Limitless.
If there was one word that described the void, it would have to be persistent. More specifically, the icy emptiness was persistent. All about him it persisted, refusing to let up one single inch. To do otherwise was not within the void's capabilities. It was if it knew only smothering, icy oppression; leniency was quite apparently out of the question.
Exdeath wished he'd never been born.
The emptiness was like a rule; a singular constant that must never be broken. The feeling had grown so familiar that life with shape and form was merely garbled images, fragmented memories long since out of his reach. Indeed, Exdeath was left to his own thoughts more often than not. Since his experience with the pseudoreality, insanity was becoming harder and harder to hide behind. Slowly but surely, and much to his disgust, the insanity was becoming less frequent. Even his anger and hatred, which had become like an appendage to him, was slowly slipping away; bit by bit, only to dissolve into nothingness.
He was too drained.
If it was his fate to forever suffer in solitude, then so be it. He'd long since given up hope of escape. Up until the point where he had lost the ability to hate, he'd hated the notion of freedom with every ounce of his being. Now, he only scoffed at the notion. The outside world, material plane; whatever you want to call it, it existed only to balance the sheer emptiness of reality.
He was fairly sure that the pseudoreality had been nothing more than a grand delusion.
Yet, as absurd as it was, the notion was firmly entrenched in his mind. He knew it was beyond possibility, how futile it was; yet his thoughts always returned to it. To the notion of revenge.
To the notion of justice.
"Justice..... exists only in the mind of the individual....."
The void didn't present him with many options in which to relieve his boredom. Or, rather, his suffering. Which was the only reason he let himself dwell on such futile matters. If only it were possible to track the "presence" down, make it account for its actions. Oh yes, it was alive. He knew it was out there, furthering its own nefarious means. As frail as his sanity was, it was impossible not to know. He would just know if the "presence" was truly dead.
The purpose would not be egging him on if that was the case.
Time passed, as it always does. Though time does not pass within the void, it can do nothing to prevent the passage of time on the material plane. The question presented itself. Should time pass for other populants of the universe, what should prevent it passing for Exdeath.
".....That's right..... I'm dead."
Though the void disdained reminisence and distorted memories to its fullest, he often pondered upon his grandest delusion. To breathe as a mortal, think as a mortal; a joy beyond comparison after such imprisonment. Then, moments later, to realize it was a lie; unreal, unexisting as ever before.
The cruelty was limitless.
His hatred, which had only grown for who knows how long, was nothing in comparison to that simple fact. Harsh and ungiving, it struck home like a bolt to the heart. His emotions had played him like a fiddle, guided him along like a puppet. His hatred was nothing to the void; he himself was nothing to the void. Time after time again the situation would remain the same; drowning in a sea of emptiness, alone and forgotten. His demons could only shelter him for so long before the reality of the situation made itself all too clear.
He was not prepared to face an eternity of nothingness.
His hatred was a nonfactor; neither that, nor any depths on insanity would deliver him from the clutches of Limbo. Time would not end; rather, it would keep progressing. He would suffer throughout the ages, experiencing a lifetime of agony for every individual slaughtered by the will of the "presence". His torment would come in many different forms; some striking closer to home than others, all making their point very clearly felt.
He was nothing.
That was not right. He had not always been nothing. Though his memory was a joke and he had no proof, he was willing to stake whatever life he had left on it.
He had not always been nothing.
As if he didn't already feel insignificant enough. Yet, the situation; severe as it was, seemed rather absurd when looked at in this perspective. Just because he died, just because he did everything in his power to help those people kill him, he was sentenced to an eternity of insane despair. For his inability to combat the presence, he was reduced to nothingness; lower than the lowest slug to ever exist.
What was the point?
What would imprisoning him in the formless void accomplish? Was it supposed to make him repent, feel "sorry" for his actions? He could only wonder how he was supposed to feel "sorry" when he could remember taking no enjoyment from all the bloodshed at his hands. Indeed, his entire focus had been on the presence invading his body; all outside influences had been completely ignored.
Until he realized the outside influences were his only hope of salvation.
Everywhere about him was a vast expanse of nothingness. Perhaps endless, perhaps limitless. He'd grown used to its suffocating presence during his stay in the void. Indeed; he had grown used to what he could not possibly conceive during his living days. It had always taunted him, mocked him before bearing down and consuming him with unbelievably savage fury. Such a fury that made his demons a welcome relief; he could not remember ever contesting the emptiness.
