At first, it looks like the cocoon is sitting there; perhaps the transformation takes a signifigant amount of time, even as the horrible mist that marks transference of the Power Cosmic starts to waft away into the void.
And then, the cocoon moves. The stench of burning clay is suddenly overwhelming, as the rounded, neckless rock seems to have arms...legs...fingers, even. Those familiar with the mystic arts might think of a Mindless One, those familiar with religious myth might think of a golem, but that's not the cruel part. The cold, downright cosmically mean part of this transformation is revealed when that earth-shod behemoth opens his eyes...
...and they're the same piercing blues of General Benjamin J. Grimm. Just enough familiarity that he'll never be able to completly forget what he once was, and what he's become.
"...thing." The Thing grunts, his jaw almost cartoonishly shaped, his voice like an earthquake and a rave had some sort of terrible party, "...yeah. I...I guess dat fits."
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And then, the cocoon moves. The stench of burning clay is suddenly overwhelming, as the rounded, neckless rock seems to have arms...legs...fingers, even. Those familiar with the mystic arts might think of a Mindless One, those familiar with religious myth might think of a golem, but that's not the cruel part. The cold, downright cosmically mean part of this transformation is revealed when that earth-shod behemoth opens his eyes...
...and they're the same piercing blues of General Benjamin J. Grimm. Just enough familiarity that he'll never be able to completly forget what he once was, and what he's become.
"...thing." The Thing grunts, his jaw almost cartoonishly shaped, his voice like an earthquake and a rave had some sort of terrible party, "...yeah. I...I guess dat fits."