The Cyclopes had built a structure to hold Senzard in. They made it of white stone, perfectly shaped into a massive rectangle. The doors were made of hulking logs of wood held together by nail and hammer. The roof was held up by placing a pillar in the center of the building, and around it was covered by hay and greens as a makeshift bed. No windows were carved into the building, the darkness almost impenetrable. The only source of light was the opened gates to what was labeled as Senzard’s Stable.

It took two weeks and three days and nights to complete this behemoth, no rest whatsoever. Three shifts were appointed, ten Cyclopes in each, there was always a group working with utmost ability to finish the work assigned to them. Michael could only stare in awe as he saw the building rise from the ground in real time, faster than anything either soul could compare too. Even the magic world Ruthar had been accustomed also did not have speeds of this magnitude.

At the current hour, four days after the structure had been completed and Senzard moved into his new home, Michael stood in the absolute darkness merely staring at the gigantic snake. It was weird how his eyes pierced the once believed impenetrable shadows, his eyes having fundamentally changed after pulling at the mysterious power within him as he identified the ring.

Senzard’s body was perfectly clear, his black and dark green scales unable to hide his form in the large room. Wound around the pillar, he pressed his body onto it to support himself. His large winding body rested comfortably on the grasses and even more in the darkness. Opening his eyes from a quiet slumber, Michael had yet to move.

“What I did was wrong,” Michael suddenly said continuing without pause. “I should not have subjected you to this. No one should ever have to go through this,”

Michael’s eyes began to glow eerily once more, the black fog and pinprick of golden light and the lightning of purple crackling with no apparent direction or guidance. He no longer looked at Senzard, but rather the tether of energy that forever committed his fault to an unforgetting memory. They were bound, and forever it will remain.

A gust of air blew the sitting hay and grass around Michael as he was forced to cover his face lest he gets dust into his eyes. Michael inherently knew that Senzard could not intentionally harm him, but through extremely indirect means, well that was something he had to prevent. Looking back up, he noticed Senzard’s slit eyes of black stare deeply at him. A certain air of irritability took the form of the snakes tail flicking back and forth behind him.

“Weak and impressionable still. You are fragile of mind, Mortal King. Or should I call you master?” Senzard said in what was closer to hissing than actual words, though the mocking tone was clear for any to hear.

“Mortal King will do. Master sounds to condescending, to say the least,” Michael replied determined to make a connection between them.

“Hmm, I’ve yet to begin my battle of minds, and here you are already laying on your back. Weak, impressionable, fragile. Did I not say that already?”

Frowning, Michael was beginning to become irritated. Though they were barely heard, the damning whispers begged to command the lowly snake's death. To eliminate this source of annoyance and threat. What use was there for a slave that worked against his master’s wishes? But just as fast as they came, Michael shook his head to clear his mind. Though his annoyance had not subsided from those words.

Noticing this Senzard laughed as he slithered towards Michael. Completely surrounding him in a matter of moments. A serpentine smile wide on his face as his eyes sparkled. Coiled around Michael, tongue flicking in and out, Senzard looked down at him from a great height. Yet, his body was in constant movement in a circle around, even if his head was left in a stationary position.

“I have you dancing to my tune, Mortal King. Oh, how easy you are to manipulate,”

His words struck a chord within Michael making it infinitely more challenging to keep the whispers at bay. Closing his eyes, a reaction that elicited a thoughtful frown from Senzard, Michael dove deeply inside himself in search of the guiding nudge to combat this unending torrent of evil self-serving desires. Finding it, he took a deep breath, then released it with all the built-up tension. But, before he could reply, Senzard continued without a second thought.

“Good, good. It seems there is still hope for you after all. We are bound, Mortal King. Forever and evermore we shall be…I shall be tied to you. Whether it was my choice or otherwise, I find not dying a gruesome death to the impending doom as a favorable outcome. Don’t you?”

Finding his chance, Michael jumped to take it but stopped himself before he could show any extreme jubilation. Senzard was a master manipulator, and Michael felt like this was the perfect chance to create that personal connection with him. There must be something he hadn’t taken into account. But as Michael continued down that train of thought, another hit him like a truck.

“Impending doom? As in going to happen soon?” Michael asked.

His words brought pause to the gigantic snake. The constant movement ceased as a serious face tore off the mask he had worn. For long seconds, a silence called supreme reign over the room. Until finally, with grating scales on stone floor, Senzard coiled closer until he was almost touching Michael. His face at the same level, no longer looking from a great height.

“They did not tell you?” Senzard hissed in a harsh whisper, visibly shaking.

