You are not the one who will regret it. Onrai's mental reply was powerful, yet subtly showcased the fact that she felt not entirely in control of the situation herself. Beyond the Infernal Gate was a world she had never been to, a place that was the closest approximation of Hell a mortal could yet arrive in. And indeed, those wretched souls of the Charnel Worlds were well and truly beyond salvation. The fear within the Mirialan's heart made the false goddess grasp her hand only a tad more tighter.
The worlds beyond exist in that which I call home, but they are not ones I rule, nor have I been to them before. If nothing else reassures you, know that whatever lives there has never come for me. That much was true. So it was that, with every sliver of apprehension vanquished, Onrai leaned forward, taking herself and Sinestra off their tenuous stance as they fell into the Infernal Gate, into whatever awaited on the other side.
-
What awaited them on the other side was a face-full of stone. The gate stood at the end of a tunnel, every inch from floor to ceiling inscribed with glyphs and characters most nauseating to look at. Aside from arcane languages long lost, the thought of which made Onrai practically want to vomit, such perversities were depicted upon the walls. The sacrifice of children, the elderly. The ripping and eating of the unborn from their mother's womb. Hideous carnal pleasures conducted by creatures so anathema to reality that she could not tell what their heads, arms, legs, or other features could be. And above all, the shadow, an effervescent darkness that seemed to bind each and every figure, the strong inflicting such cruelties and the weak suffering of them. This was a world of pleasure, but for only the most abominable beings. Were there even the slightest trace of the light in Sinestra, the nigh-strangulating darkness would be as iniquitous to her as anything else.
"Diyu..." Onrai spoke softly, the name of a most profane world where the Yama Kings harrowed in joyous insanity, and as she did so, from the end of the hallway emerged two utterly vile creatures, born of eyes and mouths and tentacles that spoke
a language very few would know. These, Onrai knew, and indicated to Sinestra, were examples of the enigmatic Rozzum, foul and perverse beings, rare and yet sentient despite their hideous and vile form. A malignancy could be felt from them, but not as much as the malevolent creature that came with them.
It had once been a Sith, or so it had seemed - her, she could guess by the vaguest approximations of a feminine form, flesh had been mortified, having putrefied to a shriveled and blackened burgundy that tore around the spurs of her bones that stuck out from above her eyes and at her knees and arms. She was garbed in attire that vaguely resembled that of the ancient Kissai, and were it not for the hideous crimson gleam around her empty eye-sockets, perhaps she would have been nothing more than a particularly decayed mummy recovered from the tombs of the Valley of the Dark Lords. Her cheek-tendrils were grotesque, wormlike, and in fact seemed to be but a worm that had pierced through her face, above the rictus sneer of her gumless mouth. Her nose was nonexistent, itself a picture into the void. Where her legs had once been, or perhaps even still were, was a serpentine, slithering lower half of inverted flesh bound to her rotting torso whose bones and sinew scraped across the floor with each movement.
"What an embarrassment." The creature said, speaking in a warped tongue that sounded hellish, yet was made understandable to the two.
"I am Lady Dea Greejatus, Hierophant of Hierophants, and of the first to return from the Infernal Gate since the conquest of Tython, I expected more. Have the Necromantic Ones returned?" Whatever this abomination was, it was isolated enough to not know of the goings-on in realspace.
"The Servants of the Father of Shadows remain yet locked away. Those pretenders who sought to claim the three thrones are no longer among the living." Onrai said, choosing not to identify herself or her charge in question.
"I have merely come to show this one that which awaits on the other side out of reach, as darkness has claimed Tython once again and this is yet her blessing in part for it." Her statement as to the Dark Empire's victory seemed to give the once-Sith creature pleasure, her profane coils giving a shudder of glee upon hearing the news - and pulsing and churning as though something else not of the Hierophant's own being yet lived within them. Beneath the tears in the anti-skinned hide, for but a moment, the clawed hands of something, or somethings, emerged before yet receding within.
"Beautiful... Wondrous! That once more those servants of the Dark Gods yet. I exhort you, Sithlan, Lord of a Thousand Forms! To you I bear my soul, Kako, that you might further corrupt me into an instrument of your will! May you tear more of the fabric of reality, Astor, Lord of the Planes! I follow in your ways, Lothan, and am the mother of my own abominations as you are of this blessed set of spawn!" Her hands raised and pointed at the Rozzum, whose own invocations mixed with her own in their arcane language.
"Guide me, Zhahar, that I may yet aid your deception to your enemies! And to you, Eosforos, Lord of the Dead and infinite bastion of necromantic knowledge, may the mortified yet rise and serve!" Each invocation, to one of the blasphemous six gods, only further raised an underlying sense of utter revulsion only Sinestra felt, such was the link of communication between her and her patron so strong.
"Show me that of this place I must know." Onrai said plainly, her own seemingly obsequious nature disguising a desire to enlighten - and leave.
"Are not these the halls of the Labyrinth where your kind offers succors the pleasures of transmogrification and torture of all inimical life?"
"Perceptive." The Hierophant said.
"And you are not here to take this one upon the Black Pilgrimage of Nyax, of the lich-kings of Rhand, of the blessed Toxmalb?" Names yet made familiar - Nyax, the Lord of Corellia known only as a bogeyman by the galaxy at large, whom one had taken the identity of. The Rhandites, profane sorcerers and abominations they were - and of Blessed Lord Toxmalb, the once-infamous Head Lorekeeper of their cult. Apparently, all had shared in the Black Pilgrimage, and whatever such was, it was a hideously transfigurative experience from which none returned whole, or perhaps quite sane.
"I am here to enlighten her. Grant me that which I seek or begone." Onrai said, the shade's form growing more inhuman and malignant herself.
"I shall, blasphemer and butcher of the Kindred - for you are not the one they once knew as their mother, she who yet aided the imprisonment of the Ancient Ones, as much as you yet wish to be. Yet knowledge of the Dark Ways may yet be open to you, knowledge of the True Sith, for one as yourself cannot stop them any more than you can stop us - and you are owed for aiding us!" Lady Greejatus chortled, her laughter spitting up flecks of ichor innumerable shades of color, from black to white, all between, and even colors yet not meant to be seen.
"Aiding you? You seek only the utter subjugation or destruction of the galaxy in Nakhash's name - or the name of those who serve him. I have slain one of the Dark Ones' petty servants for interfering with the existence of my servitor, the one I sought to ascend to the state of Belot herself."
"Your role in the destruction of the one called Akala was of such a benefit - in time, perhaps, if she had still reigned, she would yet have allied with the other Celestials to purge all trace and bring about the End of Days in the Maker's favor. Yet now she is gone, and the sanctified entropy of the Dark now waxes once more." How did this creature know of Akala? Of her role in the ascended Kwa princess's slaying? For the first time in many years, a sense of doubt came to Onrai's mind, a doubt revealed to Sinestra as well.
"Should your puppet of meat survive that which shall be unveiled, then you may go back to the ruined corpses of your betters as they ever further burrow into the flagitious land-oceans of Oozultharoum. Yes... That which you called Parallelepipedia was yet the world of Ooradryl himself! That you knew not of its masqued guise speaks poorly of you, deceiver! But if she cannot withhold the truth, then she is mine, another plaything to debauch and defile. Perhaps one day she will be unleashed upon the galaxy, a new Dark Lord infused with the blood of the gods to yet bring suffering on the galaxy!"
The affront to nature turned, followed by her Rozzum servants. With naught but another word, her skeletal fingers motioned for the duo to follow. Overcoming what fear she possessed, Onrai took stride, motioning herself for Sinestra to come along.
Sinestra
