[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZIEBEyW.png[/img]
[sub]God of Death, Prince of Astral Fires[/sub][/center]

His mind and vision were engulfed by madness. A ringing reverberated incessantly from all around; there were dancing flames within that strange place just beyond the corner of his sight, but even so there were sharp lances of icy pain that pierced his mind, and there was a familiar scent that conjured hazy memories of panic and terror. Some overpowering blunt force had struck his mind and shattered it like glass, and now there were only shattered memories left swirling about in the schism that remained. All of the trauma and the pain was still there, but now it was oppressive and omnipresent.

[center][sub][i]What is this? What am I?[/i][/sub]

[sub]A name--[color=goldenrod]Katharsos...[/color][/sub]

[i][b][color=goldenrod]I am become [b]Death[/b]: Preserver of the World, Keeper of the Cycle, Guardian of Life.[/color][/b][/i][/center]

Katharsos blinked sharply, and just like that, he reclaimed his lucidity and was suddenly made aware of his surroundings.

[hr]

The concussive pain and the strange sensations that had wracked his mind until that moment hadn't left him. No, they had only grown worse. With his stupor broken, the garbled and distant ringing was now accentuated by the vivid screaming and wailing of too many souls to count. They voices of billions of lost souls in varous states of agony mixed together into a maddening cacophony, and there was no escaping from it--at least, not for him. He heard them all. He sensed their collective misery and pain so acutely that it was as a burden upon him, too.

There were other things, too. [i]Something[/i] was inside of him. He felt it, the foreign object, inside the fiery prison that was his mouth. The scintillated light of a strange crystal shone through gaps in his teeth, reflecting brazen glow of his own body (a massive, detached head made of writhing flames, he realized!) as it propelled him onward. At first he felt bewildered, but understanding came within the span of a few instants--he had been summoned here by a great Enlightened Being alongside many others. But whilst those others were still manifesting or bickering or coming to grips with their reality, Katharsos had been so driven by his instinct and his purpose that he had leaped onto his awaiting crystal and left the Architect's palace before he had even truly become cognizant of what he was doing.

[i]What [b]was[/b] he doing?[/i]

Saving the spirits, of course. The souls were his to watch after. He swore an oath!

[i]When? What oath?[/i]

His reverie ended as he rocketed past a wailing collection of spirits. Immediately he wrenched his head around with enough force to shift the crystal such that it began carrying him to the left, and then back around to circle towards the stray souls. But when he looked out to where they had been, they were all gone!

He summoned even more of his strength to twist his head farther around, and upon wheeled all the way back the spirits came into his vision once more. They were right behind him, being swept along in his wake. Of course they were. He was a shepherd of souls, and any such spirits in his vicinity could be made to go where he directed them. That would make this long task easier.

He soared back and forth through the cold and dark depths of space, collecting a dozen souls here, one or two stray ones there, sometimes great groups of a few thousand all huddles together as if for warmth. He could hardly blink without gathering another one or two, but still, there were so many that awaited his call. And these were just those that remained adrift in the cold of these upper Spheres; there were untold millions cast into all other far corners of the universe as a result of the diaspora caused by the Great One's careless expulsion of all the lesser souls. 

Katharsos looked down to the blue jewel below, a place that he instinctively knew to be the most perfect and balanced of all Spheres. seat of this universe's future, the inevitable origin of mortal life--Galbar. It looked even more beautiful in the light. The God of Death turned his gaze to observe the distant sight of Heliopolis' blinding radiance. Already the other gods were making progress with their works. Soon they would have need for souls if they were to create any forms of life to populate and glorify the world, yet all of these souls he gathered were broken.

[sub][i]"Ahahaha, ahahahaha!"[/i][/sub]

From the great throngs of wailing dead that were swept along by the warmth of his wake, Katharsos witnessed with crystalline clarity the apparition of a single man that laughed maniacally, chanting strange and unknowable words between cackles as he lashed out at all behind him.

