It burned.
Every fiber of his being tingled. It was all about him, blanketing him in the same suffocating misery he had long grown used to. It pervaded his soul, inflicting itself upon him with such severity he would have surely choked should he have been capable of such an action. It engulfed him; truly, he was lost in the midst of its immeasurable expanse. Sight and sound existed not on this temporal plane between life and death. All he had left was his thoughts, and those came to him through a labor that was beyond the worst torture he had ever experienced. Sanity was quite out of the question; at least it would be, if not for one thought. The single concept, most often taken for granted, had entered his mind at the very end; sticking with him even in his death throes, making the pain a bit more bearable.
He was free.
The emptiness gnawed away at what remained of his soul; a slow, steady burn that would have surely drove him to tears during his days amongst the living. Yet he had grown accustomed to it, although in the past there had been that other presence to reinforce his will; to suffer the burning alongside him.
In the past...
It's to be expected that time had no meaning in the pitchless void. Planets could be born, trangress slowly along their allotted lifespans and fade from history as ignobly as anything; he would be none the wiser during the entire process. The long possession of the "presence", along with the ordeal in the Dimensional Cleft, had done quite a number on his mental falculties. His mind as well as his body had been shattered, leaving him in a state of undying diress.
Freedom...
Perhaps the few things one holds dear and close to their heart are beyond any manner of destruction. In any case, the shapeless being found himself suddenly with a rare moment of lucidity.
He was not completely gone yet.
Which was not to say that his situation was any better. He was technically "dead"; the reason for his lingering self awareness was beyond the grasp of his limited sanity. Every rule that he once lived and abided by had been thrown out of the cosmic window. In their place remained one thing, a concept that gnawed at the edge of every thought taken; a concept that he had been familiar with for far too long.
Helplessness.
And freedom...
He couldn't blame them, he found himself thinking. And yet he wanted to blame them, the "presence", anybody but himself. At least in his choice of blame he was free to lay it on anybody he so chose; yet time after time again he kept coming back to himself. His own lack of willpower. He had some hundred years to wrest control of his body from the "presence"; every time the attempt was made he'd been soundly rejected, sent scurrying back into the depths of his sanity. The presence's willpower was insanely strong, too strong for him alone.
No, he couldn't blame them.
They were only doing what they thought was right.
i"And in ignorance the downfall of every man is to be found."/i
He agreed with them, though. They were doing what he found to be right as well. The merging of the two planets, the unleashing of the Galactic Rip, the century of warfare before they had ever come into the picture. All were uncalled for; all were needlessly bloody.
"What, am I looking for penance or something."
If he had been capable of scoffing he would have done so. The evil actions of long ago were in the past; unchangable, undoable. He had no idea how much time had passed since his destruction in the Dimensional Cleft. Perhaps they'd long forgotten about his evil, or perhaps only a single day had gone by. In any case he shortly discarded that train of thought. It wasn't like he was going to ever find out.
"In the past..."
Vague recollections of his previous sojourn in the timeless prison rose, unbidden, in his thoughts. During his previous stay he had the "presence" for company, with the "presence" firmly lodged in his mind. That was the first time his attempts to dislodge the entity had gotten anywhere. The four Devas of Dawn had done their jobs and removed him from the living, but the "presence" and the body still remained as one.
"Bungling fools. Barely managed to eradicate me, even with my own help, then couldn't get it done correctly."
He had to admit, though, that the spell they'd used to seal the deed was perhaps the most advanced of any mortal. And sealed he was; apparently, a good thirty years had gone by before he had escaped the featureless void that, even now, strove to devour his sanity.
"If only I knew how it escaped..."
It was most unlikely he would ever know the answer. The presence that had possessed him and controlled his body for over a century was beyond his comprehension. In fact, he doubted there existed a being whose comprehension it was not beyond.
The emptiness was already building inside of him.
He could remember nothing of his life before the "presence". The "presence" had mangled or skewed or flat out erased memories of his previous existence. Indeed, he found himself thankful only his memory was lost in the bout. Maintaining his sanity had been nearly more than he could handle.
