[Funkduder]

Things stopped, if only for a moment, as though to listen and internalize the names that were heard, but to no avail. Things like names were forgotten long ago and the last name was spared, as tasteless waste, in the void of what was forgotten. (._.) It could almost be compared to a blank stare at words which held little meaning to the corrupted soul.

From the hand that protruded into the newly forming void, the dark matter began to crawl up Hermes' arm, seeking to identify and, if unsatisfied, devour the thing like he was, long ago.