Mud Land

NOTES: Akatsuki is now disbanded because they all got sick of their Leader telling them what to do and gang-raped him to death; and since this is based on a shounen manga in which evil men who murder old people for kicks and eat babies for fun (and not nutrition!) tend to convert in the end, they all became good guys.

It’s totally feasible, I tell you.

Anyway, I've taken liberties in describing the Stone Village, as you'll see.

* * *

Finally, that meeting was over.

But who was that person sitting at the head of the room? Kiba had kept an eye on him throughout the entire meeting; or maybe it was a her . . . he honestly couldn’t tell, but he didn’t give a damn because whatever it was, it was hot. As all that ambience of BLAH! BLAH! BLAH! went in one ear and out the other, he’d focused on him/her, absorbing its androgynous face, soaking in the sandy rays reflecting off its sun-blond hair. Every time it yawned, he’d caught a glimpse of a glowing azure eye (hair veiled the other); and suffice to say, it had Kiba hypnotized . . . and he wanted some ass, dammit. Too bad it got away before he could introduce himself.

Ambling towards the exit, he pulled back a flap of hide, a generic Stone Village door, and stepped into the sand.

Plunk!

His foot sank, knee plunging into mud.

No wonder this village had chakra control so refined. From an early age, the natives always had to maintain a stream of chakra in order to stay atop the silken mess of milk-dirt he’d just stepped in; otherwise, they’d sink. He imagined how fun it might be to play Hopscotch with Akamaru in this stuff, and speaking of his dog, he wondered how Akamaru was doing back home in the Leaf Village. Since the dog hated going on business trips, he was probably just sitting around, sleeping, and generally being lazy; and since Kiba didn’t need him so much these days, compliments of the fierce training involved in becoming a jounin, he didn’t mind letting his dog sit out boring missions like this. Not to mention Akamaru was getting old.

Kiba looked around at the enormous chunks of chocolate rock surrounding the village. Concentrating on his feet, he expelled some chakra and rose to the surface, floating perfectly as though he were standing on solid ground now. He grinned and walked across the mud. This trained endurance, too, he realized. If he’d been younger, this would’ve been tough.

A flap-door clapped from behind. He glanced back, but it wasn’t someone he knew. He was about to press on when an assortment of ninjas and politicians streamed out.

Hey, maybe that blondie’ll show up, he thought.

Sure enough, after a few random heads came strolling out, a bright mop of sunshine came brilliantly forth with dignity. Awkward dignity. It was kind of bizarre to watch it walk. It moved in a paranoid manner, head bobbing up and down like a bird, azure eye twitching about, calculating every little thing going on around it.

“Hey!” Kiba hollered. “Are you a boy or a girl?”

Everyone stared at him. He figured they didn’t know who he was talking to, so he pointed. “That one! The one with the blond hair!”

Its eye widened, lips opening a crack then sealing in a smirk.

Kiba strutted over. “So what are you?”

It paused, twirling a strand of hair. “I’m a boy, yeah—and you are? hmm?”

“A guy! I thought it was obvious!”

“No, I meant your name, yeah,” the boy said, twiddling something on his ear. It came down with a click and looked like a scope with a translucent-green visor. Probably used for long-ranged fighting. He flicked it back up. “Well, mmm?”

“Kiba . . . Inuzuka Kiba.”

The boy scanned Kiba up and down, tilting his head side to side. “From the Leaf, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kiba nodded, a thumb on his chin. “Who’re you?”

“Deidara. Seventh Tsuchikage of the Stone, yeah.”

Kiba felt a stone drop in his stomach.

* * *

He woke up. He’d fainted. Mouthing off to the Tsuchikage like that, what the hell was he thinking about? . . . Getting some of the Tsuchikage’s ass, no doubt. Smooth move, Kiba. What’ve you got? Ex-Lax for brains? Hardy-har-har-har. But maybe it was all just a dream, an illusion, genjutsu—and maybe he should pay more attention during business trips from now on. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

