Post by Jafar on Jun 8, 2010 20:12:25 GMT -5
Silence... Silence unbroken by harsh sound or painful light. He was drifting in darkness... Total, complete darkness that only death itself grants. His very essence, having been shorn from body to body, had weakened... Deep within the bowels of hell itself... he was losing who he was. No soul knew the measure of the damage his had endured. No flowing ghoul in this bottomless river knew the extent of the injuries his spirit had suffered. His mind... it was already washing away in the ethereal waters of the River Styx... to be lost forever.
Silence... and nothing more. Oblivion itself awaited him, with open arms like a welcoming mother... summoning him into the sweet nothing of eternal non-existance... to be less than heartless or nobody... to be quite simply... nothing.
Did he have a name? Did he have a soul, or even an identity? Did it even matter any more? He lost... thrice. Once to a street rat, once to a peddling, treacherous bird, and once to a greek demigod on the side of the very same beggar that had ended him in the past. He was a three-time loser... and that sealed his fate in this world... You see, if you live your life well three times in a row, you acheive a spot in the Isles of the Blest, where souls went on for eternity in total bliss. Better than heaven, some say. If you failed three times as he did... you didn't get a fourth shot.
But this would NOT come to pass.
For he was not some mere man. He would not allow himself to pass silently into the night. No force of nature, no god of death itself, would make him less than a memory. It took what fragment of his sanity was left... but he cheated not just Death but nature, darkness, and the balance of all. He transcended his shape, his contour... and became something indestructible by the hands of the dead. A crystal of shimmering blood red hue.
And so he had remained for several long months... in silence and darkness so deep and soul-shattering it would drive even the greatest among us mad. The waters of the River Styx purified him, crafted him into a creature of unlimited potential... if only he could acheive a body once more. And then... something amazing happened.
Lifting... light and sound collapsing upon him like a deafening waterfall of life itself. His flesh-made-stone form, no bigger than a small child's fist, touched the breeze of the world once more... and he desired nothing more than to be WHOLE again...
Miracles upon miracles... the ruby soul of deepest madness then passed into hands of emerald flame... and from the theif into the possession of the Midnight Faerie, who regarded this broken, shattered essence with greed in her eyes. Greed... was his ally now. He needed it, and all other sin like mankind needed water. It was his nourishment.
From the dark one... into the hands of something Darker still... until finally, in one magnificent motion, he was planted into a form he could use like a seed of pure malice to be grown in the soils of hatred. But even now, he was tired... taxed from the sudden limitations of a body. The boundries of form. His mind, slowly able to perceive again, slowly piecing together the mystery of himself... needed time.
To a bedroom to call his own... alone and quiet once more, but now with sound, and a heightened sense of all around him. Darkness. It made his body, it crafted his being, and now it served as his eyes, ears, and hands. He knew all that occurred in the castle and beyond into the world they resided. His consciousness stretched out into the sky and perceived the surrounding area of Hyperspace. He could almost reach out and TOUCH Twilight Town, but it... was just beyond his grasp.
Above... voices. Angry, spiteful, jealous voices. The Emerald Flame... the Midnight Faerie... The One-Eyed Warrior... The Madcap Performer... the Crazed Clown... yes, even The Fallen... all of their feelings, their dark desires... they flowed into him, granted him the life he needed...
Then suddenly, as the caretaker of the infinite black pulled his hand away from a crystal not unlike his own... The final barrier had been passed... and his eyes flew open with a shuttering gasp.
Power surged outward in all directions as he roared out into the world, ripping white marble to shreds in the room, obliterating the door as it flew off its hinges, withering small potted plants into nothing and even less. His furniture burst ablaze with black fire, becoming still-lives of barely-held together ash before scattering to the rush of wind created by the explosion of raw, seething, uncontrolled madness that was his awakening. In the span of a moment, the inside of this room became an entire universe... and collapsed upon itself seven times over. Creation, destruction, life and death all cascaded in this small room, shuddering the walls of the entire castle...
His hand reached up slowly, his eyes and mouth pouring black energy in hellish anti-light crafted of darkness deeper than darkness. His long, slender fingers wrapped around something unseen, and by his will alone, a long, smooth golden snake sprung into existance and straightened itself out to serve him as his staff. All the power, all the mayhem froze in place... then began to rush to this single point of existance... absorbing into the metal and causing the open maw of the cobra to burn with an eternally living flame of magic...
The aftermath... was like a disaster zone. Though no bed existed below him (even its ashes were nowhere), the man slowly turned... and sat upon seeming nothing before standing shakily to his feet. The sockets were his eyes should be seemed to open only to an infinite void of fire and brimstone as he gazed around his surroundings, remembering all... recovering what made him who he was... but to say that this man was not changed by the experiences of his afterlife... would be a horrible, and final mistake.
