Ifrit succumbed to Shaige's will, as the Keeper knew he would. There was no shame in doing so; soon enough everything else would be faced with the same dilemma- serve Shaige, or die. Shaige abandoned his black staff and robes, blowing them to the side with a spectral wind. In the realm of the living the apparel and staff would have faded out of existence like any other shadows that came into the light, but here they behaved just like anything else. After all, this was a world of little save bone and shadow.

In his pure, true form without any guise or illusions, Shaige took on a roughly humanoid shape. His body was a featureless mass of swirling, amethyst light, the same color as the eyes that had peered out from the Shadow's hood. Without offering any explanation to Ifrit, the Keeper tore out a piece of himself, which coalesced in the form of a flawless, prismatic crystal. Shaige felt naked and vulnerable in this form, so he wasted no time. With the wave of a hand pillars of shadow rose from the ground on either side of Ifrit's skull.

The pillars then bent, wrapping around the head of dazed Ifrit. They wrapped quickly and forcefully, overcoming any resistance, and then melded together to form a giant muzzle of sorts. The Infernal King's mighty scion would be helpless to fight back or escape as Shaige embedded his crystallized essence right into the beast's forehead. Instantly Ifrit was wreathed in more than just fire and smoke; wailing souls were pulled into the gem, the bones of nearby skeletons cracked open as liquid blood burst out from their marrow and squirted through the air towards the gem, and the darkness itself reached out towards Ifrit. Shadow, smoke, blood, and soul came together to fuel Shaige's black magic. The cracks in Ifrit's body vanished, and his bones hardened. Perhaps more changes would occur if the beast was unable to prevent Shaige's essence from taking over too much of his body, but the Keeper's attention was now diverted.

Shaige sensed a spirit approaching. It was not a mere poltergeist, or even the starved revenant that he had seen before stifling Ifrit's light with a shroud of darkness. This was a powerful and old spirit, perhaps also that of a Keeper. Shaige quickly assumed a different, less revealing form. The arrival, upon passing through the barrier of darkness, would see Ifrit still being wracked by dark magic. Next to the great beast was a spirit that took the form of a floating, hooded violet shawl, wrapped with a stole and sash the color of blood. The duo would indeed be a strange sight, for such a dreary place as the spirit realm.

Keenly aware that revealing any information to a wraith was dangerous, Shaige endeavored to answer any questions with naught but riddles and lies. Suspecting that the other spirit was ancient, the Keeper would address it as soon as it arrived, "Erelong we depart. 'Twas wanion we shan't be able to speak."

The dead had all the time in the world, quite literally. For Shaige to attempt to leave without so much as a few words would be odd indeed, but the Keeper knew better than to risk treating with a wraith if avoidable, especially under such circumstances. Shaige intended to make an escape as soon as Ifrit's transformation was complete.