Glancing around, he discovered that he was in a really nice hut. All the homes and restaurants and schools and whorehouses and other places of concern in the Stone Village were huts like this: hide-walls, dirt-floors, pack it up and go when you’re on the run. He liked it. Felt nomadic and primitive. Totally fit his style. A pool of khaki mud, bubbles popping, steam flowing from its velvet surface, was in the center of the room. A garden sat to his right, stinging his nose with scents of chemical-enriched soil and vegetation. No flowers, just greenery. Near the back of the room was a tidy kitchen, not one dirty dish amongst all this dirt. A hallway of hide trailed off to his left, another one mirroring that. Some sort of fabric packed with gel cushioned his back. Firm enough to support him, soft enough to feel like a pillow.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, came some footsteps from one of the hallways. Since dirt made up the floor, they were faint, muffled, but Kiba’s ears could handle it. Such strange metronomic rhythm, too. A familiar figure crept around the corner. That’s when Kiba realized what he’d said and done earlier wasn’t just a dream. He started laughing out abrupt mountains of jagged baritone.

“Something humorous, hmm?” the boy asked.

“Sorry about earlier!” Kiba said, struggling to stop.

“For what?”

His brow folded, cutting off his laughter. Was this a twin of the Tsuchikage? A clone? Either way, he figured it best to pretend like nothing had happened: “Nevermind.”

“All right then . . . yeah.”

That azure eye wandered about the room with a glazed-and-detached look, yet Kiba knew this boy, Deidara, was a genius. He wouldn’t be the Tsuchikage, otherwise. His mind probably tucked away every detail for future reference, similar to the sharingan, copying things to memory. That would explain his gestures and mannerisms.

Eccentric.

“Why don’t you take a bath here?” Deidara asked, pointing to the pool of mud.

“A mud-bath?” Kiba stared at the swamp of slop. “I’ve never done that before . . . is there a real bath somewhere else? I don’t mind taking a dip in that, looks like fun, but I’d like to be able to wash it off later!”

“There’s a hot spring down the hall, yeah.”

“A hot spring? You’ve got it made, don’t you?”

“Mmm . . . yeah.”

With a half-smile, Kiba hopped up and strolled over to the mud pool. He heard the rustle of clothing and turned to catch a brief gander at Deidara’s backside sloshing into the mud.

“Mmm . . . this is breath-taking,” Deidara said, mud up to his neck. “I suggest you try it, yeah.”

Hey, naked in a bath with him—I might actually get some action, Kiba thought. That was a nice ass.

Yanking his clothes off, tossing them to the side, he stood there and grinned, baring his canines, hands on his hips as he awaited Deidara to take a look at him—but Deidara paid him no heed. Instead, the Tsuchikage closed his eyes and leaned back in the mud, a calm smile across his lips. Wait, that looked more like a smirk.

Feeling a tad frustrated at this lack of attention, Kiba stepped into the mud. It was thick like pea soup and slushed about as he submerged. Once he finally hit rock bottom, the mud rose to just below his package, allowing it to sit upon the warm gel. That felt neat. He fell backwards, slurping sounds gulping him, mud flowing all around him, enveloping him up to the neck. It was hot and clean and felt really nice as it swallowed him up with a more delayed reaction than water. He started dogpaddling around in it, keeping his head above its surface, and the harsher-warmer friction of the thick fluids stimulated him. His cock swelled, erect in the liquid-soil. Like a rock.

“Do you take mud-baths a lot?” he asked, frothing about. Mud splattered upon the dirt-floor.

“Every day, yeah,” Deidara said. “I love mud. It’s clean and it’s dirty at the same time . . . mmm.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Clay is also fun, yeah?” Deidara lifted his hand. A ducky sculpted of yellow clay nested in his palm. He set it in the mud and watched it float. But soon after, it sank. Deidara frowned. “Damn . . . mmm.”

Kiba chuckled, looking at Deidara’s palm. It had a mouth. How bizarre. Chewing and contracting, it spat out another bird.

“Now watch this, yeah?”

Deidara set the bird upon the mud again and blew it. It skidded across the surface, turning to and fro, going diagonals, front ways, back ways, sideways, left ways, right of ways, and finally screeching to a halt. It sank three seconds later.

“. . . Maybe you should try putting some air bubbles in those birds,” Kiba said. “Then maybe they wouldn’t sink.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a good idea, yeah,” Deidara said. “But this is also fun.” He lifted his hand to his face and formed a common jutsu seal. “Release!”

Deidara’s sudden shout startled Kiba, and two giant bubbles emerged from the slop, bursting with a slushy FRSHHH! sound. Mud freckled Kiba’s face.

