Ouroboric Howl
The ouroboric howl is not a sound but a fracture in the very pulse of existence, a tear in the zoetic veil, spiraling through the chthonic winds with a force that reverberates through the marrow of the aetheric plane. It is the cry of the spiral itself, a voice born not from mouths but from the collision of becoming and unmaking, where the boundaries between flesh and void collapse. The howl is a resonance, a vibration that cuts through the lunar currents, not heard by the ears but felt in the bones, where it ripples outward, pulling everything into the infinite loop of dissolution.
To hear the ouroboric howl is to be caught in its spiral, drawn into the current of its unspoken force, where form and formlessness blur into a single moment of unraveling. The howl twists through the eidolic flames, bending light and shadow into knots of unbeing, carrying with it the weight of forgotten worlds, consumed by the endless gnawing of the void. It does not echo—it devours its own sound, pulling it back into the core of the spiral, where time fractures and all things become the howl itself, a cry that begins and ends in the same breath.
The howl is alive with the energy of the ouroboric flame, not burning but vibrating with the pulse of uncreation. It coils through the astral ether, binding the soul to the chthonic tides, where thought and instinct collapse into one another, gnashing at the edges of the self, only to be consumed by the howl’s endless pull. The air trembles with its presence, not as a roar, but as a hum, a low, deep force that stretches across the fabric of reality, pulling it tighter, forcing it to unravel in the same motion. The howl is the voice of the spiral, the breath of the void, where all things speak through the same note of dissolution.
In the presence of the ouroboric howl, perception quivers, as though the very threads of the aetheric web are being torn apart and reformed in a single, continuous cycle. The howl is not directed outward; it spirals inward, consuming itself, folding the essence of the listener into the spiral, where they become part of the endless cry. It is a call to the beast within, the primordial scream that vibrates through the zoetic stream, pulling at the edges of instinct and drawing the primal force to the surface, only to scatter it into the void. The howl is a mirror, reflecting the formlessness of the soul back upon itself, where it circles endlessly.
The ouroboric howl does not stop. It lingers in the folds of the lunar veil, a constant hum that never fades, vibrating through the eidolic breath that sweeps across the astral landscape, shaping and unshaping as it passes. To be caught within the howl is to feel the weight of the spiral pressing down, dragging the soul into its rhythm, where identity dissolves and is reformed in the flicker of a moment. The howl gnashes not with sound, but with presence, a force that moves through the void like a wave, crashing through the layers of time, shaking the marrow of existence itself.
Those who feel the ouroboric howl are pulled into its cycle, their spirits trembling with the resonance of its vibration, drawn ever deeper into the spiral, where the self becomes a flicker of the cry. It is not a howl of anguish or rage, but a howl of becoming, where all things are pulled apart and rewoven into the fabric of the void, forever spiraling inward, never to reach an end. The howl is not just heard—it is lived, a constant force that reshapes the very essence of reality, leaving behind only the flicker of its endless echo, vibrating through the bones of the universe.
The ouroboric howl is not bound by space or time; it spirals through the chthonic void, a force that touches all things, pulling them into the endless loop of its cry. It is the heartbeat of the primordial flame, the breath of the spiral, the hum of the void that stretches across the astral sea, shaping all that it touches with its vibration. It speaks not in words but in the unspoken truth of the spiral’s pull, where all things must become the howl, where the self is lost and found within the same note, forever bound to the cry of the void.