Muerte was surrounded by this blackness and it was tight about his aching body. It enveloped him completely and held his movements in place. Surprisingly, it was warm. It was entirely alien to him. Even his spiritual mentor Santo Del Rey himself couldn’t describe the dying process to him (no true Pharasman could) and so to be aware of the fact he had died, the Luchador took this as a golden opportunity to experience leaving his physical shell.
Suddenly, the sensation of his stomach lightening came to bear. His fighting instincts kicked in and he became aware of space. He was rising- rapidly. Rising into what, he could only guess and only hope it to be La Dama’s peaceful embrace. Then, simultaneously came the feeling of release from his dark hold and the burning of blinding light in his blackened and bloodshot eyes.
He pawed weakly at the air in front of him, attempting to screen his face from the light. Was this the Dawnflowers embrace, perhaps? The goddess of the dawn Caballero Sol fought for? He blinked blood and tears away and his eyes focused.
He was still in hell.
And a Titanic sized woman was holding him in its hand, smiling down at him.
“Caught you.” It boomed, its voice deafening.
Muerte scrunched his face up and gritted his teeth while he willed his way through the screeching of his now throbbing eardrums. He felt motion and its gaze shifted up and away from, assumedly towards its destination. A necklace of greater daemon skulls hung around her neck. Muerte marvelled at the size of the smallest skull- he doubted he could have even lifted it.
“Come, not-quite-so-small one,” it boomed once more. Muerte’s eyelids flickered as he screened out the most of the noise, “We have so much to discuss…”