Darkness of a Different Kind [SOLO/REQUEST]

Reality is an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. The immortal words of Albert Einstein cemented their way into the mind of Ravan Vespara. The reality known as "Nowhere", or his personal layer of Hell, existed between the plains of space and time and appeared as a pitch black world - in the presumed center being the giant gates of death, situated behind a comparatively smaller throne. The gate stood ten kilometers tall whilst being over five kilometers wide. Interwoven with death energy and demonic energy, the colossal gates emitted intense pulses of Za Koa, forcing anything of lesser energy to instantly be either incinerated or forced back as if hit by a giant air compressor. The waves came every five minutes and radiated across the pitch black world, sending red pulses of Za Koa all throughout.

Like a tear in the fabric of existence, a pale arm reached out from mid air and send pure white cracks throughout the air. Within moments the pitch black reality had been been given something other than a black coating, a white light piercing through and shining upon those within. Albeit there was nobody within. Following the arm appeared a black haired man whose hair was messed up. As he stepped through, the white light begin to once again be consumed by the darkness and before he knew it, the hole was patched up and allowed the realm to return to darkness once more. Running down his arm and to his finger tips was a dark red that dripped onto the floor and seemed to vanish into darkness as it was touched. The owner of this reality, Ravan Vespara, had returned after his 'talk' with those whom called themselves 'Vastime'. Staring at him were two small women situated by his large throne, standing on either side as if they awaited the black haired male to sit upon it. One with hair as dark as the realm around her, the other with a purifying white that could make angels jealous.

"You're late." The women spoke in unison, each letter echoing as if they were speaking through a cylinder. The black haired woman was Kala, whilst the white haired woman was Saphaeda, otherwise known as Ravan's own Hell Beasts. "You try and get a situation sorted out for those Shadow Fall faggots next time, then." Ravan's tone was clearly irritated, he spoke as if someone intentionally went out of their way to make the "negotiation" a rough situation for him.

"You're a part of Shadow Fall now, Mr. Demon King." The women continued to speak in unison, only ever shooting their gaze upon Ravan until he walked close to the throne and placed one hand upon the skull and rose covered arm. Continuing to stand by the throne, Kala and Saphaeda's eyes met each others when Ravan ran his hand off the chair and began to walk in the opposite direction.

Whoooom.

A wave of Za Koa.

"Don't remind me." Continuing to walk away from the throne and gate, Ravan simply raised one hand behind his head as if waving for Saphaeda and Kala to follow him in his direction. "I'm going to meditate." With a blank expression, the two girls gaze returned to Ravan as they simply nodded. "Understood." Like a wave growing within the ocean, the ground below Ravan began to elevate before he finally placed himself atop of a hill-like structure, the ground raised being coated in a dark aura, but clearly visible as to what was within. As the mound rose, the bodies and skeletons of countless animals, creatures and humans had created a perfect platform in which Ravan would sit upon right at the top of the hill. One thing was peculiar about the mound, and for anyone whom might have been observing at the time, would question what was happening.

All of the bodies were replicas of Ravan himself.

The Demon King had been trapped within Hell for most of his life, he had seen countless horrors and endless torture -- and endlessly tried to end his own life. In total there were about three hundred bodies mixed in with a black sludge that hardened the moment it was raised from the ground, to give it stability. "I think we need to clean up around here." Kala spoke softly in response to the hill being birthed from the ground. "Shut up." The history of Ravan had been one of endless torture and depression, as the first of his kind and born from Death itself, Ravan had been put through endless torture from his moment of creation. For two hundred human years he had tried to kill himself, only recognizing the folly of the task short after. This wasn't because he couldn't technically kill himself: it was because he couldn't force himself to kill Kala and Sapheada. They had been with him since his own creation, and no matter the situation and troubles he went through, Ravan would endlessly try to make their life a better one. And vice versa.

Yet he tried. And tried. And tried more. He thought, maybe, this would be the time. Maybe this would be the time he would truly die and not be reborn through Kala and Saphaeda. It never came.

Raising from the tip of the mound appeared a black hand, palm spread out just large enough for Ravan to sit upon. Within moments Ravan found himself sitting, Kala and Saphaeda along side him, beginning their form of meditation. Seconds had passed before finally Ravan's arm was raised against his will, and then a final snap at the elbow, twisting it forward and elegantly dancing without a worry in the world. Following this was Ravan's shoulder, the bones began to pierce through his skin and twist in unimaginable ways. There remained no blood however, and the moment his left arm began to twist and bend, the right arm started in a similar fashion. The same had happened to Kala and Saphaeda whom began having their bodies morphed in exactly the same fashion as each other.

