Swirling Void

[Laira Darkhold]

Swirling in the depths of the Netherworld Vulkan roared out. He had felt him. He had tried to reach out, to punish him for his insolence, for rejecting his presence. But in the end, he had failed. A mere shadow of his former self, who was admittedly not as strong as he could have been. That realization stung the specter as it tore through another weak ghost trapped in the afterlife with him.

The specter shifted and glared. It could see, here on the endless field of bodies and war, it could see it. The arch. It called to him, but he could not pass through it, he could barely even get close to it without becoming weak, and he needed his strength to survive on this side of the arch.

Other specters approached him, in their eternal damnation of combat and glory. But there was no glory or purpose in this, only wasted time, wasted effort. Nothing that happened on this endless battlefield mattered at all. Coal-like eyes burnt holes into the shades as they came for him, surrounding the Sith Lord. Sword in hand, the Sith engaged Vulkan, and Vulkan in turn fell upon them.

Swords flashed, blood spattered into the dust and sand, and bodies fell about him. Panting the Sith turned back to look at his escape, clutching his recent wound to the chest. Even in the afterlife there was pain and suffering, but it made no difference. Fear was sparse here, though it existed. Nothing here mattered, nothing made a difference. Nothing he did here made him a god.

No, there was no escape. Not without form and essence to be had. Not without help.

Vulkan bellowed out towards the arch, reverberating through the Force. Someone would sense him. Someone would hear. Someone would come.

Dathomir
A serpent hissed and slithered away from the obelisk in fear. Even the plant life seemed to shiver and shake from whatever had happened on the other side.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

The shade of Vulkan moved back through the endless field of blades, other Sith spirits harrying his retreat. They, unlike him, were truly dead and gone. They had chosen to be in this afterlife. They wanted this hellish wasteland to be their home for eternity. Vulkan had many other ideas about where he would rather spend eternity, but all of them involved him being alive and with a proper body.

One of the Sith beings raised its sword, bringing it in a diagonal slash towards his chest. The shade snarled and stepped in on the opposing being, using one hand to grip the wrists of his opponent and with the other lashing out across the specter's jaw. Despite being dead, they felt very real to him, they had since he had arrived. Vulkan roared again, the sound and the Force echoing out into the spirit world as the Sith Lord made his way towards his escape. A second Sith specter stepped forward quickly, following Vulkan as he left. The other staggered and stumbled as it rose, but it rose nonetheless.

Unlike these spirits, he was not truly dead. His body had never died, his spirit had been torn from it, his bonds carved out by some unknowable blade while he struggled on the Planet of the Force. His arrogance, the utter acceptance that he would win had been his downfall, the lessers he had fought for his existence had been able to capitalize on his willingness to torment them rather than score the quick death. His counterpart, Draco had also been more resilient than he had imagined, perhaps oversight due to his confidence.

Vulkan spat at the sith advancing on him, and it snarled in return. It stabbed forward, stepping forward as it did. Vulkan side stepped the blade, feeling his side explode in pain for an instant as it carved into him just beneath his ribs. Vulkan advanced, stepping into the Sith, shoulder checking him in the sternum, his hands wrapping around the handle of the sword. With a jerk and a shove Vulkan separated from the specter sword in hand. Angrily he hacked and slashed into the stumbling Sith spirit, blood and dirt spraying up into his face.

His vision was beginning to tunnel, the edges of his sight fading into blackness. Vulkan could tell he was succumbing. Not to exhaustion, but to battlelust, bloodlust. He could lose himself for months in a place like this, but it was much more important he escape and find his way out of this hell.

It was not his destiny to rot forever in this stinking pit.