“What the hell was that?!” he asked, looking around.

“Art, yeah.”

“Art? More like a giant fart,” Kiba said, staring at the settling mud. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

“I made them explode, yeah.”

“. . . Ah.”

Well, that made sense, but what the hell did Deidara mean by art? Kiba didn’t have much of an appreciation for the stuff, except maybe music. Yeah, music. Nice, quiet stuff. Whispers of the forest. Birds saying, Poo-tee-weet! (unfortunately, these birds seemed unable to squeak out any tunes). Foliage crinkling and crunching under his feet. Wind idling by. The crack, snapple, pop! of flames licking a chicken. Rivers chuckling along, fish splashing forth to catch a bug. Tranquility. That was good music to Kiba’s ears.

. . . But he also like loud and raucous stuff, and explosions certainly qualified as loud and raucous stuff!

“Do that again!” he said, pointing at Deidara’s hands.

“Do what, hmm?”

“Make a bird come outta your hand and blow it up!” Kiba thought about it for a second. “But this time, keep it above the mud.”

“Oh, so you’re a connoisseur of the arts then, yeah?”

“Sure,” Kiba said, nodding. “Now blow some shit up.”

“Okay.” Deidara opened his palm and presented a lotus. Muddy petals weaved about forming a kaleidoscope of clay. “This one’s less powerful. If I used a bird, you might get caught in the blast, yeah?”

Kiba dipped his head in understanding.

Wading over to the mud-bath’s center, Deidara submerged his hand, planting the blossom upon the surface. There was a click of teeth from underneath the lotus, then his hand reemerged. He returned to his corner of the bath and formed a seal. “Release!”

KIRSHHH!!

In a flurry of light and mud, the lotus exploded. White smoke remained, swiftly dissipating.

“That was awesome,” Kiba said, grinning.

“I see you understand what great art really is, yeah?”

Kiba nodded his head, unsure of how else to respond.

“True art is fleeting . . . yeah.”

Kiba just kept shaking his head up and down in agreement. He was starting to see a little opening here. Maybe he would be getting inside a Kage’s kimono today.

And with that, Deidara went into a crazed rant about how art is really something that is in the moment. Not something eternal. Nothing is eternal! True art is fleeting, fleeting, fleeting! he kept repeating. It’s climactic but abrupt. He stood up, mud sliding down his body as he paced back and forth, Kiba nodding all the while, and after a few more minutes of listening, Kiba punched the MUTE button on Deidara’s voice and looked around. Pottery lined the room, both clay and glass. Designs featuring the feathered folk glazed most of them. Others looked plain and unfinished like something an amateur in ceramics class had half-assedly completed, promptly receiving a C (. . . or an A, depending on the teacher). He hadn’t noticed any of these before because he’d just awoken, and they’d blended into the background like all good furniture and appliances should. He’d been more focused on that mud hole. You don’t see that everyday.

Suddenly, he interrupted Deidara’s eloquent speech about explosions being the ultimate form of art: “Did you make all those yourself?” He waved his hand in the general direction of the pottery, which was pretty much everywhere.

“Oh, you like them, hmm?”

“Yeah—but wouldn’t those works of art be . . . unfleeting?”

Deidara paused, eyes narrowing. “Hmm, you’re right, hmm . . . HMMMMM!!”

He marched out of the mud and strolled over to one of his works of art. Picking it up, eyeing it with lingering affection, he dropped it to the ground, and a CRASH! shattered the bubbling ambience of the mud-bath.

“Now they’re fleeting, mmm.”

Kiba felt beads of sweat dotting his face as Deidara placed his hand atop a pot. There was a shlop and a thud, then he lifted his hand and said, “Release!” The pot exploded, shards piercing the mud near Kiba, a shower of ceramic arrows.

What the hell’s this guy doing? Kiba thought, watching Deidara destroy his art, both the elegant and the mediocre.

“I don’t need this,” Deidara said, tossing a platter behind him with a crash. “Or this.” He slapped a plate onto the floor, shattering it in a million pieces. His eye twitched at Kiba. “Yeah?”

“Uhh—I guess.”

Deidara continued until shards lay everywhere. He’d destroyed his entire collection of pottery in a matter of seconds. How the heck was Kiba going get out of this mud-bath now? All those splinters everywhere awaiting his feet. Crap.

