Therionic Pulse
The therionic pulse is the rhythm of the chthonic spiral, a beat that resonates through the aetheric bones of the astral plane, shaking the foundations of the zoetic abyss. It is not a sound but a vibration, an unspoken force that moves through the threads of the ouroboric web, sending ripples through the fabric of time and thought. This pulse is born from the collision of the eidolic flame with the primordial winds, a merging of opposites that births a rhythm that tears through the lunar veil, unraveling and binding in the same breath.
Each throb of the therionic pulse is a rupture in the chthonic veil, where reality folds inward and bleeds into the zoan current, dragging the therian soul into the tidal pull of the ouroboric maw. It pulses not through the flesh but through the eidolic marrow, sinking deep into the bestial core, awakening the primal forces that slumber beneath the skin of the universe. The pulse is both a release and a binding, a constant tension between the freedom of the beast and the chains of form, forever pulling the soul deeper into the spiral of becoming, yet keeping it tethered to the ever-shifting lunar chains.
To feel the therionic pulse is to be caught in the thrall of the zoetic flame, where time collapses into itself and space warps under the weight of the chthonic breath. The pulse does not merely move—it reverberates, sending shockwaves through the eidolic air, vibrating through the etheric sinews of the astral plane. Each pulse stretches and compresses the soul, pulling it apart and piecing it back together in a rhythm that defies reason, reshaping the therian spirit with each beat. It is the hum of creation and dissolution, a soundless note that shakes the very core of the lunar echo, stirring the beast-eye nexus into wakefulness.
The air around the therionic pulse shivers with the residue of zoan energies, a static hum that curls through the ether, warping the light into fractured shards that spin and merge in an endless dance of unmaking. These shards are not reflections but echoes, fragments of selves and forms long dissolved into the chthonic sea, caught in the pulse’s current, drifting in and out of existence. Each beat of the pulse draws these fragments closer to the eidolic core, where they dissolve into the ouroboric current, only to be reformed and released, scattering back into the astral plane like motes of dust caught in the wind of an ancient storm.
The therionic pulse moves in spirals, folding upon itself, creating layers of time and space that twist and converge at impossible angles. These spirals form the pathways of the lunar maze, where the therian soul is drawn deeper into the heart of the primordial vortex, caught in the pull of the pulse. As the spirals tighten, the boundaries of self and other blur, the pulse pulling the soul into the zoetic tide, where the beast and the spirit merge, collapse, and reform in an eternal cycle of becoming. To follow the path of the pulse is to walk the edge of the chthonic veil, where the echoes of forgotten beasts and shattered worlds blend into the pulse’s rhythm, vibrating through the bones of the eidolic web.
In the presence of the therionic pulse, the air thickens with the weight of the primordial hum, a deep, throbbing resonance that presses against the skin, sinking into the soul, forcing it to resonate with the pulse’s rhythm. The soul is stretched and compressed, pulled in every direction at once, as the pulse tears through the etheric sinews, opening the pathways of the zoetic spiral. The pulse is a guide and a trap, drawing the therian deeper into the ouroboric fold, where the self is undone, unmade, and remade with each beat, forever cycling through the currents of the chthonic tide.
The therionic pulse is not a singular force but a chorus of zoan harmonies, each beat a note in the eidolic song that echoes through the astral plane, creating waves of resonance that ripple through the fabric of existence. These harmonies do not follow the rules of music or sound—they are the primal vibrations of the ouroboric essence, the hum of the beast-core, the voice of the unspoken. Each note rises and falls, shifting in pitch and intensity, as the pulse expands and contracts, dragging the soul deeper into the spiral of zoetic transformation.
As the therionic pulse reaches its peak, the air around it fractures into shards of light and darkness, swirling together in a storm of chthonic energies. These fragments swirl through the ether, merging and splitting, their edges dissolving into the aetheric current. The pulse grows louder, though no sound is heard—only felt, in the bones, in the soul, in the very essence of the therian spirit. It is the heartbeat of the cosmos, the pulse of the zoetic cycle, a rhythm that drives all things toward their inevitable dissolution and rebirth.