Was it fear?
Did he fear the nothingness? Insanity was much more desirable compared to the harsh reality of the situation. If that constituted fear, he had to admit he was guilty as charged. Yet he also had to admit another thing. He needed solid answers, reasons, explanations to his current situation.
None were given.
Yet then another thought entered his shredded and diseased mind. Perhaps the emptiness surrounding him, engulfing him, had once been lost souls such as himself. Perhaps they had despaired for so long that they'd become one with the void, forever lost to time. Perhaps that was to be his fate. Perhaps that was the purpose of the void.
To reduce him to nothingness.
And what a cruel and unrelenting purpose that would be. If that was to be his fate, after suffering in solitude for so long, then he should have never been given life. His entire existence was meaningless, futile; built around his weakness, based upon his inability to combat the "presence".
And whose opinion was that?
Was that his own opinion, stemming from the depths of his despair? Did his fear of the absolute emptiness of the place he now found himself in, truly hold such a sway over his thoughts? Why was he having such difficulty with taking responsibility for his thoughts? Or could they, in reality, be not truly his but those of another.
Could that be the opinion of the void?
Exdeath knew that he was not completely sane. Exdeath also knew that he was dead and forgotten to the world. Everything he knew was wrong, and in that he was not completely sure. Yet, he could not allow himself to stand idly by and be consumed by the void, at least not while the "presence" still existed.
Could it be that hope was resurfacing?
No, not hope. He was merely stating the obvious, the harsh reality of what must be done. Doing otherwise, letting the matter slide had not crossed his god forsaken mind. He could not allow his existence to end before finding the truth out about the "presence".
He could not bow to anybody's whims but his own.
Yet there was still the matter of his entrapment at hand. Tombed beneath layers upon layers of nothingness, removed from the awareness of all to ever exist. Alone and helpless as ever, powerless to make a dent against the void.
Why was he even giving the void any consideration?
What was he still doing here, lost and confused; as if he was caught up among the waves of a great sea of hopelessness? How could it be that he'd not penetrated this grand illusion, this veil of misery as of yet?
There is no escape.
Who is to say there's no escape?
The "presence" had escaped before. Exdeath was most certain that memory was still accurate. Yet the details of those days would not come to him. The specifics of the matter were naught but a gaping chasm in his memories. Which was most unnatural, considering the "presence" had been using his body during the entire ordeal.
He had no alternative. It had come time to face his demons.
It was with great uneasiness and trepidaton that Exdeath finally settled down into his thoughts. He knew that he was only asking for more torment, yet he could figure no other alternative. He had to reclaim the memories that were once his; there was just no other way.
As expected, despair and hopelessness were the first to greet him.
Perhaps the greatest struggle he had ever fought was waged in his mind as he tried to come to terms with his grief. It soon grew apparent that his sanity was slipping away the deeper he tunneled through his diseased mind. Yet as hopeless as the situation seemed to be, a single part of his mind refused to give in to the demons. That part of his mind continued to fight, continued to tunnel deeper and deeper through his decaying memories. His sins surrounded him but he cared not; the last part of his mind left to him did not know the meaning of quit.
His anger was once again guiding him.
And suddenly there were images of a room, constructed at the height of technology. Great iron pipes hung overhead, and he knew that they carried the lifeblood of this facility within their echoing crevasses. The room was hot; he knew that the temperature had to be unbearable to most people. Yet his uniform blocked out most of the heat, although he found himself growing disgusted at the weight of his oversized helmet.
His uniform?
He slowly made his way to the center of the room, to where a pedestal stood. Four people were gathered around the dais on which the pedestal was placed; he thought nothing of the scumbags as he brushed them by and struggled up the steps. He realized his control of the mortal was slipping, as he was unaccustomed to such humid climates. Yet there was nothing to worry about, for he would have shattered this lock and moved on to a new vessel long before his grip on this body would ever falter.
Those four people had no clue what was going on.
The dais was at last ascended and the crystal was propped up before him. Within its pristine depths was a power that was beyond any of the miserable scumbags existing on this planet. Yet it was nothing to himself; it was a wonder that these fragile baubles were able to keep him imprisoned in Limbo. In any case, he knew what he had to do. So without another thought he straightened up before the fire crystal. All the while he'd been gathering the necessary correlation of energy in his gauntleted hand needed to counteract the energy that the crystal itself was emitting.