[member="Ostanes"]

 

[Julius Sedaire]

Where Ostanes stood, once his King had stood. Ember Rekali was gone. Grief, rage, and more had consumed him. The being and personality that was the sane part of him, the shi'ido who had been apprenticed to Rave, was gone. Within his mind lurked a new presence. Combined with the pressings of the captive spirit from beyond, and other degradations, the Thamaturge had given in to the spirit known as Obeah, and let it assume control. Though not many would know the change had happened, even close to him. [member="Seydon of Arda"] might, maybe. But Ostanes had not seen the Dunaan in months and months. Perhaps his closest companion had sensed the change coming, and had fled so as to escape the duty of slaying the Alchemist.

However, now Ostanes held a hjarna stone staff raised in his hands to the dark sky swirling with clouds. Green sheets of lightning flared and crackled, bolts slamming the ground in founts of earth near him. Chanting in various languages rolled of his lips, slipping from spell to spell as swirling mists of green began to seep out of an urn on the ground before him. Red sand glowed with bloody light, smoking and hissing. Anyone with a hint of sensitivity to the Force would be overwhelmed by the darkening presence thrown that echoed in the realms of the mind. The clouds above swirled into a sort of nexus and began to spiral down towards him.

Suddenly venomous eyes of sickly yellow opened, as in front of him the air began to shimmer. In the Netherworld, Vulcan would feel the call go out. Someone was pulling him forth, offering a bridge to those worthy.

[member="Vulkan"]

 

[Laira Darkhold]

Vulkan growled and blood sprayed from the shade he cut down, cast over his face and in his mouth. He could taste the copper, the red ichor spilling from his foe covering his face. His vision blurred and black crept along its edges. Bloodlust was beginning to overtake him in this wretched eternal battle. All around him bodies piled high, mounds of them left to rot until the spirits of the dead returned and the endless battle, the eternal war of these Sith continued.

With a jerk, Vulkan wrenched the sword from the corpse to parry another's advance on himself. He was not quick enough, the specters blade finding purchase in his leg, pain shooting up his nerves into his skull. Red tinted all he could see as he brought the sword up into his opponents ribcage, slashing upwards across his chest. Pain radiated across him as his enemy's blade was torn from his leg, shredding muscle, nerves, and tearing tendons as it left. The specter stumbled and gasped for air, wounded but not dead.

Vulkan took a step towards it, and then he felt it calling. Sickly green mist seeped around him. It was not all encompassing, not overt. But it called to him, like a beacon. And it called to others as well.

Red sparks fluttered amidst the mist, like embers coughed up from a fire being stoked. The mist hung in the air, forming a circle only a little taller than a man. Yellow lightning crackled and streaked through it like a terrible storm. Even for the endless field of death and battle, the mist radiated heat like nothing those near it had felt since their coming to the Netherworld. There was a feeling of uneasiness among the weaker spirits, backing away from it. But those few strong tyrants knew what it was.

A second chance.

Vulkan's roar echoed from his maw as he tore a second blade from his foe's grasp, stepping over him like he was little more than trash beneath his soles. Four others followed suit, rushing towards it, weapons in hand. Lightning streaked from their fingertips at each other, each Sith trying to gain some advantage over the others, trying to pass through first in case it was not meant for others. One could not risk such a rare opportunity with complacency.

Vulkan roared again, and chanted off a quick ritual, raising his hands and sweeping it across his four opponents. Black swirls of smoke crawled from the shadows and lurched forth to engage them. Vulkan's last reserves of strength spent, he could not afford to be caught in a fight against them. He stumbled to the portal and hissed. One single Sith Lord emerged from the turmoil of the demons he had unleashed and stood before him, both close to the portal, both in weapon length.

The Sith Lord started to take a defensive stance, but Vulkan charged ramming him in the chest with his full weight. The Sith stumbled a half step backwards and Vulkan stumbled back from him as well. Back toward the green mist with a malicious grin.

The Sith Lord roared with absolute rage, but Vulkan fell backwards into the mist, the waves of heat rolling off his skin, the lightning crackling and running over his form, and the mist enveloping his body.

[member="Ostanes"]