A Drop in Sync Rate
"You have pushed yourself too much," Atika Light snapped her finger, producing a crisp sound; the sound reverberated in the room, travelling towards the door, and rattling it. The frequency of its vibration produced a sonorous tune, informing Anruk Light who had been stationed next to it.
The door creaked open; a figure peeked inside, shocked to discover Jyorta's state, bordering on losing control. Through each of the pores on his skin leaked a white substance, coarse to the touch, coursing a sensation of stillness into the surroundings.
The Caterpillar on his right palm had turned white, looking no different from a clay model, lacking any living traits. If not for the fact of it being naught but a manifestation of the Wisdom Parasite's psyche, Jyorta would have been in dire straits.