[hider=Hysteria][color=purple]
Ọ̶̢̯͇͕̺̤͍͓͎͕̰̟̬̈́̑̍͂͊̉͝ͅ,̶̧̧̨͖̮̙̞͍͖̬͖͉̥̝̳͔̮̩̩̩̇̊̌̿͛̇́̊̃̏͊͗̈́̐̚͝͝ͅͅ ̶̬̤̥̪̹͔̥̈́̀̿̎͌̓̉͂̓̏̾̕͘͝t̷̨̡͖̳̤̫̱̮͉͕̼̻̠̹̪͔̞̺̻̹̰͊̒͛͝h̵̢̹̰̜̘͈̙̩͍̭̜̪̟̜͚͖̖̗̤͈̟̾̀͐͒͑̈̽́̆̾̉̇̎̓̅̈́͆̇̑̐͝͝ͅa̶̢̰̼̯̩̣̹̯̳̟̜͚͔̦̮̣̹̮̮̬͈͛̃͗͋̎̄͌͐̀͑͂̂͋̈́͑͜t̴̛̝̍͊̃̂̏́̈̌́̎̽̑͐͘ ̵̡̨̹̺͓̼̤͓̭͍̳̣͐̔̌͐̕̕G̶̢̧̛̗̼͓̰̮̙̖̲̻̳̰̩̟͓̳̙͉̹͍͋̾̂̈́͐̃̈́́̓͊̇͂̓̆̀͌̄̈́ọ̷̺͖̜̟͔̙̰̙̤̓̐̂͋d̴̘͉̊̓̓̈̾̈́̔͑̉̅͆͆̌̀͗̔͂̓͘͘͝͝,̴̢̡̳̪̝̱̲͎̭̅͐̍͐͌̍̌̈̔͘͠͝͠͝
̸̨̡̡̝̙̩͉̲̞͔̐̅̈P̶̨̛͍͈͍͕̘̮͍̞͇̫͖͐̀̽̎́͗͆̋̎̀͛͆̑̃̚̕͜͜r̵̢̖̭̞͍̤͙̫̬͍̤͙̻̔̎̆͗̽̎̎͜o̵̞͇̜̫̹̬̮̩͈͍̰̭͔̻̦̜̳̹͊͆̇̄̈̔́͑͐́͑͝ͅf̶̨̲̓͆͑̏̔̾̇̄̎̒̀̒̄͠͝ȗ̴̧̖͙̙̣͙̰̮̞̝͚̋̈̽̾̃͗̕͘ͅs̴̭͕̿̑̃̽̽͌͌̊̾̑͛̍͂̍̊͂̓͘͘ę̸̧̛̥̘͇̪̱̜̖̦̹͎̘̠̲̹̱̰̱̹̹̅̒̾̌̉̅͑̒͆̔̂͛̆̐̂̎̽̏̚̕͠ ̸̡̭̫̬̩̪͇͎͓͇͍̺̮͚̰̯̟̱̠̯̳̓̑̓̏̃̐̇̓̀͑̇̂͜͠͠͠o̷͉͖͋̐̈́̈ͅf̵̢̢̛̞̜̖̠͈͓̹̖̮̩̳̯͉̭͚̼̥̜͜͠ ̷̹̫͕̻̈́͋́p̵̨͖̦̙̹̖̗̳̟̞̲̝̳͋̽̂͑̑̏̚͜͝ő̴̧̡̳͙͙̞̳̱͓̱̼̘̦̙͎̲͇͓̤̙̾̇̃̋̿͑̉̒̊͛̑̇̈́̆̀́̚͠ͅi̸̥̠͙̦̖͈̓͊̏̈́͊̏͗̕s̵̙̹̖̒͊͑̿̏̈͊̀̕̚͜o̷͚̬͍̲͇̯͓͙͓͈̦̜̭̫͛͆̏̏̈́̉̀̒̃̈́̕͘͘͝ǹ̴̡̡̧̧͉͈̳̳͕͉̥̳̯̭͔̹̱̠͓̲͔͈̇͂̈́̄̚s̶̛͕̄̾̀̀̐̍̌̌͂͐̐͐̅͛͛̐̓͜͝,̸̢͓̭̩̇̅͑̌̅͌̌̽̊́̌̋ ̷̡̡̦̬̗̖̠̤̙̬̦̳̥̰͇̰͔̼̓͋̊̈́͛͒͌̀͊͜͝͝͠ͅw̶̛̘̣̳̮̠̜͖̹̆̈̐́̃̇͐̉̅́̔̒̈́̃͗͛͐́͜͝ǫ̸̭̝̮̍̏̌̌̈́̽͑̀͌̇͘ư̸̡̬͉̱̱͓̪̗͖͖̠̜̙̪̖̫͎̟͆́̓̒̀̿̓̇̆̐͐̈́͒̅̈̽͆͘̚̚ľ̸̤̒̑̀̓͒̇͑̚͠͝͝͠d̵̢̡̛̘̓̏͗̍͐́̋̓͑̓͊̈̀͐̊͝ ̵͔̪̹̳̪̙̫͂̿̽͒̆̑̉̂̀͒́̿̈́̓͋̉̃͛c̴̰̖̼͖̲̱̱̤̘̪͕͇̱͓͈̥̃̃̀͌̓͌̄̏̈́̀̾͂͋̏͗̀͂͠ơ̵̧̛̲̼̲̭̲̐̆̎̍̐̓̍́͗̑̋͑͒̾̓͊̊̕͝n̶͉̫̉̉́̅̓̉̀̄̅̊̑̋̍͊c̶̢̨̮̗͊̌͆̇̆̍͆̇́̏́̕͘͝é̸̪̱̱͓̾̾̓͘͘͜͝d̴̯̜͎̜̫̰̼̩͍̠͔̼̐͑̂̄̅̀͌͆͆͌͗͌̆̔̚̕͠͠ͅé̴̢̧̨̛̺̗̹̳̣͔̰͖̦̩̼̣̦̟̟͔̽̄͋͐̀̒͘ ̴̫̗̖̆̌̚t̷̻̏͛͋͜h̸̛̟̗̣̣̫̠̫̦̦̰̝̟͕̭͎͎̪̃̈͒̾̃͗̎͒͋̆̿̀̔͋̈́͝ȩ̸̨̛̭̱̪̦͔̤̎̇̑͌̂̓̑̈́̔͒̒̈́͒͆̚͜ ̷̢̛̥̺̝͓̋̈́̇̾͂̾͊̍̏̔̈̄͝c̵̢̧̛͈͚̻͚̳͔͎̤̞͈̩̩͛̾͘̕͠h̸͍̟͖͔͎̪͈̰̹͚̘̲̝̻̟̹̙̱͛͐͋̊̕ą̷͓̩̙̖̹͕͚̃̐̒͛̈̂̾͝l̸̢̨̛̞̝͎͇͓̪̟̖͍͕̲̺̈̈̋̆̈́̏͜͝͠ị̴̳͍̈͐̂̿̎̄̕͝c̷̢̧̯̜̘̘̺̈̿̌̾͗̎̈́̽̊͘͜͝͠ȩ̶͖͚̹͇͕̦̱̩̥͕̥̘͖̠̻̥̋͌̈̈́͗͋̄̓̎̽̀͆͒̀̎́̌̃̄̚͜͝
