In the astral plane, Rachel's soul form, lit like magnesium, sat on the dark twisted throne that held her demonic powers and identity chained. The Hierophant seated in the abyssal darkness. Pride shifted sluggishly under the mirror-obsidian surface, sensing the hubris in the fight. She gave a humoring smile to Jon in his moment of despair and shook her head. "Grieving for the mountain when looking at sand?" she asked gently. "There is a galaxy in that grain of sand, if you slow down to look. We make the most of it."
With the lent enhanced sight, she looked out to the battlefield to comb for the body not in the right place. She looked for cold silver against the watery shadows of the real plane. Patience, hold the moment. She held up a hand to point, small white barnacles dotting up her arm. "There. Be ready and I'll open the way for you." The black miasma began to firm up and hold for him to pass through.