"All for its own purpose."
Although his memory was, well, a distant memory, he was sure he'd never ecountered anything like the "presence" beforehand. Pure hatred, intense disatisfaction, a ravenous hungering; all summed the "presence" up quite nicely. It had proved quite impossible to follow the "presence's" thought processes; he was never sure whether he couldn't comprehend its motives, or whether it just had no motives at all. One thing, however, he was quite sure about.
The "presence" was insane.
And it had just about driven him insane along with it. He was sure, as sure as a formless spirit could be, that his sanity would have been forever lost if it had lingered a moment longer.
"No, can't blame them... can't blame them..."
The emptiness began to expand within him; he knew that it was only a matter of time before it consumed him again and all lucid thought would leave him. Resisting the urge to despair, he instead tried to put his fragmented, disjointed thoughts into a perspective that included time.
"The beginning... of course... the beginning begins with it taking control of me... something about trees... something about meteors..."
Meteors.
The "presence" had been looking for a way off of the planet. He was fairly sure about that. Yet if he himself had the abilities to get the "presence" off the planet... that, he did not know.
"Rage... so much rage... war... blood... domination... subjugation... none could stand against me..."
He managed to recall that he was hated by many on the planet. His name was most often spoken in whispers or followed by profanities a plenty. It seemed that in its eagerness to escape the planetary confines, the "presence" had conquered many lands and made many enemies. Faded, garbled memories of a kingdom once ruled under his command were brought forth from the depths of his diseased mind, only to dissipate shortly thereafter. Yet nevertheless, they lasted long enough to allow him to recall the meteor technology; simple two way, planet-to-planet transit.
Whether he himself or the "presence" came up with the technology, he could not know.
He remembered the "presence" being excited one day. The day he was to step into the meteor and leave the planet behind forever. He was fully aware at the time, but as always powerless to stand against the "presence". He himself was not too thrilled with the prospect of leaving the planet, much less allowing the "presence" to have its way, but there was not a single thing he could do about it.
Then the four Devas of Dawn came calling.
"Can't remember much else after that... too busy fighting that entity... too busy giving those bunglers a chance to survive."
Having previous issues with him, the four Devas somehow found themselves trapped in the meteor with him. It was a continuous battle during the planetary transit; physicality against his awesome might, and his mind against the awesome mind of the "presence". Four against one is not favorable odds for anybody or anything; yet, it was only through his constant mental warfare that the four Devas managed to overcome him just as the meteor hit ground zero.
"And then they couldn't finish me off."
Instead of killing him, the four Devas sealed him on the new planet and split the seal into four fragments. Each fragment was enchanted into a certain elemental crystal that was native to the planet. Apparently the Devas thought that was enough to keep him out of the picture for good; for after some more bungling and argument, they discovered how the meteors worked and return to their home planet.
All but one, however.
The fourth remained on the unamed planet as a "guardian" over his body, sealed far away beyond the reach of mortal man in Limbo. Yet he quickly became insignificant and faded from the picture; of course, until the end in the Dimensional Cleft, that is.
It began to burn again.
"Time passed... and I escaped... if only I knew... how I did it."
Yet he didn't, and it was pointless to ponder on things impossibly beyond his grasp. The emptiness was beginning to overwhelm him; already he felt as if he was suffocating in a sea of helplessness. There was no rock to break the waves; no raft to save him from the stormy waters of the damned. Thought took more and more effort, and it would not be long until his soul became lost in the hopelessness of the void.
"It wanted to return to that other place... must have came up with a plan during the... during my chaining... they followed me... seems it learned how to merge planets in the meantime..."
Which only furthered his suspicions of insanity on the part of the "presence". Try as he might, and thinking had long since become very hard, he could not come up with a reason for the merging of the two planets. Apparently the "presence" had one, however, and it must have been good; for despite his best efforts, he was unable to prevent the cataclysmic event from taking place.
"And then... and then the Dimensional Cleft..."
The merging of the two planets had completely screwed up the surrounding solar systems; it was inevitable that a Galactic Rip be formed. A tear, or hole in the very fabric of time and space, laced with insane amounts of radiation; more than enough to kill a person. It was through this hole that the "presence" led him, deeper and deeper through the delicate interweavings of insanity itself.
