extension, the flow all around him.

Like a fishing line, he reeled the flow in. More. More. More.

The flow within the tattoos was there. Part of the line. The part he was most interested in. Slowly, they peeled themselves off of Asad's body and followed along the stream toward Morgunov.

Such energy. Strength. Enough to make him sick.

No. He held. Had to.

Closer. Closer. Closer, still.

There. They were right there. Right in front of him. About to touch him.

He braced himself further. The first tattoo contacted his outstretched hand.

And the world went white.

But he was still aware. Still holding together. Not deterred. He couldn't see, but he could sense. The flow. The tattoos. The forge. Everything, actually.

The whole room. The whole building. The rocky land around it, and the crust of the planet below him, extending down, down, down.