Shedletsky's head pounded after a sudden, semi-physical lurch that, on a normal basis, wouldn't send him into tears. Tears that were quickly blinked away, but tears nonetheless.

Just a moment ago–seconds ago–he was–! He shakes his head as his arms grind uncomfortably against the ground underneath him. It has a gravel-like texture but appears wholly smooth and obsidian-like. The air has an acidic tinge to it, and every breath dries his throat a tad more.

He won, just seconds ago! That's it, that's right.. God, the Spectre's sloppy attempt at teleporting him this time hurts. He was walking away from 1x1x1x1, blade lazily dragging behind him, and that's when the most robotic, ear-splitting shriek came from his very own hatred, swearing that "this was not over".

It isn't like this is the first time winning a weary duel against his hatred, no matter how much the odds are stacked against him given how he needed to be nerfed by a godlike thing to be kept down. And Shedletsky prides himself on taking his victory in silence when it comes to his hatred. So what–no, why is he here?!

Why is he anywhere other than the lobby, in this barren land with radioactive rivers, earth of polished stone, and crystalline flora that reeks of death?

"Oh. Oh, no, no–where is it?!" He pads at his waist for the sheath he keeps his sword in. It's gone. "Dammit. Whatever."

As least he has his chicken, still conveniently spawned warm in his pocket, magically left without lint.