Similar to Oronai (Stubborn as I am, I will never call Oronai the "First Realm."), the Departed Realm once had a real name. We called it Shirai. I'll be honest. I detest your simple names. They take away the beauty and true meaning of the realms. If only I could tell your kind what the realms were originally named. But I cannot, or else you'd find your world crumbling, and I'd have to construct a new one.
When the Oronic War occurred, more lives than ever were lost on both sides. I sprinted through their ravaged battlefields what felt like every minute, leaving with my hands full of silvery souls, wriggling around, attempting to rejoin with their bodies. I can't let it happen. Once the soul has been extracted, it never goes back. Of course, in the far future, resurrection became possible.
Up to then, there was no realm for dead souls. I simply tossed them up into the sky, where they would join the sky and the stars in their never ending journey upwards. Or downwards. I slammed the naughty souls down into the ground, where they were forever burrowed beneath the soil, doomed never to spectate Oronai like the other souls would. So lost souls were disposed of. There was no place for them.
As I mentioned earlier, during the Oronic War, I panted, out of breath, as I journeyed through the war torn fields collecting the souls. I huffed as I fired them upwards, or slammed them into the moist soil. This was becoming very draining for me. These souls needed a place where I could toss them into a portal, and they'd be gone. No wasting my energy by launching them.
Believe me, sending souls flying upwards- for all of eternity- becomes very exhausting. You try throwing a ball with so much force that it never comes back down. Not so easy, right? That's what it's like, except many times worse. These souls are trying to escape, which makes it more difficult. If that wasn't enough, the war provided me with hundreds of souls, so I had to dispose of them every minute or two.
So, while I collected souls down below, I told Life to make me a new realm for these lost souls. Shirai, we called it back then. Not the Departed Realm. Bah. It didn't take long for Life to construct my realm. When she finally did, she was exhausted. I chuckled at her, and responded, "Try doing my job."
"Please," she then replied. "Killing people and learning how to throw their dead spirits? Doesn't seem too hard," she taunted, rolling her eyes. She was like that. "How about you try to create the souls out of thin air?"
I smirked and stalked away.
Now, back on topic. Once Shirai was made, I decided it would be my own realm, as I am literally the embodiment of death. Wouldn't make sense for the death realm not to belong to me, right? I built a towering castle in the very center of Shirai. Spires and towers and turrets poked medium-sized holes in the pure black clouds and the clear white sky above. I created gardens, and gorgeous red violet and blue violet flowers bloomed in the black soil and the white grass.
With the snap of a finger, rows of streets and different sized houses as far as the eye could see appeared. Marvelous parks with purple and black flowers blossomed. I'm almost positive you dislike my color choice. Rather dismal, eh? Well, some of the stereotypes about me are true. This is one of them. Most of them are lies.
Once the realm was ready, I began to send dead souls there whenever I came to extract them. I would open a portal, and the souls would be sucked in as they struggled to obtain their last glimpse of Oronai. Shirai had been made, and it saved me a lot of energy. But meanwhile, the Oronic War between the Oni and the Dragon raged on, and the First Spinjitzu Master refused to choose a side. Which was essentially when we made the decision for him.