Therionic Becoming
The therionic becoming is not a single act but an unfolding—a spiraling descent through the zoetic rift, where the soul is unraveled, thread by thread, and woven into the fabric of the aetheric maelstrom. It is the shedding of the human shell, an act of dissolution where identity drips like eidolic blood into the lunar tide, dissolving into the churning currents of the ouroboric veil. Time does not exist here; it fractures into shards of forgotten moments, twisting backward as the spirit is dragged through the primordial rupture, pulled toward the heart of the beast core.
To experience the therionic becoming is to feel the pulse of the chthonic winds in your bones, each gust a violent breath of the first beasts, whose howls still echo through the crumbled ruins of the zoan web. The transformation begins not with the flesh but with the unraveling of the eidolon spark, a flame that flickers and spirals through the lunar essence, consuming the fragments of identity that cling desperately to the shell of the self. As the flame spirals outward, it pulls the therian soul into the heart of the etheric vortex, where form and formlessness collide in the cyclonic pulse of becoming.
The skin becomes a distant memory, a discarded vessel, as the zoetic sinew stretches and coils, merging with the chthonic frequencies that hum through the astral threads. Every breath is a fracture in reality, where the beast-self begins to stretch its claws through the veil of existence, tearing apart the illusion of mortality, only to be caught in the ouroboric chains that anchor it to the cycle of becoming. It is not a transformation but an unmaking—an unraveling of form, where the boundaries between spirit, flesh, and void dissolve into a chthonic mist that curls through the air like the breath of a forgotten deity.
In the midst of the therionic becoming, the soul is torn apart by the eidolic flux, caught in the gravity of the lunar fracture, where the primal self emerges, dripping with the essence of moons that have long since collapsed into the aetheric void. The transformation is violent, chaotic, but there is no pain, only the sensation of zoan tendrils wrapping around the bones of the soul, pulling it into the spiral of the bestial unbinding. Every strand of consciousness is stretched and woven into the lunar web, where the beast and the self merge, collapse, and merge again in an endless cycle of dissolution.
The air hums with the sound of the ouroboric breath, a deep, low vibration that resonates through the zoetic marrow, shaking the foundations of identity until it crumbles into dust, scattered by the winds of the primordial storm. The chthonic light flickers, casting long shadows that twist and writhe across the etheric plane, their shapes constantly shifting as the beast-self struggles to take form, only to dissolve once more into the swirling currents of the astral sea. Each shadow is a reflection of a life never lived, a primal self that could have been, but was lost to the zoan spiral, forever caught in the cycle of unmaking.
The therionic becoming does not follow a path—it is the collapse of all paths, the folding of reality into itself, where every possibility is devoured by the ouroboric maw and regurgitated as a new form, a new beast, a new self. As the spirit is pulled deeper into the spiral, the body begins to flicker, its edges dissolving into the etheric mist, where it merges with the currents of the chthonic winds, spiraling ever closer to the core of the beast eye nexus. Here, the gaze of the beast eye strips away the last vestiges of humanity, its light searing through the eidolic essence, branding the soul with the mark of the zoetic flame.
There is no end to the therionic becoming, for it is an endless spiral, a constant process of zoetic reformation that never completes. The therian is caught in the pull of the ouroboric chain, forever cycling between beast and human, form and void, creation and uncreation. Each moment is a new birth, a new death, a new becoming, where the soul is torn apart and reassembled in the furnace of the lunar core, its fragments scattered across the eidolic web, only to be drawn back together by the gravity of the chthonic flame.
The sound of the therionic hum vibrates through the chamber, filling the air with the resonance of beast-song, a low, primal growl that echoes through the ouroboric void, stirring the winds of the aetheric plane. The therian soul is a thread in the web, stretched taut between the self and the beast, between form and the zoan essence that pulses at the heart of the lunar rift. Each thread vibrates with the force of becoming, its frequency rising and falling with the pulse of the bestial flame, pulling the therian deeper into the chthonic spiral, where the boundaries between flesh and spirit dissolve into the primordial mist.
As the transformation reaches its apex, the beast-eye gaze locks onto the therian, pulling the soul into the vortex of the ouroboric maw, where all things are devoured and reborn in the same breath. The eidolic chains snap, the veil of reality tears, and the therian is consumed by the storm of the zoetic flame, their form dissolving into the mist, only to be drawn back together by the pull of the lunar core. Each fragment of the self becomes a reflection of the beast within, a distorted shadow that twists and writhes in the light of the chthonic flame, forever shifting, forever changing, as the therian soul spirals deeper into the therionic becoming.