Welcome to the afterlife... Kinda...

[Taloc]

And now you witness the price of disobedience. The cost of challenging a god.

Taloc Sa’Koro blinks once, twice, not believing what he’s seeing. It’s impossible… Just a moment ago he was… but now… Something felt strange though, like a sticky wetness and it seemed to have soaked through his sleeves. Looking down at his hands he sees a red so dark it might as well be black in the flickering light of the fire. This is a color and feeling he knows… Blood. However, that doesn’t explain. Wait… Fire…?

Another piece clicks into place and he looks up at the burning remains of Koro. His life, his home, his people. The dead and the dying lie strewn throughout the streets, their eyes, even in death, stare at him. Confusion, betrayal, disbelief… It just couldn’t be… No outsider has the skill or knowledge to do anything like this. Not even close. Whoever did this was exceptionally skilled as well… Many of these veteran death-dealers went down without a fight, and all of them appear to be looking not only at him, but drilling into his soul. Bloody hell - those eyes...

Taking a step back under the weight of their dead stares, he trips, landing hard but not feeling it as he saw what it was that caught his foot. The silken raven hair, the obsidian black eyes now glazed over, the flawless face of his wife looking back at him, a black hilted dagger still lodged in her chest. “N-no… Please no. Anything… Anything but this…”

His hands slowly reach forward, terrified of confirming what he’s seeing, but it can’t be denied… The black hilt is that of Woe, and Ire lies not far away its curved blade a mocking smile. Both blades laughing at him, relishing in the slaughter of all that he knew and loved. He silently clutches his wife to his chest, tears streaming down his face as the slow realization hits him.

'I did this...'

Reaching forward once more he grips the hilt of Woe. It had been his partner for many long years… It will see his final job complete as well.

“If you can’t defend your own, be sure to avenge them.” Taloc says softly. Without another word, he plunges the blade into his chest, feeling the hematosis poison seep into his veins. Through burning tears he looks down for the last time at his wife, his love, his life and the world slowly goes black…



Almost instantly the pain vanishes and sensation of gravity vanishes leaving him with the uncomfortable feeling floating in the midst of nothingness. Out of the darkness the silhouette of Omni appears… Tentatively Taloc tries moving, but to no avail, clearly this intends to be a one sided meeting since even the simple action of speaking seems to be unavailable to him. Still… If this is the afterlife, it’s a lot better than some of the possibilities he had heard of… And then Omni began speaking, making it rather clear that this wasn’t death. He went from complacent to madness in a mere moment, rage roaring through him.

‘How dare he deny me the death I deserve!’

The thought rockets through Taloc’s mind as he’s held in place. The fact that the reason is because this figure, this ‘God’ of the Omniverse, finds him interesting only makes matters worse. He strains against his binds, pushing with all the will he can muster to get at this figure, though it is all for naught. Still it continues its explanation, as if it’s not clear how upset Taloc is. Then again, being unable to move makes it rather difficult to express emotion. Maybe Omni really isn’t aware…

And then it brings out this orb, Omnilium it calls it, going on to explain more as if there was any choice but to listen... Finally, just as it was seeming to wrap up it’s speech, it added one final tid bit.

“Do not fear death. For as long as you interest me, you will be reborn.”

Adding insult to injury, Omni just outright said that death isn’t permanent here. That he’ll just keep coming back, again and again and again. Why?



As the darkness fades, Taloc finally finds himself able to move again and a single question rips through his lips. He yells at the top of his lungs, trying to bring the accursed god back, “WHY? Why won’t you just let me die?”

Silence. “Of course he wouldn’t answer. Why would he? If he wanted to have a full discussion he would’ve just let me do so earlier, now wouldn’t he?” Taloc mumbles to himself softly. “So now what do I do? Go on about my life after what I did… No. Maybe he was bluffing. Just like…”

Taloc holds a hand up to his head as a sudden pain shoots through. Something is missing. Just like who? It makes no sense… Why can’t I remember something like...

It was only then that he realized he was still wearing the clothes from the village. From the slaughter. His weapons, now sheathed strangely, hang behind his waist like always, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, but the clothes. God the clothes… Torn in several places and still dripping blood from the sleeves, sheer revulsion rockets through him. His friends, his family… Dripping onto the paving stones... Only now did he notice the sound of running water. The large stone fountain shooting streams up into fanciful arcs in stark contrast of the bleached white of this place he is in.

'Water.'

Without thought he jumps into the fountain and begins ripping off his clothes, determined to get the gore off of his body as fast as possible. In his desperation he breaks the buckle on his belt, leaving his blades to fall into quickly reddening waters surrounding him. With a splash, Ire and Woe sink to the bottom, sheathes and all, causing him to pause a moment. Standing there, half naked, he looks down at his bare torso. Not even a mark where Woe had pierced him... The rest of the scars remained, but it was as if his weapons, his partners, had never tasted his flesh. Slowly, he bends down and grips the hilt of Ire, pulling the darkened steel short sword from its sheath, examining it closely. The damascus weave of the blade seemed to be dancing with rolling waves, giving the illusion that they were moving as it caught the strange source-less light of this realm.

Changing his grip ever so slightly and applying pressure to different areas on the hilt, the pattern on the blade changes, or at least it was supposed to. He knew the different grip combinations of Ire and Woe extremely well, his life tended to depend on it after all. Why isn’t hematosis activating? After a good minute of different combinations he is clearly growing more frustrated, practically glaring down at Ire. Over a dozen different combinations are put in several times over to no effect, until the last… The damascus weave shifts, the waves seeming to stretch and elongate until they take on the form of lightning striking down towards the tip.

“At least the paralysis works,” he mutters quietly. "But this certainly makes things a bit more difficult..."

Slowly he reaches down and retrieves Woe from the fountain as well, the darkened metal weaves appearing to smile at his touch. Laying them down on the stone rim surrounding the decorative pool he removes the blood stained pants and sits down, water coming up to his chest. Cold, especially so in certain areas, but far better then being covered in… He shivers at the thought and eyes his weapons once more, contemplating.