As thus, he raised his arm; the crystal was unable to offer any resistance when he brought it back down again.
There was a brilliant explosion as the planet's primary power source was snuffed out like a candle. Already the facility was feeling the repercussions; great, steaming fissures burst forth as the ground buckled under the sudden increase in pressure. The ceiling groaned in response; several pipes were unhinged by the sudden shift and teetered dangerously overhead. It didn't take long before they came loose altogether and crashed to the floor with a resounding clang. Knowing that the facility had gone critical, he turned around in means to escape, only to see that those people were already moving against him. He had to admit, they weren't as stupid as they looked. Several more pipes came unhinged from the ceiling and crashed to the floor in a cascade of iron and steel; he caught a humanoid shape descending in the midst of the wreckage. More gouts of steam hissed forth from the fissures, filling the room to the brim with the sizzling gas as the scumbags sprang upon him. One of the scumbags, barely visible in the acrid haze, flung forward through the smoke; his sword aiming to pierce the vessel's chest. And then.....
There is no escape.
To go against omnipotence is futile.
We will become one for all eternity.
Exdeath was understandably disoriented. Already the images were fleeting. He almost had the answer, he was willing to stake his sanity on that. Yet, almost wasn't good enough. Almost did nothing more than build the rage that had been idle for so long.
He could not let his anger consume him to the point his original goal was lost from sight.
His return trip into his consciousness was an easier one, as he brought along one thing that had before been absent. Hope was weak and hope was faint, but it was his only ally against his numerous demons. He wasted no time in plunging straight to the coreof his memories; this time, hopelessness and despair were a bit hesitant to approach him. Yet his sins still remained, and they were more than enough to keep him preoccupied.
Ten thousand voices... calling in unison for your soul...
In time, they will have it.
What do you think to accomplish?
A break in the waves. A fortress floating far above the earth.
You have no reason to persist.
Ruins of a civilization long past. Ancient artifacts, once dormant and useless, now reawakening; now rising above their decided fate.
You are a fool.
And there he was, walking the abandoned halls of the Lonka ruins. The most advanced civilization to ever grace this planet, perhaps even comparable to his other planet. It almost shamed him to think the place would be caught up in the grand sacrifice, and; like everything else on this miserable world, be destroyed.
He could hardly wait.
The vessel this time was the one he had been saving the longest. It had wandered into a trap he had set when he was doing away with the first lock, for even then he knew that he would need many vessels to complete his objective. It had been stored in an anti-time bubble for awhile, before being released and directed to the place he sensed the earth crystal's energies were coming from. It had been a good little mindless servant; always obedient, always fully focused and never diverted from its task. As thus, when he had finished with the fire crystal, all he had to do was transfer his consciousness into the waiting vessel. Just like that, he was practically at the earth lock.
He'd been wandering the Lonka ruins ever since.
It took him far too long to realize that the facility had to be airborne before its entire expanse could be accessed. By that time, the scumbags that had been trailing him had finally caught up. He'd been outside of the ruins, looking for any hidden passages to the center of the facility when they showed up. He continued on his inspection, leading them around the ruins, but in time he soon grew weary of their presence.
Which was why when they finally contronted him, he dropped the floor out from under them.
So he went and activated the launch sequence, as he had finally realized his folly. As he was now allowed full access of the facility, he'd spent his time wandering the halls; always in search of the final lock keeping his body captive.
And it had come to this.
The ancient people that had once manned this facility had obviously been tinkering with genetic engineering. For the creature that was before him was unlike any other lifeform native to this miserable planet. It would not allow him to pass, not give him access to the inner sanctum of the facility. Force wasn't working, either; the creature seemed to absorb everything he threw against it in moderation. He was quite open to using his full power against it, except his full power would quite obviously rip the Lonka ruins apart from the inside.
So he was at a loss of what to do until they showed up.
He'd finally settled on transporting the creature out of his path. Yet the creature was now enraged, and his pitiful mortal vessel was not able to bring the fifth dimension down upon it quickly enough. So he had no choice but to go on the offensive, to keep it away with repeated attacks while he prepared the spell to banish the creature to oblivion or Worus or wherever.
That was when they showed up.
