In the few seconds after his ascension, that was all Iskander could come up with. And indeed, it was white all around him. But as his eyes got accustomed to the celestial glow, he started to see more colours and details.
As he started analysing what was going on, as the Demon Hunter was wont to do, the realisation slowly dawned on the Aasimar that he had a lapse in his memory. It were only a handful of seconds, but he had no idea how he came to be in this place. No recollection of going from there to...here.
And with that realisation, those seconds came back to him, a violent vision of how his mortal shell had been obliterated.
It had been the final battle against Akrosis, the Prime Dragon, the Father of Dragons, the Living Maelstrom, World Devourer, the Aspect of Destruction, the entity that had wished to destroy the Prime Material plane. It had truly been a gargantuan creature. The island caldera at the edge of the world that supposedly was his home, wasn’t. It had been the thing itself, his maw.
And although the first time this aberration had exhaled a torrent of poisonous, corrosive breath, Iskander had managed to ride that torrent to relative safety, the sheer violence and mayhem of it all made it impossible to do such a thing a second time.
His companions hadn’t fared much better.
The Tiefling, a surly figure by the name of Kyros, found it necessary for his survival to survey the carnage from afar. He was borne on Demon wings, barely preventing becoming part of said carnage. The Drow Rhylzar stood his ground, probably realising the ground wasn’t as much soil, as well as Akrosis itself. Then there was Evae, a Halfling Sorceress with Draconic blood coursing through her veins, slinging spells for dear life.
He himself, the Drow and the Halfling took the brunt of the second unholy assault and were instantly evaporated, obliterated by ghostly blue-green flames.
Their defeat was imminent; the Prime Material would fall.
All was lost.
Or was it?
The mountains of Celestia slowly appeared in front of Iskander. All around him similar beings weaved through the skies, up into Celestia proper, from the limbo around them; Angels of all kinds, of all statures. Lantern Archons, Hound Archons and even greater beings. But this was the second time he was here.
Not all had been lost.
Even the Gods themselves had no love for Akrosis; did not want to see their creation fall to such a Destroyer. The Pantheon flouted the Rules of Creation the only way they could; instead of openly acting against Akrosis, they welcomed these three mortals into purgatory and there, offered them a second chance.
Upon accepting, there and then, they had been tossed back into the breach, once more into the fray. Iomedae gave Iskander renewed vigour, signalling her blessing with a halo above the Aasimar’s head, so it was plain for the world to see. He had wielded her power many times before, but this was new.
Holy energy spilled from Iskander his eyes, flames licked over his arms and his bow, imitating the fiery nimbus he now had above his head. Righteous destruction rained down upon Akrosis from the Aasimar. But also from Rhylzar and Evae, who had their own burning halos; clearly they had undergone similar transformations.
With Gods-given might behind their every assault and spell, Akrosis fell.
It was over.
Over, in more ways than one.
The transformation had his price; these new demi-gods should not, could not walk the Prime Material. They were now bound to different rules; new powers, but also new responsibilities. And so it came to be that the Tiefling was the last mortal witness of Celestia welcoming three new heroes into their Halls.