Before he knew it, Ravan's face had twisted and molded, large teeth appearing out of his jaw and neck turning upside down.

Whoom.

Another wave.

This technique was known as मौत स्पर्श in Hindu, or 'Death Touch' in English. This allowed Ravan to meditate at a level akin to Death itself, a technique which made him capable of projecting his inner thoughts and feelings into his outer body, capable of morphing it in impossible ways. Many times he would find himself in the shape of a tiger, or something of similar fashion, but most common he would simply find his body bending and breaking in impossible ways. There was no pain, no feeling of uncomfortably, simply Ravan and his morphing body as if it were nothing. When finished, the bones, limbs and such would slowly begin to set in a manner exactly prior.

If someone walked upon him like this? It's likely for them to receive quite the shock.

Whoom.

The waves kept coming.

His body had twisted, Ravan's barely visible hair coated in a thick layer of black ooze as bones protruded from his face. Beside him, his Hell Beasts continue to warp and change in a similar manner to what Ravan did, legs morphing bones to protrude through the skin and bend in impossible manners. Truly a terrifying sight for anyone whom had no understood or practiced the art of Death touch like these three beings. Despite their situation, the power of this was to cleanse and reset themselves of things that had just happened. It was demonic in essence and gave a rather terrifying outer apperance, but the inner workings proved to be useful and calming to the original Rakshasa and his allies.

A knocking. Deep. It rung like a hollow piece of metal throughout Nowhere. Upon hearing the knocking, Ravan's morphed body opened an eye -- followed by Kala, followed by Saphaeda. A bloodshot eye, larger than their own head, appearing on their being, eye scanning the world around them before locking onto a single location: the gate. With a rattle, then a crack: then... nothing. Silence fell, the body of Ravan and his Hell Beasts slowly shifting back into their normal form -- bones, flesh and minds being put back together piece by piece. Within moments they were put back together, standing up from atop the mound of death and lowered back to the ground. "Who is there?" asked Saphaeda, voice projecting towards the giant gate.

No answer.

Whoom.

A wave. It was happening more frequently.

Signalling backwards, Ravan flicked his fingers, as if telling Kala and Saphaeda to move away. Once his eyes moved back into their original place, his gaze drew upon the gate which had been nothing but dormant until this moment. For four hundred years, the doors had creaked and cracked but never a thud, a bellowing explosion ringing throughout the realm of darkness. "Kala, Saphaeda. Did anything happen whilst I was gone?" They shook their head in response, the waves of pulsating gates had always been in this state. Scratching the back of his head, Ravan stopped and thought for a moment. He wouldn't dare admit it, but he was scared. There were little to no things that scared the black haired Rakshasa, but this was different. His one fear, despite it being his own father, was death. Not dying, not the process of death itself - but the being in which he stood guardian. It was probably best to not even describe death as a being, the 'entity' would be more apt, never before seen or found by modern life. Not even Ravan, the very spawn of Death itself.

The whistling of wind echoed over the area for moments. The three stood there in silence, waiting for the any form of movement or being to emerge from the gates of Hell. It didn't matter what emerged, it would not mean anything good, or end well for anyone involved. Yet... nothing did emerge. The pulsating stopped, the waves of Za Koa coming to a halt as did the sound. For minutes, the three stood and observed, yet nothing happened. "Kala, send out the message. Ask Shadow Fall if they felt any activity, or know of it's origin." He spoke softly, a rather odd speech pattern for Ravan. Tilting her head slightly, Kala nodded and closed her eyes. "On it, king." Ravan closed his eyes and softly spoke under his breath yet again."I really wish you would stop calling me that."

Like a television losing reception, the black haired woman began to crackle and fade before finally she caved inwards, head and toes meeting at her waist. Kala had disappeared and travelled to Demon World's capital, seeking an audience with Shadow Fall, something she would without a doubt be given. Ravan, what should we do? Saphaeda inquired, just as Ravan was struck to his core, as was Saphaeda. "Nothing. I'm going to talk with Kala when she returns, but for now nothing." His gaze turned to Saphaeda as he began to walk in the direction of his throne. The throne, crimson coated and rose covered, normally spotless; was covered in scratch marks, running all the way down the center straight to the tip of the seat. The back of the throne was covered in a black tone, almost as if it had been burned from the direction the gates. He gave a soft frown before sitting back down upon it.

'What a strange day...' Ravan thought.