Hallucinations are bad enough. But after a short while you eventually learn to cope with things like seeing your dead girlfriend from five years ago crawling up your leg with a machete between her teeth.

Most fanciers of the kinds of psychadelic offerings that Althanas could throw at them can handle this sort of thing. But nobody can handle that other trip. That trip where a man like Storm Veritas can walk into the Russet Apple and suddenly appear in the sky over downtown Lornius twelve times the size of God, howling anything that comes into his head.

This place was not a good town for psychedelic drugs.

So when the inevitable happened, it sent Shinsou's narcotic addled mind into pandemonium.

Storm reeled from his chair, but instead of falling onto the floor in a crumpled heap the chair simply got sucked into the floorboards and melted away like hot butter on a skillit. The electromancer seperated like water in oil, his finery exploding into beads of light and his face cracking and shattering like a window that had just had a brick put through it. Every piece of his partner in crime came apart before reassembling themselves in a kaleidoscope of flesh and felt.

Then, without a care in the world, the clouds outside the windows became Veritas's face and Josh's eyes.

"Storm, who gave you permission to become the fucking sky?"