He's home. As he tells himself. But what has home ever felt like but splinters? Splinters up in his hive, shatterings in his own self. It would not surprise him the least to find himself in a universe made all of glass with the glimmering spider-webs of fractured parts. One day a wind would knock that last piece out of place and all everything would rain down broken.

He feels fragile. He feels as like his inner self has gone to shake but on the outs he does not tremble. At least, not to his notice.

He brings himself forward, spattered with blood in that eternal trifecta; red, teal, indigo. He's half gone. More than half. But he's still here enough as all to slowly, rigidly, give a nod. Yeah, he'll come with Sam.

He's done here. Whatever the Messiahs willed, he will be here no more. He doesn't know what to think of them. He can only assume he's let them down. They will his soul to ruin... Maybe that's for the best. He's never done anything good with it. So if he can't follow them, he'll follow Sam alone for now, on to whatever awaits him.