All the way to the core of the universe.
A fitting place for the events that transpired there, he decided. For apparently the "presence"decided that his current body was not capable enough for whatever nefarious deeds it had planned. In an act of vile repugnance, he could do nothing to prevent his body from drawing from a pair of crystals he had earlier acquired, entering a state of metamorphasis and forever altering his own flesh.
True horror was never made more apparent than at that moment.
No matter how he struggled; no matter how he resisted, nothing he could do would prevent the process. He could only watch in horror as his body contorted itself into dimensions far beyond anything remotely seemly; before long, he was a tree-like serpent, disgusting in every sense of the word. Yet the "presence" was not yet satisfied and the metamorphasis continued. In was then, in the middle of the metamorphasis, that the mental blockade was dropped and the "presence's" intentions were finally made clear. It wanted to meld with the universe itself, an attempt in quenching its overwhelming thirst for knowledge.
There was no more doubt in his diseased mind that the "presence" was quite entirely insane.
Right then and there, he realized his chance of ever escaping the hold of the "presence" were exactly zero. His body was no longer his own. Already he could feel the tremendous pressure of the "presence" bearing down upon him, attempting to eject his mind from the mutated freak he'd become. There would be no more attempts made; he would have no more chances of reclaiming his own body, his own mind.
His own soul.
Near the end of the metamorphasis, those people showed up. The people had been hounding him for quite some time. Ever since his escape from Limbo, in one form or another, those people had been on his tail. He himself didn't care. In fact, he wished desperately that they, or anybody else, would be able to put an end to his life. But the "presence" was quite infutiated with them. Although they had not been able to kill him during past encounters, the "presence" hadn't been able to kill them either. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to weaken the potency of his own attacks in order to keep them alive, but the effort had been worth it.
For they had followed him into the Dimensional Cleft with the intent of destroying him.
He couldn't remember much of the battle that ensued; in fact, he hardly remembered any of it. The "presence" was intent on banishing him from the mutation that his body had become, and he was equally desperate in finding a way to stay connected to the shell. He never thought about the consequences should he become seperated from the body; it was natural instinct that drove him to fight the "presence". Although it was all he could do to stay connected. The "presence" pervaded an area of his mind, driving out his consciousness only to have it root itself in an area that the entity had since vacated. It was cat and mouse; back and forth between the two willpowers as they beat on his mutated body.
And then the metamorphasis was complete.
What emerged was a monstrosity beyond description. Its very birth destroyed the laws of physics, sending reality spiraling end over end into a chaotic downfall. The "presence" let up his assault momentarily. For the first time he knew of, he was sensing ecstasy oozing from the "presence"; ecstasy beyond any malice or hatred he had previously sensed. Ecstasy in the fact that all knowledge was within his fingertips.
That was its mistake.
The moment the "presence" relented its assault, he, in return, assaulted it with everything he had. A century of frustration, a century of helplessness, a century of despair. His willpower gushed forth in a constant stream , suffocating the "presence" in his own malice; his own hatred, his own ecstasy. He fully realized that the "presence" was now beyond anything ever known in the history of creation. Yet he didn't care. It was time to do or die; death or not, he would deny the "presence" its final goal.
Much like it had denied him his life.
It was fortunate that those people decided to attack at that exact moment. For he, and all of his efforts, were swatted aside as casually as a fly. Yet the "presence" realized that the precarious position it was now in, and thus didn't move to finish him once and for all. Instead, it turned its attention on those people.
That was its other mistake.
As far beyond comprehension it had transgressed, it appeared that his body was still affected by swords and axes. By spears and the destructive magic of the cosmos. Those people assaulted him with in these in abundance; while none affected him in any severity, he could feel the pain coursing through his body. All the while he'd since redoubled his assault against the "presence", and again it threw him aside as easily as ever.
It could not finish them off.
