Nerdlord57The Descent.
"Of course, you will in no way be able to uphold them. Caliburn, a blade forged from the guiding hands of the angels themselves, a weapon used to combat and expel witches and warlocks alike. It'll be a fitting instrument to make certain that you will be rewritten in the name of the stars, and that you may be reborn."
". .do not fill me with false hope, Archmagi."

That is when the the blade was swung, effortlessly cleaving the head of Dimitri Asimov from his body. He died as he had lived, powerless to change his own fate. Yet what those in the room could not see or understand was his final moments in the land of the living. Even as Caliburn moved its way towards the middle of his neck, to sever his spine, he couldn't even focus upon that sensation as they were already upon him.

Stygian chains wrapped around his very soul and burned him with an agonistic feeling he could never even dreamed of, tainted by the effects of Hel. He felt molten magma rise at his feet and pool around him, burning him. Tormenting him. All of these magics were far too familiar, of course the Marquis would send them to come and claim him. To drag him down before her feet like a slave.

Once his head was fully cleaved through and the blood began to stain the stone floor of the Osronan Cell, that's when the descent truly began.

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The descent into the realm of Hecate Elaide was anything but pleasant. Shards of burning obsidian fueled by the occult and spiked earthen chains pulled him, screaming into Hel'heim. Sights he cursed upon others finally visualized in person, making him struggle and shake. This couldn't be real. He couldn't breath, he couldn't bleed, all he could feel was agony claiming dominion over the maelstrom of emotions. Souls and Spirits littered the endless expanse of Damnation that he was dragged through, seeing the unforgettable sights that burned their mark into whatever was left of his mind.

In the distance? An opulent palace floating above the endless fields of unmaking, a hedonistic crimson hue overtaking all of the structures that were built upon the broken souls of those brought to Her heel. Those unfortunate enough to be undergoing their sentences were nothing more than playthings to the Nethradin that roamed its streets. The stench of false grandeur and nobility permeated this place, as every other being here paled in comparison to the Mistress of this fortress.

Finally he was thrown out before the gargantuan throne, set atop a platform that was littered with gold and gemstones. Nethradin groveled before the empty throne, broken by the sights that craved. Dimitri could only wonder what his fate would be. . with all of these sights.

The two Nethradin that flanked him forced him to his hands and knees, the magma that seemed to follow in their wake burning his hands and legs as the chains paired with them grew tighter and tighter. In the distance? He heard the sound of chamber doors being opened and before long? The throne would be sat upon.

Dimitri did not look up, trying to compose himself despite the horrors he was to undergo. All he could say was. .

". . .I've got one more deal left in me."
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Few days following the death of Captain Asimov,
the front of the apartment where Dimitri used to live changed.
The quaint hall that never bore any decoration was clad in flowers
and candles for the first time in a whole decade.

Asking other residents about who could have done it would
 end up only stirring further questions, as no one could recall anyone
other than his wife, Hina Asimov, being around the introverted Captain.

There, a vodka bottle would forever wait to be drank.
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"There, a vodka bottle would forever wait to be drank."

it wouldn't take long

ur death will not be in vain brother
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The straining of violin music only emphasizes what appears to be
the rising of smoke and almost-lilac embers in the night sky outside Achyon.

Hands run over strings as Dimitri Asimov's body is cremated,
in what appears to have been a private decision by Hina Asimov, his widow.
Portions of the ashes are buried across Esshar
and scattered to its winds and oceans alike.
If pressured on her motives, she only has one thing to say:

"The world should remember Him as I do - soil, sky and soul alike."
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