It was dark. Very dark, to be exact. Astaroth felt like something was being held over his face, and it was wiry and cool and it kept trying to poke through his eyelids. He made a loud, guttural moan, and realized that it sounded very muffled, even more than that mask he usually wore made it him sound. His first idea was to think about what could possibly be discomforting him so much without actually hurting him, and doing so all over, but thinking never did Astaroth any good. It only served to irritate him, because it meant that there were too many little things to go through his head, and if it was little, it never mattered. His second idea was to get whatever was all over her front off of himself, and to accomplish this he placed the palms of his large hands adjacently to his shoulders before giving a mighty heave, pushing away the thing that was in front of him.

In doing so, Astaroth found that he was not under the thing that was weakly attempting to smother him, but that he was on top of it. The force of his shove succeeded in flipping him over his back, now laying against what was determined to be thick, slightly crunchy grass. It was not so textured out of dryness so much as it was just how stiff the juicy blades were. The wetness it made on his back was less irritating than the poking it had done to his face, and so he felt content to lay there for a moment while making sure that he was unhurt and that nothing was missing. He clenched his fists.

His fingers were there, and so were his bracers.

He curled his toes.

They rubbed against the inner soles of the great leather boots he wore.

He then felt something press his heart lightly. He didn't want to move that yet, so he knew that something was near, and within arm's reach. Astaroth's eyes shot wide open and he roared aloud as he sat up, blindly grabbing at whatever was at his side, the perpetrator of fondling his body parts. His great hand met with an arm that was the width of a large sword's hilt, and he looked in the thing's direction, seeing a little boy. There were many more children about him as well, shrieking out of fear, though the golem paid them no mind. His blank, yet angry-looking eyes met the boy's large, brown and wet ones, the poor child quaking with terror. Astaroth soon lost his interest, however, when it was evident that the boy had soiled himself; Astaroth did not find that amusing in the least, and so he let the child flee after releasing his hold.

Once he felt that he was alone, Astaroth scanned the grass about him to find his beloved axe laying within arm's reach from him; he felt much happier and more comfortable when his fingers wrapped around the thick wooden handle, and one could tell that he smiled by his eyes' slight squinting. He forced himself to stand, being a tad stiff, and then looked about the place.

It was huge, all of it; he was standing under an oak tree of reasonable size, but not two hundred yards from him was the most magnificent tower he'd ever seen, even taller and bigger around than the Tower of Remembrance, and covered with lots and lots of mirrors. The sun shining on them reflected a bit and stung Astaroth's eyes, and so he turned away from the thing. What amazed him most was how many other structures there were of such magnitude, and he wanted to see them all, for something of that size would not be made without having used great power, and most likely held even more power inside than was used in its creation. With so many of them about, Astaroth considered the possibility of there being just as many swords equivalent to Soul Edge inside them as well. The idea was overwhelming and it made his head hurt. He needed to sit down, and did just that, flopping to the ground and putting his axe, Kulutes, over his shoulder.

Though he tried to think, he'd never been one to do so very often. He was out of practice, and it showed, for he was able to bring nothing to his mind at the time. He'd even forgot what he was trying to think about. That made him shift uncomfortably, and he then decided that, if he sat and thought enough, he'd remember, and so he leaned forward and propped his chin on a curled fist that rested on his bent knee.