The battle raged on, and again and again he threw his willpower against that of the "presence". It wasn't long before all sense had completely left him; all that remained was hatred, complete and pure, for the "presence". He would redouble his assault as soon as he was thrown aside, all the while ignoring the pain his body was now experiencing. The hatred, now oozing from the "presence", only served to augment his own. Even the awesome willpower of the "presence" began to give in after awhile; ever so slightly, yet it was noticable to him. He redoubled and quadrupled his assaults, lost in a sea of hatred and a gale of distorted memories long gone.
And then it was over.
He was free. The "presence" had finally left him. For the first time in ages, freedom of mind had returned to him. Yet joy was still rejected, jubilation did not come. He was left with a horribly mutated body, a body that was burning in several places and bleeding in many more. The smell of smoke would not reach his senses, in fact, he found it was becoming hard to see.
He was dying.
The end came quick, thankfully; mercifully, it came quick. One of them leapt high into the distorted air; coming down with a brilliant sword unsheathed, plunging it into a vital area of his freakish anatomy. That in itself did not kill him; but almost instantly he felt a great heat build up in his body. He had not time to ponder whether his innards were burning, or whether he had innards at all. The heat grew in potency and power impossibly fast; then, mercifully swift and heavenly painless, it expanded to every point of his body and burst forth in a glorious explosion.
Needless to say, he was ripped to shreds.
And yet he was not dead. He was featureless; without form, without shape. Trapped in an equally featureless void, surrounded by his own misery. Choking on his own sorrow and being burned alive by his own hatred. He would have preferred death, but that last thought had been so painful, his soul had instantly combusted into a blazing inferno of hopelessness.
Once again, he was lost to sanity.
Truly, now more than ever, the name he had long ago abandoned suited him. No longer among the living and not having control of his body for a century. Having to always sit on the sidelines, watching through the window, always not strong enough to face his tormentor. He'd been in this situation before; only now, that he was finally alone, finally free, did his weakness truly come to light. Despair was his constant companion; insanity his right hand man. Death was nothing to him. As an escape it would be the greatest boon, yet could not die; would not die.
He was past death.
He was Exdeath.
It burned.
Every fiber of his being tingled. It was all about him, blanketing him in the same suffocating misery he had long grown used to. It pervaded his soul, inflicting itself upon him with such severity he would have surely choked should he have been capable of such an action. It engulfed him; truly, he was lost in the midst of its immeasurable expanse. Sight and sound existed not on this temporal plane between life and death. All he had left was his thoughts, and those came to him through a labor that was beyond the worst torture he had ever experienced. Sanity was quite out of the question; at least it would be, if not for one thought. The single concept, most often taken for granted, had entered his mind at the very end; sticking with him even in his death throes, making the pain a bit more bearable.
He was free.
The emptiness gnawed away at what remained of his soul; a slow, steady burn that would have surely drove him to tears during his days amongst the living. Yet he had grown accustomed to it, although in the past there had been that other presence to reinforce his will; to suffer the burning alongside him.
In the past...
It's to be expected that time had no meaning in the pitchless void. Planets could be born, trangress slowly along their allotted lifespans and fade from history as ignobly as anything; he would be none the wiser during the entire process. The long possession of the "presence", along with the ordeal in the Dimensional Cleft, had done quite a number on his mental falculties. His mind as well as his body had been shattered, leaving him in a state of undying diress.
Freedom...
Perhaps the few things one holds dear and close to their heart are beyond any manner of destruction. In any case, the shapeless being found himself suddenly with a rare moment of lucidity.
He was not completely gone yet.
Which was not to say that his situation was any better. He was technically "dead"; the reason for his lingering self awareness was beyond the grasp of his limited sanity. Every rule that he once lived and abided by had been thrown out of the cosmic window. In their place remained one thing, a concept that gnawed at the edge of every thought taken; a concept that he had been familiar with for far too long.
Helplessness.
And freedom...
He couldn't blame them, he found himself thinking. And yet he wanted to blame them, the "presence", anybody but himself. At least in his choice of blame he was free to lay it on anybody he so chose; yet time after time again he kept coming back to himself. His own lack of willpower. He had some hundred years to wrest control of his body from the "presence"; every time the attempt was made he'd been soundly rejected, sent scurrying back into the depths of his sanity. The presence's willpower was insanely strong, too strong for him alone.