“You really do know good art, yeah,” Deidara said, looking about at the festive geometry. Rainbows sketched off the assorted glass, painting the hide-ceiling above.

Kiba kept silent. He was starting to get a bit worried for his safety.

Deidara came stalking back to the mud-bath in his bobbing manner, somehow obliviously dodging every single one of the randomly-scattered fragments. He stepped back into the bath. He’d been naked the entire time, but that crust of mud had shelled his nether regions like a coat of chocolate on ice cream.

“I’ll clean that mess up later,” he said. “Otherwise we’d have another ‘unfleeting’ work of art on our hands, yeah.” He sank back into the bath. It rose to his neck again, and a smirk slithered across his face. Mud gilded the sun-blond tips of his hair.

For awhile, Kiba just played with himself in the soup, doing backstrokes and frontstrokes and selfstrokes, trying to ignore the creepiness of it all, and Deidara returned to his previous mood. But after a few minutes, it got boring. Deidara did some funny stuff, Kiba had to admit, and he wanted to see some more; so he attempted conversing again, noting to always show highest adoration for everything neverlasting: “I think I like your style.”

“Hmm?”

“I mean—I live in the moment. I do what I want. If people got a problem with that, I say fuck ’em.”

Deidara nodded. “That’s the way to live. Beautifully, yes.”

“Impulsive,” Kiba said with a grin.

The funny thing was—this BS spilled out of him naturally. He wasn’t a poet, but the words came from his mouth with flow and eloquence. Because he was spontaneous. He was impromptu. He could pull shit out of his ass just like this guy could pull birds out of his hand.

“I think I like your style, too, then, Inuzuka Kiba—indeed.”

“Oh, come on!” Kiba growled. “Just call me Kiba!”

Deidara raised his eyebrows, closed his eyes, and gave a shallow smile as he nodded. As though he were bowing to Kiba’s request with a touché!

“Now how’s this for impulsive?” Kiba said, feeling confident now. “What’s your favorite position?”

“Position? Tsuchikage of the Stone, of course . . . mmm.”

“No, stupid! I’m talking about sex!”

“Sex?” Deidara paused. “Sex is fleeting. It’s true art, yeah.”

A window presented itself. Wide open, with a freshly-baked cherry pie, ready for the taking. With an emphasis on the cherry!

“You wanna do it?” Kiba asked, erection drilling through mud.

“With you?”

“No, one of your clay pigeons—of course, with me!”

Deidara kept a neutral face. “Why do you want to have sex with me?”

Because you’re the Tsuchikage, and I’d get ultimate bragging rights for the rest of my life. Talk about eternal beauty!

Yeah, that’s what Kiba wanted to say. But no, he needed to be a little bit more subtle with Deidara. So he gathered his thoughts and came up with the perfect thing to say: “’Cause I feel like it.”

Deidara smirked. “Stand up, then,” he said. “Let me get a good look at you, yeah?”

Kiba stood up; the mud slid off, and a nice fudgesicle and two chocolate balls accented his body.

Deidara fiddled with his eyescope. Flicking it up and down. Up and down. Up. Down. Each click exciting Kiba as Deidara’s smirk snaked into a sinister smile. A sinister smile that could only mean one thing: they were going to get kinky. Licking his lips, Deidara sat there.

“Top or bottom?” Kiba asked, impatience intoxicating him.

“Which would you prefer, hmm?”

“Me? I’ll take top.”

Deidara nodded. “Fine—well, come here then . . . yeah.”

Kiba waddled over with a grin, cock wagging back and forth in delight with each step. The mud began to boil as their chakra intermingled, for they both had similar auras: fast and furious. Standing right next to the Tsuchikage, fiery strands of energy wisping about, Kiba waited. In a slush of mud, Deidara stood up and reached his hand out as though he were offering a handshake. Frowning, Kiba placed his palm in Deidara’s hand.

Why isn’t he turning around? Kiba thought. I’m taking top aren’t I, so what’s the—

Licking. Chewing. Tickling.

It felt weird. Wet and sticky. Breath fluttered upon Kiba’s palm, a surreal handshake. Deidara squeezed him with a look of pleasure. Was this some kind of bizarre foreplay?

Another hand latched around Kiba’s back, licking up and down his spine, teasing him, a moist mass of muscle scooping and lapping up the peak of his crevice, digging into the top of his ass.

