Another Chance At Life...

A white void awakened the sleeping soul that was once lost to the enemy. First taking shape as a bluish-white orb that had transparent properties and eyes that were sharp, the soul eventually shaped a body out of the whiteness of the void.

This physical form was that of a young man with short brown hair that was kept sleek and orderly, wearing a black petticoat and beige slacks. His eyes were a fierce golden brown and his shoes were made of a fine, seemingly expensive material.

This was Sting, the Soul Weapon that lost his soul previously whilst in weapon form, causing his form to become someone else's weapon whilst he was transformed into Weapon form. For whatever reason, his Soul returned to life after being done away with a long time ago and from this void, he was able to create a body for himself again.

"Wh-Wha...?" Sting was thoroughly confused as to why he was here now when last he remembered, his soul was being extracted from his weapon form. "How did...?"

He looked around. Nothing. Nothing but a white expanse everywhere he looked. He stared off into space for a while, still trying to grasp the situation. "But I died that day..." Sting muttered to himself, "... Has someone resurrected me?" If so, for what purpose, he wondered? "Or... Did I do that myself?"

Whatever the case was, Sting was alive and he was still a Soul Weapon -- which was called an 'Instrument'. Sting, as an Instrument, was a dual drill-rapier that was of noble heritage, but he was foreign to the land that he'd come from before. He came from a regal family that had nothing to do with the Reality when it was only a small village and isolated reality. "Am I even alive...?" he wondered, seeing nothing but white as he hovered aimlessly.

Sting was from a different realm entirely, not born of the Reality, but having come from a Portal -- the former Dimension Gates -- that connected to the Reality. His noble heritage was of a different reality, and he didn't know how he was going to get back... Nor if he was actually alive or not, clearly.

"If I'm conscious, this must either be the afterlife or I'm not dead," he concluded. "But how do I get out of this white space...?" Sting hovered along the infinite whiteness, searching for anything that could be used as a landmark or that served as a destination.