No, he couldn't blame them.
They were only doing what they thought was right.
i"And in ignorance the downfall of every man is to be found."/i
He agreed with them, though. They were doing what he found to be right as well. The merging of the two planets, the unleashing of the Galactic Rip, the century of warfare before they had ever come into the picture. All were uncalled for; all were needlessly bloody.
"What, am I looking for penance or something."
If he had been capable of scoffing he would have done so. The evil actions of long ago were in the past; unchangable, undoable. He had no idea how much time had passed since his destruction in the Dimensional Cleft. Perhaps they'd long forgotten about his evil, or perhaps only a single day had gone by. In any case he shortly discarded that train of thought. It wasn't like he was going to ever find out.
"In the past..."
Vague recollections of his previous sojourn in the timeless prison rose, unbidden, in his thoughts. During his previous stay he had the "presence" for company, with the "presence" firmly lodged in his mind. That was the first time his attempts to dislodge the entity had gotten anywhere. The four Devas of Dawn had done their jobs and removed him from the living, but the "presence" and the body still remained as one.
"Bungling fools. Barely managed to eradicate me, even with my own help, then couldn't get it done correctly."
He had to admit, though, that the spell they'd used to seal the deed was perhaps the most advanced of any mortal. And sealed he was; apparently, a good thirty years had gone by before he had escaped the featureless void that, even now, strove to devour his sanity.
"If only I knew how it escaped..."
It was most unlikely he would ever know the answer. The presence that had possessed him and controlled his body for over a century was beyond his comprehension. In fact, he doubted there existed a being whose comprehension it was not beyond.
The emptiness was already building inside of him.
He could remember nothing of his life before the "presence". The "presence" had mangled or skewed or flat out erased memories of his previous existence. Indeed, he found himself thankful only his memory was lost in the bout. Maintaining his sanity had been nearly more than he could handle.
"All for its own purpose."
Although his memory was, well, a distant memory, he was sure he'd never ecountered anything like the "presence" beforehand. Pure hatred, intense disatisfaction, a ravenous hungering; all summed the "presence" up quite nicely. It had proved quite impossible to follow the "presence's" thought processes; he was never sure whether he couldn't comprehend its motives, or whether it just had no motives at all. One thing, however, he was quite sure about.
The "presence" was insane.
And it had just about driven him insane along with it. He was sure, as sure as a formless spirit could be, that his sanity would have been forever lost if it had lingered a moment longer.
"No, can't blame them... can't blame them..."
The emptiness began to expand within him; he knew that it was only a matter of time before it consumed him again and all lucid thought would leave him. Resisting the urge to despair, he instead tried to put his fragmented, disjointed thoughts into a perspective that included time.
"The beginning... of course... the beginning begins with it taking control of me... something about trees... something about meteors..."
Meteors.
The "presence" had been looking for a way off of the planet. He was fairly sure about that. Yet if he himself had the abilities to get the "presence" off the planet... that, he did not know.
"Rage... so much rage... war... blood... domination... subjugation... none could stand against me..."
He managed to recall that he was hated by many on the planet. His name was most often spoken in whispers or followed by profanities a plenty. It seemed that in its eagerness to escape the planetary confines, the "presence" had conquered many lands and made many enemies. Faded, garbled memories of a kingdom once ruled under his command were brought forth from the depths of his diseased mind, only to dissipate shortly thereafter. Yet nevertheless, they lasted long enough to allow him to recall the meteor technology; simple two way, planet-to-planet transit.
Whether he himself or the "presence" came up with the technology, he could not know.
He remembered the "presence" being excited one day. The day he was to step into the meteor and leave the planet behind forever. He was fully aware at the time, but as always powerless to stand against the "presence". He himself was not too thrilled with the prospect of leaving the planet, much less allowing the "presence" to have its way, but there was not a single thing he could do about it.
Then the four Devas of Dawn came calling.
