The Chained Man leaned against one of the pillars that ringed the walls of the Pope's throne room, a faint smile on his face. There were no robed clerics, just him.
The world around him shimmered like heat above a flame, looking distant, but clear enough to be seen.
He watched everything before him play out as if he was looking through a glass window. So close he could reach out and touch it, but untouchable all the same.
This was one of the techniques he'd created, an advanced manifestation of his chains. Or rather, an advanced use for the chains wrapped around him. After all, what do chains do? They restrict. And so, he restricted himself.
This was a technique he'd borrowed, in part, from the Forgotten. He had shaped his energy into a state that placed him both within and beyond the boundaries of the world.
In this state, he was neither a ghost nor an observer. Rather, he was like nature given awareness, watching but unable to act. A prisoner of perception.
