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The last thing she could remember was a sudden bolt of white-hot agony, splitting her head in two and the sight of her own black blood smeared over her fingers as the extent of her fresh wound sunk in.
An exaggeration, she knew; it was little more than a hole, a wound from one of those firearms. But in that moment, it had certainly felt like an axe had been taken to her skull. It was enough to sign a certain end to her life, in a stupendously inglorious and unacceptable fashion. In through her forehead, and out through the back of her skull...a lethal blow by all counts. If she had not already been so weakened and wounded and exhausted, then perhaps the unnatural and demonic vitality coursing through her body could have sustained her even through such a grievous injury. Maybe she could have even retaliated against the one who had had the audacity yo shoot at her to begin with.
....maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
She would never know, however.
Once that pain and the impending mortality had sunk in, everything else had begun to fade out. First the searing heat of the desert sun, then the sound of the chaos all around her, then even her vision started to waver and die out on her. A rushing feeling as her body finally gave out and she could no longer stay standing and then...
...nothing.
Nothing but a cold, empty, endless blackness. Suffocating and constricting as it was comforting and relieving.
It should have been infuriating. In a way, really, it was. She was furious beyond words at the all too sudden and pathetic manner of her death, but...all the fury in the world would do her no good now. In her living days, with all the mystical might and knowledge she had acquired and hoarded, she could work feats as great as bringing entire armies back from the dead. She had even managed to resurrect herself on a few occasions with some careful planning ahead of time. Oh, the frustrations she had caused and the celebrations she had personally ruined...
Not that such things were of any use to her. Every method she knew for such things required a great deal of preparation beforehand, and needed the caster to be alive. She...was not exactly in a position to perform such a feat.
And indeed, after what seemed like an eternity, her fury at her untimely demise slowly began to cool and fade away into a calm, icy resignation. She was dead, now; perhaps in some time, she could be reunited with her lord again. That would not be so bad...though he would undoubtedly be furious with her for failing, at least they would be together again.
Perhaps they could even conquer the afterlife...
Are you really done, just like that?
The sudden question came from a place very much not her own mind. And it shocked her, immediately brushing aside any other thoughts. What in the world kind of question was that? Was she 'done'? What else could she do? Death wasn't something to just casually be brushed aside, especially not from the side of the veil she was currently standing on.
Figures. Another quitter. One little setback, and you throw in the towel.
Some sparks of Altanis's anger rekindled. "What do you know? You think I want to accept this? This...this...farce of an outcome? Someone like me, killed in such a ridiculous way?!"
Then do something about it.
"Yes, because that is such an easy task to accomplish! It is only subverting death itself!" The demonic general snorted in derisive amusement. "You speak of it as if it were as trivial as opening a door."
Whoever said you were dead, you idiot?
That was a question she had not expected, and it left her without words. Of course, she wanted to ask the obvious things like 'how dare you' and 'what do you mean' but...the words just wouldn't come. She was quite certain she was dead, though; she remembered the feeling quite distinctly from the times it had happened before. Pre-arranged insurance to return her to life or not, dying was still dying. This time simply felt...different, somehow.
Yeah. It's different because you're not dead. Not for good, anyway. You just need something to give you the motivation to get up again.
Altanis sneered at that. "Do enlighten me then, o great and knowledgeable one. What exactly is this 'something' that I need so badly, that can thwart this all too realistic imitation of death's shroud?"
In your case...anger. Or at least a target to aim it at.
"I know precisely who I would direct my anger at." Though she scarcely dared to believe she had a body at all, old habits died hard. She reflexively clenched her jaw, baring her fanged teeth in a silent snarl. "Those insufferable green brutes who dared to—"
Wrong.
The single word cut the hellspawned horse's sentence off as effectively and sharply as a sudden punch to the gut might have. All of the wind was knocked right out of her sails, and she was left reeling and figuratively gasping for air. "Who—What, then?"
Those idiots are just puppets. A symptom, caused by a symptom, of the real cause.
Suddenly a cold, vice-like grip seized her about the neck. Something hard and metallic, not unlike a hand, lifted her up.
But looking at you now...I don't think you're cut out to deal with it after all.
Altanis's eyes snapped open, and she seethed with anger, thrashing about. "You do not get to judge me!" she snarled. "Tell me what this 'real cause' is, then, and I will see to eliminating every trace of it upon this world, and every other if I must!"
There's that fire you needed...
The grip on her throat let up, and suddenly a sensation of falling gripped Altanis again. Falling, rushing...and cold. An icy, bitter chill. Desert at night. She started, convulsing in a mixture of phantom and very real pain, coughing and sputtering in a mixture of relief to simply breathe again, and indescribable fury.
The twisting knots in her body — one of roiling and burning nausea in her guts; and one of twisting, creaking and earsplitting agony in her head — made the very effort and motions of waking seem like the worse option compared to returning to death. Sudden new knowledge and thoughts flared in her mind; memories from long ago, either repressed or just forgotten, brought back to mind by the spiritual equivalent of a concussion. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken a great deal of time to rest and reflect upon such knowledge to fully digest and absorb it.
Now, though...her ire and fury had truly been raised. Had this been just some random happenstance, some freak occurrence leading to her death, it would have been fine. Infuriating and demeaning, but...just one fluke out of many in life. If it had just been some unnamed nobody that had slain her she might have come to accept it.
But that it was just some puppet...not even truly acting in their right mind, or for any worthy reason. That she could not accept. A desperate fool, flailing and screaming into a void that would devour him just like everything else.
