Then from there, they see a familiar-unfamiliar figure looming beneath it; his essence evoking a sinster alarm of unease within the two. For a moment——that held amongst them for a bit too long or too short; the two couldn't really tell as time didn't really exist here in the indefinte weight of the maze that lingered like maggots——neither of them spoke; holding their words as if the imposing figure before them had malicous intent against their speeches; wielding a justification that would destroy them and their morals.

"Ketts?" As Allen spoke the name of his husband; the person who vanished from his sight all those months back, his voice seemed to wield a sort of breathless melody of both daunting unease and melancholic craxis.

As the figure (supposed Ketts) hears their voices; he turns to face them. Instead of the cordial gaze Allen was so used to, the man is met with a wave of abrupt despair that crashes over him as his eyes lay upon a sight he could not bear——big, budging, and glassy eyes and a sprawling lateral line extending down through his body all over his face. His skin, pale and marked with patterns of fractals, had sharp fins lining his arms and his back.
"I found my piece." Ketts——or whatever he was now——whispered; his undertone a hint of gurgling and raspiness almost like he had been underwater for a while now. Allen shivered as he stepped back; gazing into his partner's glazed over eyes with a sort of horror to them. He didn't seem to hear him now. Only focusing on his obsession. Only focusing on his fixation.
"Ketts, it's me, it's Allen." He called through the metaphysical fog that seemed to surround the three; trying to lure Ketts back to shore——a anchor to a boat——but to no avail. The thing-that-was-not-Ketts only stepped forward; offering a webbed hand within reach. "You two can join me. Find your desire. It will all make sense."

Allen shook his head; falling backwards into the hands of Fowler Merrick, who held him so gracefully almost like a mother to her son. Fowler stared at the creature that stood before them; its hand still outstretched; awaiting its acceptance. Then, crossing the threshold between light and dark——good and evil——and drinking in the liminality of it all, the man, Fowler, spoke——feigning a dread that seemed to overtake his senses the more his words went on.

"There is no desire here within these walls, Ketts. You have lost yourself to the mindless scrawls of the shepherd; blindly chasing a exit that doesn't exist. Do you think you can achieve a future with this monstrosity stained on your hands? You must know the stakes 'ere—the stress of challenge and the effort we create. We must know the thin veils of failure in order to proceed in the short intervals of our fleeting lifetime."

Ketts's hand falls at Fowler's statement, and the abstracted colours which hold his face intact fall; giving way to a overwhelming darkness with no features in sight. In the tenebrific absence of light, and the meandering road of darkness that remained overhead, there is a single sound—a step on something wooden and hollow.