The man strode from the room, all life around him withering away as stood in the doorway. He had cheated not only death but oblivion. He had returned from worse-than-destroyed. He had bathed himself in the enchanted river and rose more powerful than ever before, so intensely strong that only his staff which held back the awesome force of his will prevented him from destroying this castle with his mere presence.
Look upon him, ye mighty, and despair. The Black King is Risen...
Jafar... has returned.
Silence... and nothing more. Oblivion itself awaited him, with open arms like a welcoming mother... summoning him into the sweet nothing of eternal non-existance... to be less than heartless or nobody... to be quite simply... nothing.
Did he have a name? Did he have a soul, or even an identity? Did it even matter any more? He lost... thrice. Once to a street rat, once to a peddling, treacherous bird, and once to a greek demigod on the side of the very same beggar that had ended him in the past. He was a three-time loser... and that sealed his fate in this world... You see, if you live your life well three times in a row, you acheive a spot in the Isles of the Blest, where souls went on for eternity in total bliss. Better than heaven, some say. If you failed three times as he did... you didn't get a fourth shot.
But this would NOT come to pass.
For he was not some mere man. He would not allow himself to pass silently into the night. No force of nature, no god of death itself, would make him less than a memory. It took what fragment of his sanity was left... but he cheated not just Death but nature, darkness, and the balance of all. He transcended his shape, his contour... and became something indestructible by the hands of the dead. A crystal of shimmering blood red hue.
And so he had remained for several long months... in silence and darkness so deep and soul-shattering it would drive even the greatest among us mad. The waters of the River Styx purified him, crafted him into a creature of unlimited potential... if only he could acheive a body once more. And then... something amazing happened.
Lifting... light and sound collapsing upon him like a deafening waterfall of life itself. His flesh-made-stone form, no bigger than a small child's fist, touched the breeze of the world once more... and he desired nothing more than to be WHOLE again...
Miracles upon miracles... the ruby soul of deepest madness then passed into hands of emerald flame... and from the theif into the possession of the Midnight Faerie, who regarded this broken, shattered essence with greed in her eyes. Greed... was his ally now. He needed it, and all other sin like mankind needed water. It was his nourishment.
From the dark one... into the hands of something Darker still... until finally, in one magnificent motion, he was planted into a form he could use like a seed of pure malice to be grown in the soils of hatred. But even now, he was tired... taxed from the sudden limitations of a body. The boundries of form. His mind, slowly able to perceive again, slowly piecing together the mystery of himself... needed time.
To a bedroom to call his own... alone and quiet once more, but now with sound, and a heightened sense of all around him. Darkness. It made his body, it crafted his being, and now it served as his eyes, ears, and hands. He knew all that occurred in the castle and beyond into the world they resided. His consciousness stretched out into the sky and perceived the surrounding area of Hyperspace. He could almost reach out and TOUCH Twilight Town, but it... was just beyond his grasp.
Above... voices. Angry, spiteful, jealous voices. The Emerald Flame... the Midnight Faerie... The One-Eyed Warrior... The Madcap Performer... the Crazed Clown... yes, even The Fallen... all of their feelings, their dark desires... they flowed into him, granted him the life he needed...
Then suddenly, as the caretaker of the infinite black pulled his hand away from a crystal not unlike his own... The final barrier had been passed... and his eyes flew open with a shuttering gasp.
Power surged outward in all directions as he roared out into the world, ripping white marble to shreds in the room, obliterating the door as it flew off its hinges, withering small potted plants into nothing and even less. His furniture burst ablaze with black fire, becoming still-lives of barely-held together ash before scattering to the rush of wind created by the explosion of raw, seething, uncontrolled madness that was his awakening. In the span of a moment, the inside of this room became an entire universe... and collapsed upon itself seven times over. Creation, destruction, life and death all cascaded in this small room, shuddering the walls of the entire castle...
His hand reached up slowly, his eyes and mouth pouring black energy in hellish anti-light crafted of darkness deeper than darkness. His long, slender fingers wrapped around something unseen, and by his will alone, a long, smooth golden snake sprung into existance and straightened itself out to serve him as his staff. All the power, all the mayhem froze in place... then began to rush to this single point of existance... absorbing into the metal and causing the open maw of the cobra to burn with an eternally living flame of magic...
The aftermath... was like a disaster zone. Though no bed existed below him (even its ashes were nowhere), the man slowly turned... and sat upon seeming nothing before standing shakily to his feet. The sockets were his eyes should be seemed to open only to an infinite void of fire and brimstone as he gazed around his surroundings, remembering all... recovering what made him who he was... but to say that this man was not changed by the experiences of his afterlife... would be a horrible, and final mistake.
The man strode from the room, all life around him withering away as stood in the doorway. He had cheated not only death but oblivion. He had returned from worse-than-destroyed. He had bathed himself in the enchanted river and rose more powerful than ever before, so intensely strong that only his staff which held back the awesome force of his will prevented him from destroying this castle with his mere presence.
Look upon him, ye mighty, and despair. The Black King is Risen...
Jafar... has returned.