Outside, a storm raged unchecked over the hidden lander, and inside that strange shiplike structure, energy swirled through the air until it almost choked. With swift, connected movements, the sisters performed their parts in what could only be called a flawless, expertly performed ballet of darkness.
A full half hour later, Lysandra and her three sisters entered the main chamber as silently as ghosts; the imposing figure in the lead in front of them was waiting for them without a word, and her presence alone demanded that everything around her be wordless. She turned questioningly to Lysandra, her eyes aglow with anticipation.
"Is it done?" She raised an icy gaze immovable.
"Yes, milady," Lysandra's voice came firm as steel. "Just as instructed you. And I also saw that he was a male.
His heady gaze settled on Lysandra for a moment longer before nodding in consent. "Very well," the voice said, softening fractionally. He gestured toward the stone altar that Azrael's lifeless body was stretched out upon and pale. "Go to him, lay beside him. We finish this rite.
No time was wasted, as she headed toward the altar where the cold body of Azrael had lain on the ground but now lay like a bed as one; her face was composed, determinate-acute, like one whom all awaited. She now reached out and clasped firmly the ice-cold left hand-grip of dead Azrael in her own.
Out front stepped the leader, the weight of her presence commandeering the attention of everybody in the room.
"Sisters, prepare your spirits," she instructed, "as this shall not be easy. Tonight we challenge the very fabric of existence."
The sisters began a chant of low, rhythmic tones; the words were ancient and in a language incomprehensible.
The chamber darkened further, the flickering candlelight reaching only to cast long eerie shadows on the walls.
The symbols etched out in blood and ash upon the floor began to weakly glow, pulsating in time to their chants.
Her hands were high above her head, and her voice cut through the chanting like a blade. "Azrael, the Angel of Death, shall rise anew. By the power of the Sisterhood and with life given to sacrifice, his soul shall find its new vessel.
The air started to thicken and develop a vibrational hum as the ritual went on, which was in harmony with some otherworldly energy.
The glow of the symbols intensified, bathing the room in an unholy crimson hue. Lysandra's body began to slightly shudder, her grip on Azrael's hand tightening as the energy coursed through her.
But in an instant, the air in the room started to grow cold, and a dark mist of some sort took form in the middle of the chamber. The faltering of the sisters and the breaking of their chants came when some sort of malevolent presence seemed to fill the space.
A sonorous, gentle voice filled that hall, running chills down the spines of all who were present there. "Who dares to disturb the life-and-death balance?
It began to take more solid form, coalescing into the form of a tall figure with dark robes. Indeed, the God of Death was in tattered black robes; his skeletal form was aglow eerily in the light now, with hollow eyes scanning the proceedings before him.
Out front stepped the leader, her face a mask of defiance. "We are the Sisterhood, and we defy your rules that bind us. The will of Azrael has yet to be fulfilled. We ask that his soul be reincarnated.".
The voice of the God of Death sounded like growling thunder. "You fools! You trifled with forces you couldn't possibly understand. Life and death keep a perfect balance, and your interference with it portends ruin."
"We are ready to face the consequences," the leader firmly responded. "The life and death cycle is not one for you to fully decide.
The God of Death lifted a skeletal hand, and howling wind whipped around the room. Stumbling, the sisters righted themselves, continuing to chant in an even louder and urgent tone as glowing symbols on the floor flashed brighter yet, their light clashing with an oppressive darkness welling from the God of Death himself.
And so, in their chambers, the battle of wills did take its course. All the power that the sisters could gain and conjure together was now to be focused upon their spell. The chanting rose to a fever pitch; whereupon, the God of Death lashed out in waves that rattled walls and quaked the earth.
Lysandra gasped as the energy surged through her, her body writhing in pain. The leader knelt beside her, placing a steadying hand on her forehead. "Hold on, Lysandra. We're almost there."
The struggle intensified. The God of Death summoned dark tendrils that lashed out at the sisters, but they stood their ground, their collective power forming a barrier that deflected his attacks.
"You defy the natural order," the God of Death bellowed. "And for that, there is punishment!"
"And yet we prevail!" the leader cried out, her voice defiant.
With one final surge, the chanting of the sisters reached a fever pitch. The runes lining the floor erupted in brilliant light, bathing the chamber in radiant brightness. The God of Death let out a guttural roar as the light forced him to retreat.
"You have won this battle," he growled, his body beginning to crumble into pieces. "But let this be known: the seeds of chaos have been sewn. The balance will take its due."
And with those words, the God of Death disappeared, leaving thick silence in the chamber but for the heavy breathing of the sisters. The leader of them turned once again to face Lysandra and Azrael.
Lysandra did not stir, but clutched onto Azrael's hand tight. Her chest moved rhythmically as her body faintly gleamed. The leader lifted his hand to Lysandra's forehead and closed his eyes as a small smile framed her lips.
"It is done," she whispered, "Azrael's soul is transferred into the vessel. It is complete, the ritual.".
They fell to the floor, beyond exhaustion, yet not a single one showed a crack in her determination. They rose again, and with eyes running around the room, the lead amongst them called out, "Sleep now, sisters; tonight, we rewrite fate itself, this day shall come back to hunt this kingdom."