They jumped into the battle without a second thought, like the mindless little drones that they were. It had dawned on him by now that one or more of the scumbags held an emotional attachment to the vessel. Yet it mattered not as everything would go to ruin in the end; his objective precluded ruin, but ruination would follow his objective anyways.
The scumbags managed to bring the creature to ruin themselves.
He had to give them credit. They were good, if not scumbags. Yet there were four of them, and only one of the creature.Yet, still, none of this mattered. So without another word he hurried into the next room, hoping that the scumbags would get it through their heads not to follow him.
They followed him.
The final lock rested on a pedestal situated on a dais at the far end of the room. Exactly like all of the others; he was fairly sure that whatever scumbag race that set this contraption up were possessing a single track mind. In any case, he was growing weary of this world. His objective had been delayed for far too long; such setbacks would never be set in his path again. The energy correlation flowed seemlessly through his body and up his arm; he wasted no time in putting it to good use. A single blow and the crystal shattered in a brilliant display of prismatic colors, a display not noticed as his mind was on other matters.
The seal was gone.
The scumbags opened their mouths but no words came out. At least, any words that reached his ears. He was in ecstasy; he would no longer be denied. The Truth would at last be revealed; his purpose would then finally be made clear. The scumbags moved towards him and he scoffed; he was beyond the reach of mortal man or material blade. In any case, he planned to finally show these scumbags his true power. They paid to see the show, so he was going to give the performance of his lifetime. As thus, he let loose his hold on the vessel; his consciousness transferred flawlessly back to his own body.....
Vessels.
The solution.
To invade another's mind. To take control of their body. To be as if that vessel was your own.
The "presence" had been using him as a vessel all the time.
The "presence" considered his body to be its own.
He would not stoop to the "presence's" level of depravity.
But he had an idea.
It suddenly dawned upon him that his thoughts were brought about by a singular mind. He was alone, truly alone; something that had never before happened in Limbo. The burning had subsided. The void no longer whispered to him. The emptiness no longer taunted him. His demons were silent, under control.
He may be just a soul, but he was no longer lost.
Why do you do this?
He had no idea where to begin. He had no idea how the "presence" had done it. Yet, still, he had all the time in the world to figure it out.
To reject me is to be thought unthinkable.
Exdeath was silent.
Yet you have deluded yourself into thinking you have an actual chance of meeting your Purpose.
".....it is not delusion....."
You are the greatest fool to ever have the misfortune to stumble upon here.
Exdeath had finally had enough.
"Just..... remember this..... I was your master in my mortal life..... I am your master still....."
The black wind was silent.
Then you must be one with the universe. You must be one with Enuo. Set yourself upon a cosmic current and return to the mortal realm. It will be shortly seen whether your words ring with Truth or futility.
The black wind spoke no more.
It was a different void that Exdeath found himself in. The emptiness no longer frightened him. Rather, it was almost comforting. Exdeath himself was empty; too empty, too drained. Yet the Purpose was with him, and he was fueled by the revenge that kept watch over his many various demons. The silence was a welcome change from the everpresent, unceasing taunting and torment of the void which he had endured for so long. Yet no longer; no longer would the situation be the same, no longer would he be surrounded on all sides by the ungiving emptiness. Indeed, his situation would shortly change, but even in that Exdeath would not allow himself any jubilation.
Exdeath just wanted to be free of the void once and for all.
To once be thought insurmountable; to once be thought immeasurable, to stretch out into eternity. To show not the slightest chance of escape, to offer no hope. That was the void. That was the nothingness that made up the void. That was the emptiness that pervaded the nothingness. And the emptiness suddenly parted before him, opening up to a universe once thought forever lost to his diseased mind. The entire expanse of infinity stretched before him. Stars were born and planets crumbled to dust before his very eyes; the feeling of creation, of life itself was beginning to reawaken from the infathomable recesses which it had been banished. The universe was alive, completely the opposite to the void in which he had been imprisoned in for so long, and it was a sight too glorious to behold in Exdeath's eyes. He very nearly turned back to fling himself into the depths of Limbo, and would most certainly have been consumed by the void had he done so. Yet revenge fueled his resolve; the Purpose reassured him that he had been accepted by Enuo. He felt at ease for the first time in ages by that strange reassurance. So much, to the point that he didn't mind floating aimlessly among the cosmos until an astral current came along and swept him up in its nebulous recesses. Indeed, he was at ease during the entire journey back down to the planet from which he had been spawned.
Revelation is limitless.
