"What is it to be a Hero?" spoke the dark whisper in a vortex of scintilating silver which surrounds a dark, endless pit. "When a Hero - Woman, or a Man, fall to their mortality... Are they so in Death? Does Heroism belong to them? Is it earned? Bought? Bartered? Is it the memory of their spirit - or the physical mortal coil which carries the 'essence' of Heroism?" Halting, silence falls upon the churning vortex, the silver effervescing into azure blue as it drifts outwards from the inky pit towards milk-white. "Is it meaningless?"
It is loud - barked, a command of a whisper, "What of a Villain, then?" Milk-white glows, bursting into flames, spreading inwards as the wildfires encroach upon the black pit. "If a Villain in life, what are you in Death?" Fields of soft, azure-petalled peacebloom writhe in defiance as flames lick through the fertile fuel, growing stronger, brighter, hotter. "Death is not so final. They - we are proof of that. Neither truly dead, nor truly alive." Silver screams, the halo of blessed argent blazing up in defiance of the wildfires that have devoured it's surroundings. "Not Dead. Not Alive." It fades, the light of the silver votex diminishing before the sickly-yellow as it plunges forth, piercing into the black pit, penetrating it's depths and infecting that which lies beneath. Over all that remains, a new voice doth speak, not a whisper, not a thought - but a voice. That which had been a corpse mere moments before, opens it's canary-yellow eyes.