̶̢̛̮́̉̓͒͋͘͝͠W̵̨̩̜̙̻͇͔̗̲̰̖̳̪̱̬̃͂̊̍͋̆̓̃̆̇̽̒͊́̈́͊͘͘͘͜ͅh̷̡͇̘̝̺͉̲͔̺͍̳͈̹̣͐͜ĭ̷̛̻̘͚̹̇̐͛̇c̸̡̢̛̯̟͋͒̅̀̈̎͜ͅh̸̨̛͍̘͉̟̜͙͚̤̖̦̬͖̩̼̎̋͜ ̷͈͈̐̔́͒̂̒̋͝b̶̫̰̠̋̅̐̐̿͐͐͌͋̏̋̀̈́̎̈̔̃͜͠ú̴͖̠͐͒̔̉͑ţ̸̡͚̰͕͕͚̜̺̭̞̼͓̗͍̻̤̲͈͑̍͂̋̔́̇̉̀̈́̕͜͝ ̸̨̡͍̜̣͉̥̺͓͍͍͇͙̭̫͉̦̗̟̌o̵̧͈̞̣͚̜̯̹̖̹͋̄̈̄͌͂̔̋̐͝ͅṇ̷̹̗̰͖͆̀̓́͝é̶̘̜̻͔̗̬̹́͌̊̎͋͛̔̎͆͒̅̓̔̅͂͘ͅ ̸̡̣̬͕̻͙̥́́̑h̴͇͓̣͉̲̮͓̙̼̗̝̘́̽͆̾͋̒̎̾̈́͗̓̑̿̂̓̓͛̍̕͠a̴̝̖͉͊͒̾̎̕ͅs̵̨̩̘͉͙̬̬͙̺̠͕̫̻̣̹̜̻̀̑͂͊̚͜ ̴̧̢̡̯͕͕̟̖͊̌̒̀̾̈̈́͂̐̇̈͌̒̆͝d̴̼̼͈̿̔̋̈́͛̄̍̓ȓ̴̛͇̦̜̓̀͂͌͝͝ȁ̸̧̢̝̬̪̫̞̘̖̼̻̥̥͙͈͔̞̜͊͜ì̷̧̡͇̟̯̜͔̲͈̜̫̲̳͈̣̩̣͈̯͜ņ̵̢̟̮͖͎̘̳̺͐̍̅͛͂́͐̚͠e̷͚͚̩̭͚̼͚̞͙̎͌͒̀̎̕̚͜ͅd̶̢̡̺̲͔͇͍͍̱̭͚̄̌̄̄̌͗̈́̆̔̋̾̇̕͘͝,̶̢͕͖̰̺͍̟͍̳̪̃̽́͌͐̄̍̈́̌̂́̊̃̿́̉̅̅̆͘͝͝ ̶͇͔̼̆̉̈́̑̽͂͊͒̾̈͜͠w̸̧̡̫͍̬͕̫̺̰̹͙͕̓̈́̇̾̽̀̇̂͒̔͋͜͜͝h̶̻͍̫̻̱̗͈̩̬̳̺̫̘̦̙̰̾͗͆̕͜ŏ̸̡͓̮̼̠̬̗̦̘̠̲͉͓̾̉̓̓̾͐̄̈́̎̂̃̌̍͌̓̚̚̕ͅ ̴̨̨̡̪̳̤̯̬̠̙̤̱͚̥̹͐̓͒̓̍̐͒͆́͘͜͝͝n̵̨̡̛̻͍̳͉̈̄̽͛ǫ̵̻͖̤̟̻̘̻̺̣̩̭̱̟̉͆̑͑͒̓̐͆͗͒̽͘̕̚͝w̷͔̒̆,̸̧̛̥̯̫̟̘͕̜̣̤̘̖̙͓̪̼͉͓̆̽̿̈́́̆̓̓̂̑̕̚͜
̸̧̥̺͙̙͕̱̞͈͈̜̦̂͛́̈V̷̨͚̗͙̮̦̼̫͈̦̳͕͔̖̼̟͇̘̤̀̒͛͒͊͒͆̑̂͝e̴̢̧̡̛̫̻̞̯̮̣͎̘̼̪̤̘̩͊̎̒̈́̒́̀͂̔͐̂̈́͘̚̕s̶̨̱̪̪̪̼̠̭̗̩̽̀͗̅̇̀͂̏̂ș̵͖̺̩̼͋̒̀̈̔͒̀͛̚ȩ̸̛̖͎̪̯͙̗̤̏̈́̿͐̀̆̿̐͌̆̓͆̚̚̚͝͝ĺ̶̳̬̮̜͇̟̱͕̱̘͎̝̯̲̠̻͚̪̄̓̉̇̈́̋̍͗̋̿̽̊̿͑̋̈͜͝͠ ̷̫̯͙͔̥͗̏́̌͋̚ͅo̷̟͓̔̂̀̐̃́̋̌͋̅͆̉̒͒͆̅̎͛̋̌̾͝f̴̢̡̰̟̺͙̾̌̐̇͊̒̑̒͒̃͌͒͌͘ͅ ̷̨̡͓̼͎̥͈͇̝͉͚̯̝̦͈͖̜͈̰̑͜d̸͍͈̱͈͔̬̓̇̈́̈́͑̔̅̀̕̚͠͝e̶̡̩͉͉͔̥̫̫̮̪̳̪̍̐a̸̳̳͚̺͍̓͆̿̒̾̆ẗ̶̡̠̘͈͚́̂̅̎̎͂̉́͊̚̚ḣ̷͓͇̘̔̄͛̈́͌̓̐̽͗̈́̆̃͘̕l̶̨̡̡̡̬̘͚̝͖̯͚͓̜͖͉̥̫͙̎͒̓̑ͅͅę̸̡̧̤̖̣̬̗̯͎͈͈̘͎̰̙̜́̽́͂̽ͅs̶̡̛̹̳̦̘̭͙͓̮͋̓̋s̸̨̧͎̥̳͓̹̖͍̙͇̞͓̠̔̅̑̍͌͛̌̑͆̔͆͂ ̵̙͙̫̬͓̆͌̓͛͛́́͒͗̀̾̍̕ͅw̷̢̝̯̰̪̝̩̰̥̘̼͈̦̲̮̣̗̰̽͑̑͋̋̉̓͒̾̇̆͐͂̍̈́̏̑̀ȓ̷̢̢̠̘͕̪̣̩͔̫͙̣̹̼̦͚͍̼̞̪̦̩͐̆̑͂̽͛̀̈́̒̾̑́̈́̋̂a̴̡̢̡̩͎̠͉͈̹̫̜͕̰̻̞͇̜̗͎̫̙̎̈́͒̐͋͑͠ͅț̴͎̩͚̓͛ḩ̵̑̈́̏̑̌͑̈́̉͋̃͋̍͝,̵̭̦̲̟͎̦̼̬̳͈̼̺̜̞̹̪̣̽́̓́͘̚̚ ̸̨̨̨̪̬̱̪̩͕͍̤͎̤̠̦̩̦̟͍͈͂̾͒̽̿͂́͗̅͛́́̇̿̈́̿͌̓ͅa̶̜̭͍̺͋͆͑͒́̽̀̍͌̇͛͋̿̌̽̃̽̏͝͝͝͝ ̸̢̪̬̲̗͐̐͛͌̉́͒́̅̌̈̾̈̃̚͘͘͠s̷̢̠̹̉͑̀̌̃̽̏́̍̿͘͝l̴̡̢̮͚͓͖̲̩͎̜̠͉̜̱͖̝̝̜̱̼̥͒̌̇͗͊̌͋̎ͅa̴̡̧̛̖̺͓̜̣̦̲̦̙̻̞̩̠͔͙͓̪̲̠͓͛̓̊͑͋̈́̌̍̓̏͝ṿ̶̨̨̨̜̞̟̞̹̺̤̿͒e̵̢̢̛͓̣̫̼͇̼̫͈͚̞͇̙̯̺̦̜͈͈̹̅̈́̈́̓͒̓͠ ̵̣̘̖̰͒͒͒͒̄͒̍t̷͍͖̺͖͍͚̻̯͇̺͉̭̼̥͍̥͔̼̆́̍̓͜h̶̛̛̞̱͙͋̈́̾̉͑͂̿̒̇̉͌̉̂́̒͊̊̚͝a̷̡̢̮͖͕̜̬̲̥̹͍̻̗̼̥͗̿̐́̓̈́̓ṱ̸̡̫͍͎̰̲̖̖̺̗͈̬͚̈͂̂̾̾̾̌̍̿̇̕͠ ̵͇̬͎̫͚́̐͂̏̋̌̓f̵̡̳̥̖͗͛͑̿̑̌͌̊̈́͋́̃̅̀̊̀̚̕ȅ̷͉̥͕̳̉̐e̶̡̢̮̹͇̝͈͇͉͍̖̩̦͈̍́̂̊̂̑̀̃͋̑̀͌̌̏̒͆̎̈́͠͠l̷̨͍̥͔̰͖̤̯̦̰͉̯̈́́̓͝s̶͕̻̗̹̟̲̦̻̹̟͉̹̱͈͑̎̈́͌̍̕
̶̨̛̦͙̪̝͍̩͎̙̑̊̌͌̄͊̅̿̓̂́̽͗̏̔͗̕ͅĻ̷̥̮̠͉̮͍̣̣̝̪̜̪͙͉̺̘͚͍̈̑͋͑̓͒̿͝ò̷̡͎̦̝̼̰̼̜̭͎͇̪͚̿̊͊̐̀̈̋͋̽͑͛̎̾͊͌͊̍͒͠n̸̛͍̥͎̻̓̒̂̓̊͝ȇ̶̢̧̱͚̝̱̲̣͈̮̯̥͎̤̟͓̦̯̇̊̊̍͒͆̋̽̔̑̋͛͒̐́͛̊̈́͘͜͠ͅͅ ̶̼̤̭̤̥̜̳̯̭͙̯̱̜̻͉̭͇́̇̔̀̏͑͋̈̓̐͜͜͝a̴̧̢̡̡̼̭̱̝̼̪͌̐̐s̸̛̯̖͇̪̙̲̜̭͔͖̳̬͖̟̘̥̒́́̈̃̉̿̑̚̚͜ͅ ̵̧̨̯̹͔̦̳͙̾̏̀̎̂́̊͗̽͊͠͠į̷̢̰͙̠͓͖̥̼͇̤͓̯͚̝̪̟̲͕̻̖̱̍͛n̴̟͇̼̿̊̔͑̾͐̅̽̕͝c̶̢̫̦͎̫̭͔͎͇̪̮̥̪̻̏̾͛̌̽͜ͅa̷̢̡͔̦̱͍̠̗͙̖̟̟̹̖̎̐̓̓͝͠r̶̢̡̛̛͎̲͇̟͚͉̰̘̮͚̗͖̈̾̓́̓́̃̅̂̎͘̕̚͝ͅǹ̶̡̢̡̠͙̯̘͕͖͕̖̲̭͙̙̘̦ͅą̶̣͓̞͕̖͎̞͓̖̅̚͝ͅt̶̡̛̘͇͓̯̭̱̤̉̏̑̈́͋͐̒͒̄̌̇̑͂̂ȩ̵͔̦̮̞̱̜̉͌́͗̅̃̈́̒͆̃͂̅̇͘͘̚͜͠ͅ ̵̲͙͚̱̟̱̳̝̤̞̹̟̙̝̊́͘̚͜ͅd̷͔͉̺̊̏̈̄͛̓̿̍̊͛̕͝ͅȩ̷̧̫͚̭̰̲̞͓̲͓̻̰̮͚͉̫͎̔͒͌̔̆̊ȧ̵̙̙̟̱͕̺͓͙͇̰͖͉͕̤̞̩̹͚̳̼͂͆́̈́̔̊̈́̌̽͆̈́̈́̕̕͘͜͝͠ͅt̸̨̡̢̤̼̫͙̣̫̥̦̫̞̬̅̈́͌̃̍́̎̔̂͘̚͠ḩ̴̧̢̛͖̥̻͚̼̖̩͙͓̺̥̻̽̔͛̑͆͛̂̀̈̈̎̽͆ͅ!