If there was one word that described the void, it would have to be persistent. More specifically, the icy emptiness was persistent. All about him it persisted, refusing to let up one single inch. To do otherwise was not within the void's capabilities. It was if it knew only smothering, icy oppression; leniency was quite apparently out of the question.
Exdeath wished he'd never been born.
The emptiness was like a rule; a singular constant that must never be broken. The feeling had grown so familiar that life with shape and form was merely garbled images, fragmented memories long since out of his reach. Indeed, Exdeath was left to his own thoughts more often than not. Since his experience with the pseudoreality, insanity was becoming harder and harder to hide behind. Slowly but surely, and much to his disgust, the insanity was becoming less frequent. Even his anger and hatred, which had become like an appendage to him, was slowly slipping away; bit by bit, only to dissolve into nothingness.
He was too drained.
If it was his fate to forever suffer in solitude, then so be it. He'd long since given up hope of escape. Up until the point where he had lost the ability to hate, he'd hated the notion of freedom with every ounce of his being. Now, he only scoffed at the notion. The outside world, material plane; whatever you want to call it, it existed only to balance the sheer emptiness of reality.
He was fairly sure that the pseudoreality had been nothing more than a grand delusion.
Yet, as absurd as it was, the notion was firmly entrenched in his mind. He knew it was beyond possibility, how futile it was; yet his thoughts always returned to it. To the notion of revenge.
To the notion of justice.
"Justice..... exists only in the mind of the individual....."
The void didn't present him with many options in which to relieve his boredom. Or, rather, his suffering. Which was the only reason he let himself dwell on such futile matters. If only it were possible to track the "presence" down, make it account for its actions. Oh yes, it was alive. He knew it was out there, furthering its own nefarious means. As frail as his sanity was, it was impossible not to know. He would just know if the "presence" was truly dead.
The purpose would not be egging him on if that was the case.
Time passed, as it always does. Though time does not pass within the void, it can do nothing to prevent the passage of time on the material plane. The question presented itself. Should time pass for other populants of the universe, what should prevent it passing for Exdeath.
".....That's right..... I'm dead."
Though the void disdained reminisence and distorted memories to its fullest, he often pondered upon his grandest delusion. To breathe as a mortal, think as a mortal; a joy beyond comparison after such imprisonment. Then, moments later, to realize it was a lie; unreal, unexisting as ever before.
The cruelty was limitless.
His hatred, which had only grown for who knows how long, was nothing in comparison to that simple fact. Harsh and ungiving, it struck home like a bolt to the heart. His emotions had played him like a fiddle, guided him along like a puppet. His hatred was nothing to the void; he himself was nothing to the void. Time after time again the situation would remain the same; drowning in a sea of emptiness, alone and forgotten. His demons could only shelter him for so long before the reality of the situation made itself all too clear.
He was not prepared to face an eternity of nothingness.
His hatred was a nonfactor; neither that, nor any depths on insanity would deliver him from the clutches of Limbo. Time would not end; rather, it would keep progressing. He would suffer throughout the ages, experiencing a lifetime of agony for every individual slaughtered by the will of the "presence". His torment would come in many different forms; some striking closer to home than others, all making their point very clearly felt.
He was nothing.
That was not right. He had not always been nothing. Though his memory was a joke and he had no proof, he was willing to stake whatever life he had left on it.
He had not always been nothing.
As if he didn't already feel insignificant enough. Yet, the situation; severe as it was, seemed rather absurd when looked at in this perspective. Just because he died, just because he did everything in his power to help those people kill him, he was sentenced to an eternity of insane despair. For his inability to combat the presence, he was reduced to nothingness; lower than the lowest slug to ever exist.
What was the point?
What would imprisoning him in the formless void accomplish? Was it supposed to make him repent, feel "sorry" for his actions? He could only wonder how he was supposed to feel "sorry" when he could remember taking no enjoyment from all the bloodshed at his hands. Indeed, his entire focus had been on the presence invading his body; all outside influences had been completely ignored.
Until he realized the outside influences were his only hope of salvation.
Everywhere about him was a vast expanse of nothingness. Perhaps endless, perhaps limitless. He'd grown used to its suffocating presence during his stay in the void. Indeed; he had grown used to what he could not possibly conceive during his living days. It had always taunted him, mocked him before bearing down and consuming him with unbelievably savage fury. Such a fury that made his demons a welcome relief; he could not remember ever contesting the emptiness.
