But the things inside Rhys weren't going to get out on their own. No, they were there to stay, and the young man reached for a splinter of mirror, picking it up and slicing into his fingers. He barely seemed to notice as he gripped the heavy piece of glass by the thicker end, and then started carving on his own chest. He sliced one line through the skin, following the path of a worm, then shoved his fingers into the flap, feeling around with a look of intense concentration. Nothing. He looked down at the squirming, and tried again. The sound of the mirror glass glancing across the bone of his ribs was a sickening one, but he barely noticed as he shoved his blood fingers into the wound again, trying to pull the intangible worms free. Again. And again. Rhys's chest was becoming a mass of raw flesh, shredded meat, and still he kept digging ... right until the movement he passed out, and the memory went black, thrusting Kurloz up and out and back into the real world.