"Deimos."

With a casual prominence, commanding without demanding, the voice slipped through the existing void. A place which lacked belonging, and yet somewhere which the entity that beckoned seemed familiar, event content with. Sound seemed muffled, suffocated in a nonsensical way since breath itself was irrelevant here. Even so the unmistakable tap of hooves crossing ground drifted forth, punctuated with the subtle sashay of hair. Along the way a figure began to take shape, ill-defined at first, as if too encumbered by a murkiness that didn't seem to prevail elsewhere.

"Deimos, the Reaper-" the voice pervaded the space once more, hauntingly nonchalant, but rimmed with a gentle familiarity that sounded almost, apologetic. It came on a breath that seemed to have been held for centuries as the words tumbled forth with an equal amount of soot, exhaled forcibly from the ancient king as all together he emerged from the darkness and the depths. Like a glowing ember settled in the pit of a fire grown cold, so Ignatius stood within the void like something of a beacon, something out of place in a way. Whole as every before his dappled gray form stood rigid in its statuesque quality, beard swaying gently as his head tilted to better eye his son. His sooty legs seemed to be swallowed by the midnight of demise, but in compensation that fire which still seemed to burn inside of him ebbed from the wrinkled edges of scarred skin where the flesh had worn thin and the inner light escaped.

"-You've come to the end at last." If there was sorrow in the rich timbre of the Fire Sword's voice, it was hard to distinguish, nearly as imagined as the splinter of delight that budded in an old father's soul. What they lacked in the world of the living, perhaps they would achieve in this finality of death.
A slight smile quirked at the edges of Ignatius' maw, an easement of welcome rather than humor. "You've done well. Now you rest."

Beyond the place where the corpse lay still and growing cold, Ignatius spoke these words, and moved to stand beside the freshly reaped Deimos, intent to guide him into the unknown which awaited. His presence was perhaps felt as a passing sensation of warmth, an usual feeling given the setting, but a testament to the flames contained within and the length to which the afterword had obtained him.