Was it fear?
Did he fear the nothingness? Insanity was much more desirable compared to the harsh reality of the situation. If that constituted fear, he had to admit he was guilty as charged. Yet he also had to admit another thing. He needed solid answers, reasons, explanations to his current situation.
None were given.
Yet then another thought entered his shredded and diseased mind. Perhaps the emptiness surrounding him, engulfing him, had once been lost souls such as himself. Perhaps they had despaired for so long that they'd become one with the void, forever lost to time. Perhaps that was to be his fate. Perhaps that was the purpose of the void.
To reduce him to nothingness.
And what a cruel and unrelenting purpose that would be. If that was to be his fate, after suffering in solitude for so long, then he should have never been given life. His entire existence was meaningless, futile; built around his weakness, based upon his inability to combat the "presence".
And whose opinion was that?
Was that his own opinion, stemming from the depths of his despair? Did his fear of the absolute emptiness of the place he now found himself in, truly hold such a sway over his thoughts? Why was he having such difficulty with taking responsibility for his thoughts? Or could they, in reality, be not truly his but those of another.
Could that be the opinion of the void?
Exdeath knew that he was not completely sane. Exdeath also knew that he was dead and forgotten to the world. Everything he knew was wrong, and in that he was not completely sure. Yet, he could not allow himself to stand idly by and be consumed by the void, at least not while the "presence" still existed.
Could it be that hope was resurfacing?
No, not hope. He was merely stating the obvious, the harsh reality of what must be done. Doing otherwise, letting the matter slide had not crossed his god forsaken mind. He could not allow his existence to end before finding the truth out about the "presence".
He could not bow to anybody's whims but his own.
Yet there was still the matter of his entrapment at hand. Tombed beneath layers upon layers of nothingness, removed from the awareness of all to ever exist. Alone and helpless as ever, powerless to make a dent against the void.
Why was he even giving the void any consideration?
What was he still doing here, lost and confused; as if he was caught up among the waves of a great sea of hopelessness? How could it be that he'd not penetrated this grand illusion, this veil of misery as of yet?
There is no escape.
Who is to say there's no escape?
The "presence" had escaped before. Exdeath was most certain that memory was still accurate. Yet the details of those days would not come to him. The specifics of the matter were naught but a gaping chasm in his memories. Which was most unnatural, considering the "presence" had been using his body during the entire ordeal.
He had no alternative. It had come time to face his demons.
It was with great uneasiness and trepidaton that Exdeath finally settled down into his thoughts. He knew that he was only asking for more torment, yet he could figure no other alternative. He had to reclaim the memories that were once his; there was just no other way.
As expected, despair and hopelessness were the first to greet him.
Perhaps the greatest struggle he had ever fought was waged in his mind as he tried to come to terms with his grief. It soon grew apparent that his sanity was slipping away the deeper he tunneled through his diseased mind. Yet as hopeless as the situation seemed to be, a single part of his mind refused to give in to the demons. That part of his mind continued to fight, continued to tunnel deeper and deeper through his decaying memories. His sins surrounded him but he cared not; the last part of his mind left to him did not know the meaning of quit.
His anger was once again guiding him.
And suddenly there were images of a room, constructed at the height of technology. Great iron pipes hung overhead, and he knew that they carried the lifeblood of this facility within their echoing crevasses. The room was hot; he knew that the temperature had to be unbearable to most people. Yet his uniform blocked out most of the heat, although he found himself growing disgusted at the weight of his oversized helmet.
His uniform?
He slowly made his way to the center of the room, to where a pedestal stood. Four people were gathered around the dais on which the pedestal was placed; he thought nothing of the scumbags as he brushed them by and struggled up the steps. He realized his control of the mortal was slipping, as he was unaccustomed to such humid climates. Yet there was nothing to worry about, for he would have shattered this lock and moved on to a new vessel long before his grip on this body would ever falter.
Those four people had no clue what was going on.
The dais was at last ascended and the crystal was propped up before him. Within its pristine depths was a power that was beyond any of the miserable scumbags existing on this planet. Yet it was nothing to himself; it was a wonder that these fragile baubles were able to keep him imprisoned in Limbo. In any case, he knew what he had to do. So without another thought he straightened up before the fire crystal. All the while he'd been gathering the necessary correlation of energy in his gauntleted hand needed to counteract the energy that the crystal itself was emitting.