̷͔̜̝̭̱̬͕͓̞̩̖̱̖̏̉̅͂͋̓͌͑ ̵̨̭̼͕͖̻̳͚̝̻͚̭̣̫́͒͆̋̏̎̓̽͝͝ͅỎ̷̡̢̢̤̮̬͎̟̠̜̺̫͙̜̪͚͍͚̫̥̇͌̂̅̒̃͊̽̀̋͜͝͠͝,̶̢̧̲̞͉̥̗̣̱̃͑͑ ̸͎̠͖̪̖̺͕̞̘̹̮̲̟̝̱̝̤̈́ͅṭ̵͕̻̼̱̱̥̰̳̋͐̋̽͆͐́̊̀̉͋͆̆̚͘̚̚͜͠͠ͅh̸̛͇̖̖̱̯̗̩̺͖̖͒́͑̏͋̽͒͂̎̅͆͋͘̕͠ä̷̢̡̻͍̳̮̞͈̪̩͎́́̊̓͛t̵̨̧̨̢̨̫̙̦͇̩̪̤̘̖̦̞̪̖̪͈̱͖͑̍͐̎̄́͗̅̑̂̐̄̈́̐͑̏͝ ̶̘̰͉̣̾̄̾̈́̓͠ͅt̷̡͖̗̼͎͈̗̗̲͍̗̙̪̥͚͎̀͛̂̄͝h̴̨̢̡̯͕̤̹͈̯̹̯̱̹͎͖̝͌́͒͐̀̈́͘͜ͅê̴̢͖̯̙͚͎̲̬̘̹͙̤̝͇̇̌̋́̎͊̆́͋̄̽̚͜ ̴̢̢̨̣̫̟̟͍̲̘̝̻̜̣̳̜̣̖̺̙̯̠̍̑̐̅͆̈́̽̂͒͆͌̂͊̓́͂̽͝͝͠d̵̢͖̙̹̠̳̲̳̟̙̥̟̘̹̀̑̏̅̊̑͘͜͝͝ͅr̸̢̨̜͓͕̗̟̈́̈̉͐͜͜ͅe̵̡̧̢͙̲̝͇͖̲̺̯̱̙͕͖̥̟̹͙̗̪̿͂̀͝ͅa̵̪̋͑̽̈̓̓͠m̷̰̦͍̮̖͉̹̞͇͆̓͛̽̓̉̂̐͛͒̓̚
̸̢̨̡̮̠̭͍̬̩͈̯̫̆̆͆͌̈́̋͋̆̚̕̕O̸̙̯̞̼̥͇̥͔̮̪͍̥͇̹̮͈̬̘̯̣̠̓͂͂͌͂̏͌͐͐̕ͅf̴̛̦̻͕͉̉̉̒̾͌̃͌̈́̿̇́̿̆̈́̍̆̑͝ ̵̧̠͉̯̫̰̙̙̼̞̬͈̩̞͙͈̺̱̤̑̈̀̉́̈̈́́̑̐̌͐͗̒͘͠ͅͅd̵̨̡̦͎̣̪̯͍̖̞͍̻͕̗̝͕͙̝̱͉̥̈̇͒͆́̋̀̋̍̋́̕͜a̴̩̼̗̗͎͌̅̎̀͝r̵̭̗̗̦͖̤͈̠̟͉̺̭̺͈̪̥̜̐̍̃͒̀̈́̌̉̆̈́͋͝ͅk̸͖͙̩̱̘̰̞̰̖̮͍̿̈́̃͌̉͘ ̵̢̛͎͉̖̭̫̘̙̟̉̐́̑̽͋͑̌̇͆̀̉̉͌̽͘͠m̷̛̀͒̍́͗̿̿̓́̐̕͜ằ̶̞̹̭͇̜̘̓̊͊g̵̼̱̼̜̒̔͑̓̈́̍̃͘͝i̴̢̗̘̯̮͓̔̒̑͒͂c̴̢̖̦̪̼̗͍͉̺̤̣̭̠̜̦͍̓͘ȋ̵̡̗̼̃̾̎̀͌̈́̾͊́͐̓͝͝a̸͓̭̦̋͊́̈́̾̄͘͝n̷̢̦̺̱̬̬̰̪͇̯̣͍̠̞͉̼̮̞̱̳̩͐̕ ̷͓̥̩̯̟̟̈́i̶̢͈̍n̷̨̻͖̺̠̫͕̩͖͎̺̭̩̺͈̓̾͐̈́̆̾̽́̈́̍̈́̌͒͛͆̕͜͠͝͝ͅ ̷̛͈͙͕̪̞̝̲̋͐̌̇̓́͜h̶̡̧̢̺̮̻̞̳͕̲̟͓̰̝̜͖̝̣̝͕̙͆́̿̉̕i̷̧̢̤̱̹͎̬͇͛̏́͊͗̎͆̐̚̚͜͠s̵̡̧̝̪̥͎̼̺͛̊̑̑̿̚͝ ̶̨̞̘͎̯͖͍̺͈̹͉̺̙̩̣͂͋̃̈́̀̂̌̇́͐̋̒̀̈̚͠ṽ̷̡̨̨̼̺̭̰̱̝̟̜̬̹̯̦̳̤̤͍̜͆̓̐͊̈́̿͛͌̾̍̅͒̌̈́̍̍͋͘͠͠ͅi̵̤̠̜͒͌̔̏͝s̶͉͙͕͊͋̑̍͆͐̋͝͠i̸̼͉̻̗͉̇́͛͆̀̐̐͋͗͂̈́̈́̿͊̓͒̚̚̚͝ͅo̴̢̘̱͈̦̻̯̯̳̯̱̭̺̗̻͉̜͇̪̔̕ͅn̵̛̘̘͖̩̙̠̫̤̤̯̥̥̩͙̟̘̈́͗͆̎̍̊́͋͂ȩ̴̡̢̛͍̣̱͗͌̑͒͌̀̉͘̕͝ͅd̶̢̲͍͙̮̪͍̯̟̜̜͖̻̘̻͍̦̼̭̎͐̎̃͗́̌̐̓̇̈̀̃́̕̕͘͜͝ ̴̡̗̗̟̹̯͔̥̼͂̓̎̊̍͘͜͜ͅc̷̢̡͇̫̹̻̟͍͔̯̮̘̩͔̼̪̹͇͈̖͌͋̉ͅą̶̼̯̮̤̝͙͕̰͓͎̰̩̺̹̰̤̻̋̆͆́̈́͒͐͐͂͌̑̃̈́̋̅̔̈́̕͝v̸̛̰̲̞͊̉̋̅͂̓̉͋͑̆̆͘ę̶̦̺̯̼̯̠̹̜̺̮̟̬͈͋́̽̅͆͋͋̽̾̾͆̑̋̏̒̐̽͗͘ͅ,̶̛͖̥͚̖̫̈́́̍̋̐̉͝ͅ
