This is a twist on Personal Space and happens after the initial arc. I couldn’t restrict this to 250 words, but I think the flowing style is a bit necessary. Or I was scatter brained. It was 90+ degrees in my house. Maybe that’s where my head was at.
I got the writing prompt from here.
This used to be home. Before, colors and warmth flowed freely in the small space, whirling around content.
The colors were no longer satisfied simply to exist. There was more now. There was identity and focus.
The cloud spun and stretched, doing anything it could to pierce the void that surrounded it. It could feel time pass, though it had nothing to judge it again.
It tried to recreate its old body. His old body. But without an order, there was no function to define his form.
The calm colors pulsed with a burning heat and scathing light. The colors would tighten as he threw himself against the void. All in vain.
The more he failed, the worse the rage became. Harder he thrashed, defying the only words that had followed him in: ‘Save Yourself.’
He considered it. For a moment, the spirit felt himself slip away.
Then, a light pierced the void.
The colors tightened again and immediately reached for the rift.
There was a hesitation. The rift felt different. It couldn’t have been her.
Still, it pulled him in, and he reached out for it. As before, when he touched it, his energies responded. They began to pull together and solidify, forming a human shape.
As he reached out and touched the rift, an unearthly shriek ripped from him.
It was the wrong place!
No! He refused to be sent away! So long as he still had the strength, he would fight back the Darkness. His form scrambled into a discordant mess. He was fire. He was rage. He was ripping through the rift one way or another. If he could not complete his mission, he would have his vengeance.