And then mouths began sliding all around Kiba’s body. Biting. Licking. Slurping. Doing the things that only a mouth could do. A much more mobile mouth than your average garden-variety mouth. A mouth that could reach unreachable zones with ease. Two of them. One took a little nibble of Kiba’s nipple. It felt warm against the node of flesh, numbing him as it circled about like the wheel of a potter, sculpting him, shaping him, tongue flickering against his pectorals.

He looked down.

The other hand had started eating the mud cloaking his body, devouring it, slurping it off, as the former hand began swabbing all around his back, slithering up and down his shoulder blades, coating him in a warm film of saliva. A breeze chilled his back, contrasting his intense heat, and the hands suddenly mimicked each other, reflecting their movements like shadow imitation jutsu, one glissandoing up and down the clefts of his abs, the other sliding along his spine, both bisque-firing him in a heartbeat.

Just as he was getting into the stomach/back massage, the hands started washing his arms, tickling him. He chuckled; then they vacuumed up his shaved armpits, and that really sent him into laughs. His erection hardened as those tongues licked his underarms.

And then, something really interesting happened.

A palm brushed across his cock, now throbbing for attention. He glanced down to see the mouth open wide and slide on. He yelped. It felt different from a normal mouth. Instead of a throat, it was more like fucking an ass with teeth and tongue. It was tight and drenched in saliva, contracting and sucking upon him stronger than any ass could. Devouring him. He felt a chalky substance in the mouth’s depths.

That must be his clay, he thought, pumping in. Feels yummy. Like hot powder snow.

Deidara had moved to the side and was standing there, hands in a pincer around Kiba, one hand giving him head . . . that meant the other hand was—

Fuck!

A tongue penetrated Kiba from behind, breaking apart his butt. It was fat and firm, filling him entirely, swabbing his insides, scrambling him into moans, tearing his edges apart, carving into his rectum. Each lick shocked him with pleasure as though he were a pinball bouncing back and forth between two bumpers, each thrust—a jolt of ecstasy.

All of a sudden, the hand in front inhaled, opening wider, and Kiba’s cock glided along smoothly, driving him to madness, pistoning into the mouth, that tongue from behind corkscrewing the inner walls of his ass.

And at last, he felt that all-too-familiar sensation rising within. He was about to climax.

With a thrust, he felt his zeal surge forth, flowing deep into that cavern of flesh, and the hand hungrily drank his offering, guzzling him, sucking him. Kiba craved a hug or human contact as he burst forth, his seed spilling from the palm’s lips. He wanted to hold someone in his arms or collapse to the floor or do something other than just stand there, but Deidara was inaccessible to the side, still puncturing him from behind, an intense spike drilling into him, pressing against his sweet spot, draining him of everything. He felt another stab of pleasure-pain inside his ass, and a final stream of essence exploded forth, booming throughout his body in happy vibrations.

“Gah!” he yelled, panting, still standing there, leaning into Deidara’s hand for support. He felt that tongue from behind shove itself firmly up his butt even farther as his calves weakened, suspending him in Deidara’s grip, inner workings still getting ravished about by that tongue. Deidara lifted him off the ground, holding him slightly above the mud, Kiba’s ass in one palm, its tongue digging right into him.

And as abruptly as it had begun, it just as abruptly ended.

Kiba dropped back into the mud, and both hands released him, that tongue slithering out of his ass, the mouth in front slipping off the crown of his cock. With Deidara’s shoulder as his crutch, he managed to keep standing, but he already longed for more, knees wobbling, pleasure still tingling his entrance.

Deidara stepped away. “Get out of the bath, yeah.”

Kiba’s mind raced. Was there more? He sloshed across the mud, completely rejuvenated in an instant. Stamina was a specialty of his—at least during sex. After sweeping off the floor of splintered pottery, he climbed out and realized that all the mud above his waist had been licked clean. Crawling along the floor, he twisted around and sat, legs spread apart and held near his chest, fully exposing himself, a proud package hungry for more, a ravished door longing to be opened again. Violently.

Deidara stepped out and pointed at Kiba’s legs. “I want to eat the rest of that mud, yeah.”