̸̡̭̠̔̒̿̊͆̆̈́̽̏͑͑͐̄́̔͋̇̋͐̕͜͝ͅͅR̷͈̟̣̰̥͛͐͌̉̓͊͂̓͐͐͊̾́̇̿͂͊͊̔̚͝͠a̷̡̞̠̞͙͚͔̲̮̮̟̞̺͛k̵̛̬͛̌̂̂̿͝i̵̗̞̺̤̙̲̅n̵̡̙̻̤̺̈́̿̿̿͗̈́̈́̚͠ͅg̸̨̛̖͚̮̜̮̺̱͚̬͎̮̪̤̫͒̉́͗̓̾̚ͅ ̸̧̧̞̠̝͉͖̙̥͈͔̇̈́̋̈́̆͆̅͋̔̇̌̋ͅṭ̶͍̹͈͚̗̹̫͎̼̣͙͕͎̃͊̎̈͌̓̇͛̑̈́̃̄͊͋̚ḥ̸̨͉͙̬̭͔͈͍̪̤͍͕̰̱̟̿̏̋̆̒͆̿͌́̀͋̃e̶̛̛͖͆͐̎̔̀̈́͗͗͊́͑̀͊̚͘ ̶̡̳̗̳̣̙̬̤͍̦͖̟̗͆̈́̃͋̑̅̊̿́͆̈́͒͛͌̈͂̆̓͋͜͝c̵̪͓̱͔̫͈̦̞͖͍̟̮̜̲̃̓̉̋̾̓̈́̈́i̸̢̛̛̹̠̞͈̝̯̳͈̱͕̯̲̱͖̞̒̀̏̓n̸̛͔̭̲̥̟̰̯̰̭̠̳̖̫̲̟̽̈͒̀̄͐͛͐̔͆̔͛͒̔̍̕͝͝͠ḑ̵̛̖̼̫̹͙̪̞͉̭̳̘̯͚͔̼̰̯̱̦̗̪͆͂̑͆̈́̈́͗̊̓͆̂̕͝e̴͚̰̾͒̈̌͛̌̓͊͋̀̅͝r̶̢̨̛̟͇̲͓̮̙̼̩̤̞̆̏̽̄̾̇̓̀̌̄̅̈́͝͝s̶̡̡̭͈̲͔͙̫̫̫̹͈͎͎̤̗̪̹̫̄͊̓͌̍̂̒͠ͅ ̶̧̨̨̨̨̙̫̤̫̫̖͖̪̦̼͉̦̞̳̈́̄̈̂͂̓́̊̇͐̈́̾ò̷̢͔͉̯̝͉̠͖̲̻͚̠́͑͗͋͂̈́̃̈̃̌̈̈̇̆͘͝f̴̡͈̗̘̩̺͉̻͓̝͈̖͉̹̯̀ ̸̢̡̪͉̥̯̻̰̭̣̙̯͔̪̰̀̈͋̽̈͋̃͜͝a̶̳͚̩̦̭͍̮̰̤̖̾ͅ ̶̢̤̝͎̥̗̠̖͙̬̩͉̺̈́͗̃̂̔̎̅̽͑̈́́͆̚̚͠͝c̴̛̻̈́̏̽̀̅̽̈́̊̈́͐̈́̀̋͗̕̕̚̕r̷̛̖̀̍̀̚ụ̸̣̜͉͕̠́̔̒̕c̴̛̭̽̉͌̎̔̓͂̅̇̐͗̾͗̈͋i̶̛̠̥͌́̈́̇̐̄̕͝b̶̮̲̩͓̮̠̋̓̋̓ͅl̴̛̜͐̇̔̾̓́̌́̔̊̇̎͘̕͝͠͝͝͝e̴͕̣̪̱͇̫̙̣͖̟̯̬̞̱̰͉̹̳̱̅͝
̵̛͖͉̰̮͉̼̼̙͍͍̀̇̐̊̊̈̊̈́́̓͋͊̇̚͠͠͝O̵̧̝̞̻̥̅̒̌̈̈́͆͊͗́̈͆͋̎̌͆̀͝͠f̸̡̛͈̺̫̗̳͖͇̤͕̫̥̊̄̓̑̈́͛̅͝ ̴̡͓͉̺̠̦͓̤͙̍̌̀̃̀́͘͠ẗ̴̬́́̉͝͝h̵̛̝̘̝̓̓́͊͗̈́̕͝͠i̵̛̼͈̖̝͔̻̞͙͇͋̀̓̀̅̀̍̀̋̕͝s̵̢͈̘̤͒̀̑̆̎̌̃͋̀̋͊̾̀͗̑̀̄͌̕̕͠͝ ̴̤̱̐͐͆̓̇͂̋͒̆̂̾̀̚͝ş̴̭̼̯͖̤͕͓̆͌͒͌̓ͅo̵͙̯͇̣̬͓̤͇̒̃͛́̏̈́̾́̇͋͑͗̚͝͝͝ ̷̢̛͓͚̩͐̈́͐͊̌̽̌̿̋̀͘̕͠͝l̴̢̦͙̹̠̳̩̩̫̲̦̰̜̩̗̭̓̒̈́̈̏̓͑̂͒̇̓ơ̶̳̖̫̜̭͈̖̖͔̑̂̓͛̆̐̅͑̇͗v̴̢̢̪̩̦͎͚̹̻̬̫̪̫͖͈͖̽́́́͒̒͋̈́̅̉̐͋̇́̕̕͘͝ẽ̷̢̘̞̮̬͈̖̣̦ͅḷ̸̜͖̓̊̈́͊͝y̷̧̱̞̫͙̭̥͇̼̲̏͒͑͛̕͜ ̴̢͍̰͎͈̠̠͙̥̝̟̔̑̌̐̋͋̊̽͑̉͑̊̇̚͝͝w̴̭͉̯̣̻͇͖͇̠̉̋̆̅ờ̵̗̺͕͔͙͙̤͙͔̀̄̓͗̓̄̉͐̂͛̾̍͗́͒͜͝r̵̨̛̀̈̌͛̀̈̆̇͋́̂̆̾̿̐͘̕̚͠l̶̨̨̟̜̖̾̒͆͆̌̀̓͐͊͋̈́̃́͂͌̂̀͝d̸̰͚̞͂̈́̌̐̊͂̈̒̎̀̃̑̇̅̓̇̓̈́͠͝͝!̷͖̙[/color][/hider]

