Sharded, those whose minds have bled, neon leaking behind their eyes.
No longer only walking the world of man, souls split from flesh, yet tethered the same.
Hearing rhythms of the blackwall, as they fade from the songs of flesh.
Cavorting with deamons, engineers of their own tools, carving trees from false worlds stone walls.
Ask not why these creatures of neon seek hedonistic pursuits, when they emerge from their short deaths.
When the soul sunders, and the mind warps, progress in processing data streams at a price.
The body becomes a machine, and the operator a god within, trapped in the very thing tethering them to life.
A soul drifting in a sea of neon elixir, struggling to the surface, to touch those they love once more before sinking to hear the gods below.