For he certainly failed to acknowledge the monomyth in the pursuit of his aspirations. Likewise he failed to interpret his position upon the stone etchings of time. Soaring atop the wings of autonomy revealed the wisdom of elder aeons, immersed in an ageless clay substratum and enshrouded by a bed of barbed thistles. He tore through the quills sacrificing his hands and serrating the fleshy veins resting across the top of his forearms. Obstacles were a futile, petty excuse for a universal intent. So he ripped and cracked at the ground until his knuckles shattered and his fingers began to fracture. Though it was immediately established that the probability of achievement was essentially non-existent, he remained persuaded by his unconventional yet compelling ideals. He was fastened to a realm wherein lies the well of Mímir (a source of incalculable Knowledge.) And due to this came his moment of finality. He examined his materialized nest of bone, keratin, root and flesh that retained a tone of phosphorescent red. His eyes depressed into the sockets of his cavernous crown while his jaw unhinged and mechanically shifted open, gaping his palette. And from his unveiled esophagus fell a swarm of gray locusts and pulsing maggots, preceding a vomitous storm of dust that engrossed his dried innards. His imperfect form dismantled at the recognizable sight of a celestial tablet that curiously resembled oak sapwood. His last strain of being consisted of his reading: "Now comes the arrogant fool, God of his undoing. Imbecile of his epoch. Ironically mourning the eradication of his vital cosmic architect ."
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