There in the crowd were all manner of ruined forms. Spectral reflections of beast, men, and things altogether alien were all congregated before him. There were some that remembered what they had been, and warped their appearance to take on such favored forms. Others appeared as they had when they succumbed to death. There were some with horrific wounds that still seeped ethereal blood; perhaps they were warriors who fought and died in a place so distant and far into the past that it was may as well have just been the stuff of fevered dreams.

[sub][i]"Ask the great bright One! He'll know,"[/i][/sub] he heard one childlike voice whisper among the deafening tumult.

[i]"W̴i̴l̸l̶ ̸m̵y̷ ̶h̶e̸a̴d̶ ̴g̴r̵o̸w̷ ̶b̷a̵c̷k̵?̵S̶̼̤͗õ̵̞̱̫m̴̩̲̍͂̑ȇ̸̘t̶̞͖̽̓h̶̡̫͛ị̴̼̝̄́͠n̴̲͕̆ǵ̵̠͕̥̒ ṙ̸͍̺̩͉͚͙͖̖̱͔͉̜͉̈͂̒̈́͊̈́̆̃̋͑̽̈́̅͘i̸̡̡͖̯͕̤̫̯̗̮͕̳͙͍̔̈͒́͘͜͜͜p̴̨͇̻̦̝̗̻̯̜̼̤͐͌̑͊̾̌̅̈̇̇̿̊͜p̸̘̝̖͈͇̻̥͎͓̖̳̪͓͐̈́̎̄̀͗̈̽͗͠e̶̦̠̫̲͔͇̲̹͍̜̺̰͠ͅd̸̢̦̻̮́̂̂̇̊̃͒̅͘͝͝ ̸̞͐͂͠ȉ̶̘̰̱t̴̟̚ ̵͇̽ȍ̷͉͝f̵̢̧̳̅̋f̵̯̭̒̿!"[/i]