"Can't remember much else after that... too busy fighting that entity... too busy giving those bunglers a chance to survive."
Having previous issues with him, the four Devas somehow found themselves trapped in the meteor with him. It was a continuous battle during the planetary transit; physicality against his awesome might, and his mind against the awesome mind of the "presence". Four against one is not favorable odds for anybody or anything; yet, it was only through his constant mental warfare that the four Devas managed to overcome him just as the meteor hit ground zero.
"And then they couldn't finish me off."
Instead of killing him, the four Devas sealed him on the new planet and split the seal into four fragments. Each fragment was enchanted into a certain elemental crystal that was native to the planet. Apparently the Devas thought that was enough to keep him out of the picture for good; for after some more bungling and argument, they discovered how the meteors worked and return to their home planet.
All but one, however.
The fourth remained on the unamed planet as a "guardian" over his body, sealed far away beyond the reach of mortal man in Limbo. Yet he quickly became insignificant and faded from the picture; of course, until the end in the Dimensional Cleft, that is.
It began to burn again.
"Time passed... and I escaped... if only I knew... how I did it."
Yet he didn't, and it was pointless to ponder on things impossibly beyond his grasp. The emptiness was beginning to overwhelm him; already he felt as if he was suffocating in a sea of helplessness. There was no rock to break the waves; no raft to save him from the stormy waters of the damned. Thought took more and more effort, and it would not be long until his soul became lost in the hopelessness of the void.
"It wanted to return to that other place... must have came up with a plan during the... during my chaining... they followed me... seems it learned how to merge planets in the meantime..."
Which only furthered his suspicions of insanity on the part of the "presence". Try as he might, and thinking had long since become very hard, he could not come up with a reason for the merging of the two planets. Apparently the "presence" had one, however, and it must have been good; for despite his best efforts, he was unable to prevent the cataclysmic event from taking place.
"And then... and then the Dimensional Cleft..."
The merging of the two planets had completely screwed up the surrounding solar systems; it was inevitable that a Galactic Rip be formed. A tear, or hole in the very fabric of time and space, laced with insane amounts of radiation; more than enough to kill a person. It was through this hole that the "presence" led him, deeper and deeper through the delicate interweavings of insanity itself.
All the way to the core of the universe.
A fitting place for the events that transpired there, he decided. For apparently the "presence"decided that his current body was not capable enough for whatever nefarious deeds it had planned. In an act of vile repugnance, he could do nothing to prevent his body from drawing from a pair of crystals he had earlier acquired, entering a state of metamorphasis and forever altering his own flesh.
True horror was never made more apparent than at that moment.
No matter how he struggled; no matter how he resisted, nothing he could do would prevent the process. He could only watch in horror as his body contorted itself into dimensions far beyond anything remotely seemly; before long, he was a tree-like serpent, disgusting in every sense of the word. Yet the "presence" was not yet satisfied and the metamorphasis continued. In was then, in the middle of the metamorphasis, that the mental blockade was dropped and the "presence's" intentions were finally made clear. It wanted to meld with the universe itself, an attempt in quenching its overwhelming thirst for knowledge.
There was no more doubt in his diseased mind that the "presence" was quite entirely insane.
Right then and there, he realized his chance of ever escaping the hold of the "presence" were exactly zero. His body was no longer his own. Already he could feel the tremendous pressure of the "presence" bearing down upon him, attempting to eject his mind from the mutated freak he'd become. There would be no more attempts made; he would have no more chances of reclaiming his own body, his own mind.
His own soul.
Near the end of the metamorphasis, those people showed up. The people had been hounding him for quite some time. Ever since his escape from Limbo, in one form or another, those people had been on his tail. He himself didn't care. In fact, he wished desperately that they, or anybody else, would be able to put an end to his life. But the "presence" was quite infutiated with them. Although they had not been able to kill him during past encounters, the "presence" hadn't been able to kill them either. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to weaken the potency of his own attacks in order to keep them alive, but the effort had been worth it.
For they had followed him into the Dimensional Cleft with the intent of destroying him.