As thus, he raised his arm; the crystal was unable to offer any resistance when he brought it back down again.
There was a brilliant explosion as the planet's primary power source was snuffed out like a candle. Already the facility was feeling the repercussions; great, steaming fissures burst forth as the ground buckled under the sudden increase in pressure. The ceiling groaned in response; several pipes were unhinged by the sudden shift and teetered dangerously overhead. It didn't take long before they came loose altogether and crashed to the floor with a resounding clang. Knowing that the facility had gone critical, he turned around in means to escape, only to see that those people were already moving against him. He had to admit, they weren't as stupid as they looked. Several more pipes came unhinged from the ceiling and crashed to the floor in a cascade of iron and steel; he caught a humanoid shape descending in the midst of the wreckage. More gouts of steam hissed forth from the fissures, filling the room to the brim with the sizzling gas as the scumbags sprang upon him. One of the scumbags, barely visible in the acrid haze, flung forward through the smoke; his sword aiming to pierce the vessel's chest. And then.....
There is no escape.
To go against omnipotence is futile.
We will become one for all eternity.
Exdeath was understandably disoriented. Already the images were fleeting. He almost had the answer, he was willing to stake his sanity on that. Yet, almost wasn't good enough. Almost did nothing more than build the rage that had been idle for so long.
He could not let his anger consume him to the point his original goal was lost from sight.
His return trip into his consciousness was an easier one, as he brought along one thing that had before been absent. Hope was weak and hope was faint, but it was his only ally against his numerous demons. He wasted no time in plunging straight to the coreof his memories; this time, hopelessness and despair were a bit hesitant to approach him. Yet his sins still remained, and they were more than enough to keep him preoccupied.
Ten thousand voices... calling in unison for your soul...
In time, they will have it.
What do you think to accomplish?
A break in the waves. A fortress floating far above the earth.
You have no reason to persist.
Ruins of a civilization long past. Ancient artifacts, once dormant and useless, now reawakening; now rising above their decided fate.
You are a fool.
And there he was, walking the abandoned halls of the Lonka ruins. The most advanced civilization to ever grace this planet, perhaps even comparable to his other planet. It almost shamed him to think the place would be caught up in the grand sacrifice, and; like everything else on this miserable world, be destroyed.
He could hardly wait.
The vessel this time was the one he had been saving the longest. It had wandered into a trap he had set when he was doing away with the first lock, for even then he knew that he would need many vessels to complete his objective. It had been stored in an anti-time bubble for awhile, before being released and directed to the place he sensed the earth crystal's energies were coming from. It had been a good little mindless servant; always obedient, always fully focused and never diverted from its task. As thus, when he had finished with the fire crystal, all he had to do was transfer his consciousness into the waiting vessel. Just like that, he was practically at the earth lock.
He'd been wandering the Lonka ruins ever since.
It took him far too long to realize that the facility had to be airborne before its entire expanse could be accessed. By that time, the scumbags that had been trailing him had finally caught up. He'd been outside of the ruins, looking for any hidden passages to the center of the facility when they showed up. He continued on his inspection, leading them around the ruins, but in time he soon grew weary of their presence.
Which was why when they finally contronted him, he dropped the floor out from under them.
So he went and activated the launch sequence, as he had finally realized his folly. As he was now allowed full access of the facility, he'd spent his time wandering the halls; always in search of the final lock keeping his body captive.
And it had come to this.
The ancient people that had once manned this facility had obviously been tinkering with genetic engineering. For the creature that was before him was unlike any other lifeform native to this miserable planet. It would not allow him to pass, not give him access to the inner sanctum of the facility. Force wasn't working, either; the creature seemed to absorb everything he threw against it in moderation. He was quite open to using his full power against it, except his full power would quite obviously rip the Lonka ruins apart from the inside.
So he was at a loss of what to do until they showed up.
He'd finally settled on transporting the creature out of his path. Yet the creature was now enraged, and his pitiful mortal vessel was not able to bring the fifth dimension down upon it quickly enough. So he had no choice but to go on the offensive, to keep it away with repeated attacks while he prepared the spell to banish the creature to oblivion or Worus or wherever.
That was when they showed up.