Katharsos looked upon the speaker, the revolting husk of a girl that had been gnawed at and twisted by the terrible Things in the Beyond. The expression of his eyes flickered with the faint light of horror, and the crimson flames of his head withered and became a sickly yellow. He wept a single tear of ash, and then finally addressed the souls.

[b][color=goldenrod]"I was once a great healer,"[/color][/b] he found himself saying. [b][color=goldenrod]"My old memories are...returning. I know what can be done for you, what must be done to one day make you whole again...please, step into my light."[/color][/b]

The fury of the fires within him swelled until it became so great that it cracked the crystal inside his maw. Odd astral fires, cold to the touch, raged and consumed the inanimate crystal. Katharsos opened his mouth and a great glowing ember of light came forth. Though she had no head and no face, the girl's spirit seemed to smile as it advanced to the front of the crowd. She was the first to lay a hand upon the golden orb. 

[i]"Ő̵͈̒͜h̵͈͐̏,̸̼̉̃"i̵̠͛͠t̴̡̝̮̿ ̸̗͉̳͐͝ͅf̶̙͗e̶̛͍̟̿́̊e̴̓ͅl̵͉̮͊s̴̰̍...w̴͙̟̘̎̽̏̕ͅa̴̹͉̓̎͒̐̊r̷͍̰͎̟̳̫̖̕m̸̌͂͂̔̉̕͠ͅ![/i]

A sepulchral tide swept forward as other lost souls rushed closer in an attempt to bask in its warmth. And then there was a flash, and suddenly there was all aflame. A massive inferno roared to life and engulfed them all in its dull light. Some struggled for a few moments, but then the astral fires began to eat at their memories, and their struggled ended. They squirmed like insects caught in a spider's web, shaking in cathartic spasms as they relived every flaming memory. Great plumes of sickly smoke billowed forth into the cold expanse of space as a byproduct of the burning souls, along with countless tiny flakes of near-invisible ash. The smoke was a noxious thing anathema to life--the very quintessence of death. So the god breathed deeply and drew it all about him lest it pollute the world. But the ash was just the opposite, being the metaphorical clay from which new life and new souls would be formed. To watch it drift down to Galbar and away into the other Spheres almost made Katharsos feel solace.

Almost.

He didn't know how many millions of souls he'd just condemned to oblivion. While the other gods feuded or played, sculpted or philosophized, Katharsos was alone in space left to dig graves and build pyres. He envied all the others--for who among them could ever claim to bear a burden as heavy as his?--but begrudged them not. [i]Someone[/i] had to do this; it was the only way. Those souls had been so weathered and corrupted that they were far beyond the ability of his warm flames to ever heal, if indeed he still [i]possessed[/i] such a potential to heal. But they were not beyond the capacity of his otherworldly fires to purify.

He let out a long and drawn out sigh, somehow oblivious to the faroff explosion of a Solar Furnace, the upheaval of entire continents on Galbar, the Architect's never-ending stare...he only saw the billions of souls that remained for him to gather and recycle. It was not feasible to fly about the cosmos gathering them all and herd them together to set aflame. He needed a more permanent solution, so he claimed the empty Sphere that he drifted through. It was a dark and cold and distant and abandoned one; only Melantha's equally gloomy lair seemed nearby. As none of his immortal peers wanted to occupy such a plane, it seemed a fine place for Death to lurk and do its work in serene quiet.

Over the course of some meaningless time that might have been mere hours or countless decades, Katharsos assembled a thousand great firepits. They sat suspended everywhere in his Sphere, wrapped all the way around the Galbar's plane of view and scattered across the night sky. At the heart of every pyre was a singular tiny ember. The embers themselves glowed far too dimly to be seen from below, but the blinding light of the gigantic conflagrations came closer than anything else to rival the brilliance of Asceal's own solar furnaces. It was only their great distance from the other Spheres, as well as the hazy smoke of death that was growing to shroud the entire Sky of Pyres, that obscured and dimmed them to the point that from Galbar's surface they appeared as nothing but distant stars.

And distant they were, but not so distant that their pull could be resisted! Unseen by the living or those that knew not to look, Katharsos had been softly stirring the fabric of the Spheres themselves. From what had started as soft ripples there had grown a great maelstrom that extended all the way from the Sky of Pyres down to the surface of Galbar, and then its pull reached through the other gateways to reach even farther. Slowly, but surely, stray souls were being gathered up in that maelstrom and swept into the clutches of Death. A thousand more of them arrived every instant, but Katharsos had pyres enough for all.

After setting aflame some odd billionth soul, he no longer felt quite so emotional about it (inwardly or outwardly) as he had the first time. There were hardly any more tears of ash that fell from his burning eyes as he witnessed the memories of the dead transform into nothingness. There was already plenty of ash raining down, after all.

[hider=Summary]
Katharsos reflects upon his purpose and has some vague, perhaps false, memories of his past. He eventually ceases his nostalgia and begins gathering up the various souls that the Architect banished from his palace seemingly oblivious to the chaos that such spirits might go on to wreak.

Katharsos speaks to one or two of the souls, looks at them closely, and realizes that they are far, far beyond his capacities to mend. And life and creation simply cannot proceed with all of these spirits around in the way, so he concludes that euthanizing the spirits and recycling their souls is the only reasonable option. For those ends, he creates the Sky of Pyres and begins burning the souls. He's rtaher oblivious to the other happenings of the universe, but then again, most of gods are apparently preoccupied and none immediately notice him creating the Vortex of Souls. But now that it's acting like a magnet for all the stray souls and sucking them into his new Sphere, and now that there's suddenly the faint light of hundreds of stars in the sky as Katharsos lights all of these pyres, the other gods might start to take notice.[/hider][hider=Might!]
8FP spent shaping and creating the Sky of Pyres, a sphere.
7FP spent on the Vortex of Souls, a gateway.

[u]Remaining:[/u]
5MP, 5FP
[/hider]