He couldn't remember much of the battle that ensued; in fact, he hardly remembered any of it. The "presence" was intent on banishing him from the mutation that his body had become, and he was equally desperate in finding a way to stay connected to the shell. He never thought about the consequences should he become seperated from the body; it was natural instinct that drove him to fight the "presence". Although it was all he could do to stay connected. The "presence" pervaded an area of his mind, driving out his consciousness only to have it root itself in an area that the entity had since vacated. It was cat and mouse; back and forth between the two willpowers as they beat on his mutated body.
And then the metamorphasis was complete.
What emerged was a monstrosity beyond description. Its very birth destroyed the laws of physics, sending reality spiraling end over end into a chaotic downfall. The "presence" let up his assault momentarily. For the first time he knew of, he was sensing ecstasy oozing from the "presence"; ecstasy beyond any malice or hatred he had previously sensed. Ecstasy in the fact that all knowledge was within his fingertips.
That was its mistake.
The moment the "presence" relented its assault, he, in return, assaulted it with everything he had. A century of frustration, a century of helplessness, a century of despair. His willpower gushed forth in a constant stream , suffocating the "presence" in his own malice; his own hatred, his own ecstasy. He fully realized that the "presence" was now beyond anything ever known in the history of creation. Yet he didn't care. It was time to do or die; death or not, he would deny the "presence" its final goal.
Much like it had denied him his life.
It was fortunate that those people decided to attack at that exact moment. For he, and all of his efforts, were swatted aside as casually as a fly. Yet the "presence" realized that the precarious position it was now in, and thus didn't move to finish him once and for all. Instead, it turned its attention on those people.
That was its other mistake.
As far beyond comprehension it had transgressed, it appeared that his body was still affected by swords and axes. By spears and the destructive magic of the cosmos. Those people assaulted him with in these in abundance; while none affected him in any severity, he could feel the pain coursing through his body. All the while he'd since redoubled his assault against the "presence", and again it threw him aside as easily as ever.
It could not finish them off.
The battle raged on, and again and again he threw his willpower against that of the "presence". It wasn't long before all sense had completely left him; all that remained was hatred, complete and pure, for the "presence". He would redouble his assault as soon as he was thrown aside, all the while ignoring the pain his body was now experiencing. The hatred, now oozing from the "presence", only served to augment his own. Even the awesome willpower of the "presence" began to give in after awhile; ever so slightly, yet it was noticable to him. He redoubled and quadrupled his assaults, lost in a sea of hatred and a gale of distorted memories long gone.
And then it was over.
He was free. The "presence" had finally left him. For the first time in ages, freedom of mind had returned to him. Yet joy was still rejected, jubilation did not come. He was left with a horribly mutated body, a body that was burning in several places and bleeding in many more. The smell of smoke would not reach his senses, in fact, he found it was becoming hard to see.
He was dying.
The end came quick, thankfully; mercifully, it came quick. One of them leapt high into the distorted air; coming down with a brilliant sword unsheathed, plunging it into a vital area of his freakish anatomy. That in itself did not kill him; but almost instantly he felt a great heat build up in his body. He had not time to ponder whether his innards were burning, or whether he had innards at all. The heat grew in potency and power impossibly fast; then, mercifully swift and heavenly painless, it expanded to every point of his body and burst forth in a glorious explosion.
Needless to say, he was ripped to shreds.
And yet he was not dead. He was featureless; without form, without shape. Trapped in an equally featureless void, surrounded by his own misery. Choking on his own sorrow and being burned alive by his own hatred. He would have preferred death, but that last thought had been so painful, his soul had instantly combusted into a blazing inferno of hopelessness.
Once again, he was lost to sanity.
Truly, now more than ever, the name he had long ago abandoned suited him. No longer among the living and not having control of his body for a century. Having to always sit on the sidelines, watching through the window, always not strong enough to face his tormentor. He'd been in this situation before; only now, that he was finally alone, finally free, did his weakness truly come to light. Despair was his constant companion; insanity his right hand man. Death was nothing to him. As an escape it would be the greatest boon, yet could not die; would not die.
He was past death.
He was Exdeath.
It burned.
