When he touched the green door's handle, everything flashed before him.

Truly, everything.

His mind was overwhelmed, but he knew he couldn't fight it. This was it. This was the end of Emmanuel Eidenberg. He was infected and this was what it would be like to die once and for all --

His consciousness coming to felt peaceful, in a way. It was peaceful in a way he had not expected. He was a network. He was a they. They were one, and he understood everything now. This was what they were meant to do.

They were knowledge. They were Creation.

You are not Creation.

They no longer cared about what they previously were, for now they were part of the greater whole. They were part of one essence that would seep beyond the boundaries of this city into the rest of creation--

This is not what you are.

They were Creation, they were a Network.

You are Emmanuel.

They would feed on the memories of the --

Emmanuel Eidenberg.

It felt like a snap, but suddenly, he was no longer a they. Emmanuel felt himself look around, for a moment, but it did not take long for him to realize he did not truly have hands. Or a face. Or eyes. He was ... there. But he was not Creation.

But he had no form, and it terrified him. Had he already lost who he was? Was he doomed forever anyway? Then why--

Emmanuel desperately wanted his form back, and vines delivered, one by one, forming where legs would be, where arms would be, where a torso would be, where a head would be, where eyes would be. Instead of flesh there was plant, up and down his body, or ... not body, as it were. Perhaps it was a good thing Emmanuel saw no mirrors in this hallway. He did not want to know what had become of himself--

There was a body in front of him, and for a moment, Emmanuel felt a surge of hope that perhaps it was not too late for him and perhaps he could return. He walked over to it, pulling at the vines until they acted like the legs he expected, and took a closer look.

This was not him. This was not even human.

The face that stared back at him, consumed by the vines, was strangely streaked, with pointed ears that resembled an elf's. He remembered this man from the dreams he had. This one had tried to save him.

Foolishly, of course.

Emmanuel let out a deep sigh. Still, even if his efforts were for naught, Emmanuel could not let this man become infected too. He had tried to save him, at least, and the least Emmanuel could do was make sure this poor man was not bound to his fate.

It was easy enough to pull the vines away, as they seemed to instinctively listen to his commands now. Eventually, the strange man was freed, and Emmanuel scooped him into his arms, or what would seem to be arms, and started to move towards what he presumed would be the exit to this hallway--it was, at least, away from the bounds of Creation, and that was what mattered.

He went down, down, down a staircase, pulling at his legs to make them move forward as he demanded, away from Creation. He would save this man.

It did not take long for Emmanuel to realize that with every step he took, more and more of himself seemed to disappear. The vines retracted. His mind strained. He was pulling and pulling at something that could no longer be there. He had to keep going, but with every step, he felt less and less of himself. Soon, it did not even feel like the vines were keeping his attempted rescuer up.

As he felt himself fragmenting, he heard a voice or two, and saw a door. That had to be where he would leave this man. At least, there, his allies could find him.

Haphazardly, Ignatius was left near the door, and Emmanuel retreated, only watching for a few moments as allies entered and took Ignatius away.

He retreated further, scooping up bits and pieces of himself where they had been left, attempting to reform his mind and his physical form. It was a struggle, but as he ascended the stairs and became closer to Creation again, it became easier to breathe. He felt more normal. He felt himself.

Or what was left of himself.

It seemed that Emmanuel had already given up much of himself to Creation, but while he could, he could still call himself Emmanuel. This form of him, made of vines, surrounded by others in vines, was what was still individual. This was all they had left of themselves.

But he would cling to that while he could.