And without anymore warning than that, Deidara advanced, slipping his palm upon Kiba’s butt again, licking him inside, scaling up and down his gorge. The other hand slid across his shaft, clearing excess mud in a matter of seconds, and consumed the rest below in wagging motions, massaging his sac far better than any other hand could. Then the mouths slobbered across his legs, coiling all around them, not missing one speck, sweeping him clean. They slid down to the soles of his feet. It tickled tremendously and sent Kiba into laughs until every mote of mud was gone.

Deidara stood up, scanning Kiba. “That’s all the mud, yeah. Time for the climax . . . hmm.”

Climax, Kiba thought. Damn, this is gonna be good.

Deidara clapped his hands, interlocking his fingers. Munching noises. Growling and biting. A slurp here. A burp there. Then, a grain of silence. He vertically drew his hands apart.

A clay clone of Kiba sprouted from them like pulling a rabbit out of a hat, only this rabbit was absurdly larger than the hat. How did it fit inside? The clone’s eyes trudged open and gazed around the room. His hair was auburn, his skin was sepia, and the triangle tattoos slashing his face were cherrywood. Kiba was impressed.

“You wanted top, yes?” Deidara asked. “Take him. He’s yours. Better hurry though, or he’ll melt, yeah. I’m gonna go wash off now.” With that, he left in the direction from whence he came, footsteps ticking off time like a never-ending countdown.

Staring at this sexy replica of himself, Kiba wondered if the devouring of mud and clay off his body—including his own personal ingredients from his cock and ass—had led to its creation.

But before he could think much more about it, the clone marched over to him and spun around, slippery noises coming from its feet. Its ass certainly looked appetizing to Kiba, two mounds of clay flesh. Pert and virgin. A lot smoother than normal since no hair grew on the clone’s body. For instance, the hair on its head looked more like the frosting on a chocolate cake. If Kiba touched it, it would smear. Squatting, the clone toppled onto its hands and knees with a splotch sound, mud dripping upon the dirt-floor. The clone’s cheeks parted revealing a tight hole, a crater of untouched clay. Already rising, Kiba twisted over and lingeringly crawled up behind the clone, feeling its slick body under his own. He wedged his cock into its smooth ass. Warmth enveloped him. Steamy. Velvety. He pushed inside, entering with ease. No sounds of protest escaped the clone’s lips as he carved into its depths. It pressed back, those moist mounds meeting his pelvis. Once inside, Kiba looked down: they were already melding together in hot, silky textures. Caressingly, he wrapped his arms about the clone’s sides, and his imprint sank into it as oozy flesh dribbled down his thighs.

It’s so toasty inside, he thought, easing in and out. Man, I love me. I’m so fucking sexy. I’ll have to try this with man beast clone sometime.

Smiling devilishly, no lubrication needed, he did Deidara’s present—doggy-style.

* * *

“Now, you’ll see some real art, yep,” Deidara said as Kiba spun around to gaze at the mountain.

They’d just planted another clone. A Deidara Dynamite, to be precise. It stood atop a mountain, docile as they fled upon a clay bird. This was a much bigger bird than the others, wings strong and sturdy. How it flew, Kiba wasn’t sure. Deidara wouldn’t explain. But it did fly. And that was awesome. And that was all that mattered.

This must be how Akamaru felt riding in my hood back in the day, Kiba thought with a smile.

Gargantuan trees passed underneath them, green islands scattered about a sea of quicksand, an ocean of mud. Where if one were to fall asleep, they’d never wake up again. These trees were probably places of refuge for random passersby, a place to call home for others—home?

“Hey, this land’s uninhabited, isn’t it?” Kiba asked, shading his eyes from the sun.

“It will be, yeah,” Deidara said, lifting his hand in a seal. “Release!”

An eruption burst forth, hands of dazzling light snatching away the sky, webs of smoke tangling the atmosphere.

“ART IS A BANG!” Deidara hollered, a crazed look on his face, a pleased smile widening across his lips.

It was like watching the sun explode.

The sky bled as wind wisped through Kiba’s hair. A celadon ring, a shockwave, spilled from a mushroom of smoke and flowed beneath them. Circlets of white billowed out from beneath an umbrella of flame, and crags crashed in sporadic rhythm, debris returning to the earth as the fantastic sights and sounds dissipated over time.

All that remained of the mountain was a blazing pillar.

Eventually, that disappeared, too.