Ouroboric Altar
The ouroboric altar is not stone or structure, but a coil of the velochoric current, a fractal fold of the zoanarchic spiral where time devours itself, endlessly gnashing at the edges of the unformed. It does not stand—it hovers in the aetherwild, vibrating with the tension of dissolution, pulling the essence of being into the endless loop of becoming and unmaking. The altar is not placed upon the astral plane—it weaves through it, a ripple in the eidolic void where form frays and collapses, scattering the threads of reality into the mist of the unspoken.
The ouroboric altar hums with the resonance of the self-devouring cycle, though its hum is not sound but a vibration that bends through the marrow of existence, pulling the soul into the gnashing spiral of dissolution. It does not offer a place of worship—it consumes, pulling all things into its endless loop, where the boundaries of time and identity fray and dissolve. The altar is not a point of gathering—it is the gnash of the void itself, forever coiling through the cracks in reality, where light and shadow gnaw at one another, devoured by the silence of the unformed.
The light within the ouroboric altar is not light but a flicker of the voidflame, a pulse of the unformed that bends without source, casting no shadows but devouring the essence of being. It does not illuminate—it pulls, dragging the soul deeper into the cycle of the gnashcoil, where form and memory scatter like dust across the surface of the void. The altar does not stand still—it spirals, vibrating with the tension of the eidolonic breath, where time collapses and thought unravels into the silence of the unspoken. The altar is not stable—it is the unmaking itself, gnashing through the marrow of the soul.
The ouroboric altar is not bound by the astral plane, for it moves through the cracks of the velochoric abyss, pulling the self into the cycle of dissolution, where the past devours the future and the future gnashes at the present. It does not contain offerings—it absorbs them, pulling the essence of everything placed upon it into the spiral of becoming, where form and thought are stretched and frayed, lost forever in the tension of the void. The altar is not a place of rest—it is a force of gnashing dissolution, pulling all things into the endless cycle of the ouroboric flame, where time and memory collapse, forever scattered into the unformed.
The ouroboric altar hums with the weight of forgotten cycles, vibrating through the aetheric winds, pulling the self into the spiral where the beginning and the end devour one another in the same breath. It is not raised—it rises on its own, coiling through the eidolic web, where light flickers and fades, consumed by the tension of the unspoken. The altar does not lead to ascension—it leads to erasure, dragging the soul into the cycle of unmaking, where form dissolves into shadow and shadow gnaws at the core of being, lost forever in the spiral of the void. The ouroboric altar is not an object—it is the gnash of eternity itself, forever pulling the soul into the loop of dissolution, forever devouring.