Even if she had to scour this entire world for every last trace of this...Darkseid...she would do so. And eradicate all of it.
An exaggeration, she knew; it was little more than a hole, a wound from one of those firearms. But in that moment, it had certainly felt like an axe had been taken to her skull. It was enough to sign a certain end to her life, in a stupendously inglorious and unacceptable fashion. In through her forehead, and out through the back of her skull...a lethal blow by all counts. If she had not already been so weakened and wounded and exhausted, then perhaps the unnatural and demonic vitality coursing through her body could have sustained her even through such a grievous injury. Maybe she could have even retaliated against the one who had had the audacity yo shoot at her to begin with.
....maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
She would never know, however.
Once that pain and the impending mortality had sunk in, everything else had begun to fade out. First the searing heat of the desert sun, then the sound of the chaos all around her, then even her vision started to waver and die out on her. A rushing feeling as her body finally gave out and she could no longer stay standing and then...
...nothing.
Nothing but a cold, empty, endless blackness. Suffocating and constricting as it was comforting and relieving.
It should have been infuriating. In a way, really, it was. She was furious beyond words at the all too sudden and pathetic manner of her death, but...all the fury in the world would do her no good now. In her living days, with all the mystical might and knowledge she had acquired and hoarded, she could work feats as great as bringing entire armies back from the dead. She had even managed to resurrect herself on a few occasions with some careful planning ahead of time. Oh, the frustrations she had caused and the celebrations she had personally ruined...
Not that such things were of any use to her. Every method she knew for such things required a great deal of preparation beforehand, and needed the caster to be alive. She...was not exactly in a position to perform such a feat.
And indeed, after what seemed like an eternity, her fury at her untimely demise slowly began to cool and fade away into a calm, icy resignation. She was dead, now; perhaps in some time, she could be reunited with her lord again. That would not be so bad...though he would undoubtedly be furious with her for failing, at least they would be together again.
Perhaps they could even conquer the afterlife...
Are you really done, just like that?
The sudden question came from a place very much not her own mind. And it shocked her, immediately brushing aside any other thoughts. What in the world kind of question was that? Was she 'done'? What else could she do? Death wasn't something to just casually be brushed aside, especially not from the side of the veil she was currently standing on.
Figures. Another quitter. One little setback, and you throw in the towel.
Some sparks of Altanis's anger rekindled. "What do you know? You think I want to accept this? This...this...farce of an outcome? Someone like me, killed in such a ridiculous way?!"
Then do something about it.
"Yes, because that is such an easy task to accomplish! It is only subverting death itself!" The demonic general snorted in derisive amusement. "You speak of it as if it were as trivial as opening a door."
Whoever said you were dead, you idiot?
That was a question she had not expected, and it left her without words. Of course, she wanted to ask the obvious things like 'how dare you' and 'what do you mean' but...the words just wouldn't come. She was quite certain she was dead, though; she remembered the feeling quite distinctly from the times it had happened before. Pre-arranged insurance to return her to life or not, dying was still dying. This time simply felt...different, somehow.
Yeah. It's different because you're not dead. Not for good, anyway. You just need something to give you the motivation to get up again.
Altanis sneered at that. "Do enlighten me then, o great and knowledgeable one. What exactly is this 'something' that I need so badly, that can thwart this all too realistic imitation of death's shroud?"
In your case...anger. Or at least a target to aim it at.
"I know precisely who I would direct my anger at." Though she scarcely dared to believe she had a body at all, old habits died hard. She reflexively clenched her jaw, baring her fanged teeth in a silent snarl. "Those insufferable green brutes who dared to—"
Wrong.
The single word cut the hellspawned horse's sentence off as effectively and sharply as a sudden punch to the gut might have. All of the wind was knocked right out of her sails, and she was left reeling and figuratively gasping for air. "Who—What, then?"
Those idiots are just puppets. A symptom, caused by a symptom, of the real cause.
Suddenly a cold, vice-like grip seized her about the neck. Something hard and metallic, not unlike a hand, lifted her up.
But looking at you now...I don't think you're cut out to deal with it after all.
Altanis's eyes snapped open, and she seethed with anger, thrashing about. "You do not get to judge me!" she snarled. "Tell me what this 'real cause' is, then, and I will see to eliminating every trace of it upon this world, and every other if I must!"
There's that fire you needed...
The grip on her throat let up, and suddenly a sensation of falling gripped Altanis again. Falling, rushing...and cold. An icy, bitter chill. Desert at night. She started, convulsing in a mixture of phantom and very real pain, coughing and sputtering in a mixture of relief to simply breathe again, and indescribable fury.
The twisting knots in her body — one of roiling and burning nausea in her guts; and one of twisting, creaking and earsplitting agony in her head — made the very effort and motions of waking seem like the worse option compared to returning to death. Sudden new knowledge and thoughts flared in her mind; memories from long ago, either repressed or just forgotten, brought back to mind by the spiritual equivalent of a concussion. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken a great deal of time to rest and reflect upon such knowledge to fully digest and absorb it.
Now, though...her ire and fury had truly been raised. Had this been just some random happenstance, some freak occurrence leading to her death, it would have been fine. Infuriating and demeaning, but...just one fluke out of many in life. If it had just been some unnamed nobody that had slain her she might have come to accept it.
But that it was just some puppet...not even truly acting in their right mind, or for any worthy reason. That she could not accept. A desperate fool, flailing and screaming into a void that would devour him just like everything else.
Even if she had to scour this entire world for every last trace of this...Darkseid...she would do so. And eradicate all of it.