They jumped into the battle without a second thought, like the mindless little drones that they were. It had dawned on him by now that one or more of the scumbags held an emotional attachment to the vessel. Yet it mattered not as everything would go to ruin in the end; his objective precluded ruin, but ruination would follow his objective anyways.
The scumbags managed to bring the creature to ruin themselves.
He had to give them credit. They were good, if not scumbags. Yet there were four of them, and only one of the creature.Yet, still, none of this mattered. So without another word he hurried into the next room, hoping that the scumbags would get it through their heads not to follow him.
They followed him.
The final lock rested on a pedestal situated on a dais at the far end of the room. Exactly like all of the others; he was fairly sure that whatever scumbag race that set this contraption up were possessing a single track mind. In any case, he was growing weary of this world. His objective had been delayed for far too long; such setbacks would never be set in his path again. The energy correlation flowed seemlessly through his body and up his arm; he wasted no time in putting it to good use. A single blow and the crystal shattered in a brilliant display of prismatic colors, a display not noticed as his mind was on other matters.
The seal was gone.
The scumbags opened their mouths but no words came out. At least, any words that reached his ears. He was in ecstasy; he would no longer be denied. The Truth would at last be revealed; his purpose would then finally be made clear. The scumbags moved towards him and he scoffed; he was beyond the reach of mortal man or material blade. In any case, he planned to finally show these scumbags his true power. They paid to see the show, so he was going to give the performance of his lifetime. As thus, he let loose his hold on the vessel; his consciousness transferred flawlessly back to his own body.....
Vessels.
The solution.
To invade another's mind. To take control of their body. To be as if that vessel was your own.
The "presence" had been using him as a vessel all the time.
The "presence" considered his body to be its own.
He would not stoop to the "presence's" level of depravity.
But he had an idea.
It suddenly dawned upon him that his thoughts were brought about by a singular mind. He was alone, truly alone; something that had never before happened in Limbo. The burning had subsided. The void no longer whispered to him. The emptiness no longer taunted him. His demons were silent, under control.
He may be just a soul, but he was no longer lost.
Why do you do this?
He had no idea where to begin. He had no idea how the "presence" had done it. Yet, still, he had all the time in the world to figure it out.
To reject me is to be thought unthinkable.
Exdeath was silent.
Yet you have deluded yourself into thinking you have an actual chance of meeting your Purpose.
".....it is not delusion....."
You are the greatest fool to ever have the misfortune to stumble upon here.
Exdeath had finally had enough.
"Just..... remember this..... I was your master in my mortal life..... I am your master still....."
The black wind was silent.
Then you must be one with the universe. You must be one with Enuo. Set yourself upon a cosmic current and return to the mortal realm. It will be shortly seen whether your words ring with Truth or futility.
The black wind spoke no more.
It was a different void that Exdeath found himself in. The emptiness no longer frightened him. Rather, it was almost comforting. Exdeath himself was empty; too empty, too drained. Yet the Purpose was with him, and he was fueled by the revenge that kept watch over his many various demons. The silence was a welcome change from the everpresent, unceasing taunting and torment of the void which he had endured for so long. Yet no longer; no longer would the situation be the same, no longer would he be surrounded on all sides by the ungiving emptiness. Indeed, his situation would shortly change, but even in that Exdeath would not allow himself any jubilation.
Exdeath just wanted to be free of the void once and for all.
To once be thought insurmountable; to once be thought immeasurable, to stretch out into eternity. To show not the slightest chance of escape, to offer no hope. That was the void. That was the nothingness that made up the void. That was the emptiness that pervaded the nothingness. And the emptiness suddenly parted before him, opening up to a universe once thought forever lost to his diseased mind. The entire expanse of infinity stretched before him. Stars were born and planets crumbled to dust before his very eyes; the feeling of creation, of life itself was beginning to reawaken from the infathomable recesses which it had been banished. The universe was alive, completely the opposite to the void in which he had been imprisoned in for so long, and it was a sight too glorious to behold in Exdeath's eyes. He very nearly turned back to fling himself into the depths of Limbo, and would most certainly have been consumed by the void had he done so. Yet revenge fueled his resolve; the Purpose reassured him that he had been accepted by Enuo. He felt at ease for the first time in ages by that strange reassurance. So much, to the point that he didn't mind floating aimlessly among the cosmos until an astral current came along and swept him up in its nebulous recesses. Indeed, he was at ease during the entire journey back down to the planet from which he had been spawned.
Revelation is limitless.
