forward. Instead of grabbing hold of something firm, there was nothing as he fell into a pit of blackness with his limbs flailing. The sound of Death’s rushing wind and laughter echoing behind him while he plunged, Durel continued falling and falling until falling into unconsciousness again. Was it unconsciousness, or simply too black to see?
Upon waking, if you could call it that, Durel no longer found himself in any corporeal form. Instead, he was a ball of energy the same color as his green orb. In front of him were four separate flames varying in color and size. Durel knew immediately these were his judges. Each flame represented power of unspoken sources, knowledge lost to the ages, and existence unbound. They seemed to speak and move in unison, separate but together.
"Why do you seek to alter a natural process?"
The question filled Durel with a righteous anger to drown his fear. These were supposed to be his judges and would start with such a lie?
"There is nothing natural about this process, there is purpose behind the process. If the process of Death was objective as it used to be, then I would have no issue. But the one calling himself Death has corrupted and maligned what you deem a “natural” process. Therefore, until his removal there can be no rest for my spirit or my body in this world or the one beyond, whatever name it bears!" There was silence in this place after that, without time who knows how long they were there, the flames seemed to communicate with one another but Durel heard nothing, felt nothing… alone again.
"The corporeal is valid. We all know whom he speaks. Perhaps this process of decay has been tainted. Very well, Durel shall be our hand of investigation." Durel was startled and confused by their demands.
"Hand of investigation? I don't know what you are, who you are, or what you want with me? These are not my goals here!"
"Irrelevant! All power you seek shall be given to you at the appropriate time."
There was no time for answering. The orb that was Durel fell through the floor, disappearing as quickly as the flames judging his existence, suddenly five hundred years didn't seem so long. They had given him a new purpose; this may be his true calling, feeling as though he was falling again, this time through a tube which was trapping him tightly Durel felt helpless, almost suffocating until he came out of the other side before a monumental black throne. Upon the black throne sat a black robe filled with the presence of Death, instead of a singular form underneath the robe it seemed to be made of a swirling mass of screaming souls, ever-changing in its appearance just as during their first meeting in the illusion tavern. Standing behind the black throne, to the right of it, wearing a billowing red robe, holding a scale in her right hand, and an hourglass in her left, stood Time, companion to Death. On the left of the throne stood a creature so frightful and different, had Durel not been filled with magic he could not have understood its purpose or power. The creature was blackness itself with black holes, the remnants of dead stars as eyeballs, wearing galaxies as a girdle its body seemed to consist of never ending supernovae, this was Space himself. Death, Time, and Space, how could Durel ever compete with such elemental forces? ‘These are no elemental forces, these are alien interlopers,’ Durel thought to himself.
“Where is my baby you sons of traitorous whores!?!!” Durel screamed from a pit under his throat he didn’t know was there. Without reaction or thought a bolt of energy came from him, though form was only an illusion here because he was pure energy. His anger at losing his Lady, his grief overwhelmed his reason, and the three so called “elemental” forces of Death, Time, and Space fell away before his rage, only to reappear when it abated. It's time for their reign of terror to be over with, no more corrupt processes, no more false attachments, only the promise of renewal. Nothing that he could discern happened immediately, but a seed was planted. Durel thought he accomplished something for the future, if there is a future in a place without time.
The undulating black robe of the one calling himself Death rose and stood, the swirling mass of screaming souls compromising his body moving and swaying with his movements created a hideous reflection, ever altering the size of Death.
"You know our secret mortal, but what you don't know is your place." The voice of the one calling himself Death was more like crashing waves than an actual voice.
Durel was overcoming the shock of moving from world to world and the sheer sight of these three beings, he was growing into his new energy. He opened his mouth to speak but he never before heard the voice that came out of his being.
"You have corrupted a naturally occurring process, call yourself what you wish, but you are not Death, you are not Time, and you are not Space. You are imposters projecting the attributes and powers of the true source."
The being calling itself Space seemed to become enraged by Durel's statement and with a world shattering scream punched towards Durel with both fists at once. Physical contact doesn't exist in such a place. From the fist of the entity calling itself Space a direct, blazing sunlight. Crackling, eternal, mercurial lights smashed into Durel, but instead of affecting him the fires broke upon him like a well-worn river stone.
"The flames of judgment move?" The one calling itself Time asked and seemed to gasp at the unaffected Durel. The power welling in Durel felt like a direct connection to the flames of judgment he was working for.
"They do creatures, and I will remove the three of you from your stolen perches."
Laughter broke out in the room, a grinding, evil chattering. The winds rushed in with the laughter creating a vortex removing Death, Time, and Space along with the massive throne and anything else in the room, Durel couldn’t know where they went. He never knew it, but he was not the one the flames searched for, he served their purpose and now it was done. It was black again for Durel, beginning of the universe black, except for his reflection which was a silver shimmer against the black of nothing, a reflection of a little white dog.
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