Michael did not reply. Only furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Senzard took this to be the answer to his question.

“The audacity!” He boomed, livid at what he had been told. “How dare they not? The world is meant to end, and their king has yet to be informed?! Oh, the gall! To not only enslave me but forget to prepare for our deaths!”

Rushing away, Senzard’s long body quickly climbed the pillar and into the darkest parts of the massive building; the only place that received no filtered light. Michael watched the snake shake in a fury, baring his fangs to a perceived threat away from him. Senzard was wholly lost in thought. Frowning, Michael walked away towards the gate. Closing his eyes, the sudden change in brightness blinded him for a few seconds. Blinking away the glare, he found his guards where he had left them standing sentinel.

Looking away from them, he noticed Bialo and the Titans heading towards him. Walking up to them with a frown, his mind was in a state of turmoil. What had Senzard meant about an impending doom and why would they keep that secret from him?

“You’ve come to discuss a certain impending doom?” Michael said as soon as they were close enough to hold a relatively private conversation.

Hearing him, the two Hecatoncheires looked at each other with complicated looks adorning their faces. Bialo, on the other hand, had his usual silent smile, as though he looked proud for some reason.

“Yes, Mortal King,” Peteious replied.

“We had not spoken to you of this because we had many doubts of the words Senzard spoke. He is a devious foe, all his words are meant to be taken with great caution,” Agnitum said, following up Peteious.

“And what could have possibly convinced you to believe his words, then?” Michael asked.

“The Metal King, Vulier Saorsa, sent an emissary that reached us three days hence. The jittery man left as soon as he had arrived, as though he expected a ghost to frighten him,” Peteious said.

Michael’s frown deepened as he recognized the name. King Vulier was the one who sat silent as the merchant of death tortured him for months. All in the name of greed, or so Michael thought. What would Vulier have to do with a world-ending doom? And more importantly, how did he know about this forest? Does he know Michael was here and if so will he attack?

“What does King Vulier have to do with any of this?” Michael said more heatedly than he expected.

“He is a guardian,” Agnitum replied succinctly, as though that meant anything to Michael.

“Guardian?”

Michael’s confusion was clear to see. The word meant little to him at his current position and even less knowing Vulier was considered one. Looking around, he noticed Bialo had a contemplative face as though he understood partially. Turning back to the Hecatoncheires, Michael waited for them to explain.

“Guardians are holders of power, under lands of power. They are those that are descendants, or in some cases have survived through the tribulations of time, of Heroes Sanctum,” Peteious said in explanation.

“A city of three guilds and great warriors and mages,” Agnitum said almost wistfully. “Fighting beside us against the Eternal Elements. It took us all to stand against the EverFlame, all three major guilds of Heroes Sanctum and us of opposing natures. The Guild of Shining Metal is the guild King Vulier is the progeny of. Son of the son of Kalon Saorsa,”

“The war was barely won, but through great struggle and death, we survived locking the EverFlame far underneath the earth. We had hoped the prison would hold for time immemorial, yet here we are today with word that the Sun burns red at the top of Metal Peak,” Peteious said as he made a fist.

Peteious looked away, his body leaking an aura subconsciously. Unlike his brother, Agnitum, Peteious almost always had full control of his emotions and aura, yet the mere mention of the sun burning red had him in great turmoil. He turned back towards Michael with a determined face.

“You must leave towards the Kingdom atop the Mountains. Prepare yourself for great sieges lasting decades, Mortal King. Only in their dead lands of ice will any survive,”

Michael nodded his head, he agreed with Senzard’s previous statement. He did not want to die a gruesome death or any death at all. If he had to cross the entire continent, then so be it. Then again, this was the adventure he had prayed for. Even though it is by far more dangerous than his wildest dreams.

“One last thing,” Michael said as the Hecatoncheires asked to be dismissed. “Who was the emissary sent by Vulier?”

“Hmm, I believe he was named Genideral or was it Gederil. I do not recall such a pathetic worms name,” Agnitum said.

Unbeknownst to them, Michael felt his breath catch and sight turn red. Hands suddenly shaking in memory of great pain--whips, molten metal, and poison--he closed his eyes to get enough of his senses back. The whispering voices, unlike any time before, were utterly quiet. So too was the guiding nudge. They were afraid of what not even Michael noticed. A darkness deeply rooted inside of him slowly crept out as he spoke, saying a single name; his voice oddly deeper. The only one to notice was Bialo.

“Gendril,”

“Ah, yes that was the name. Funny to think he was named the merchant of death,” Agnitum replied.

Unable to control it anymore, Michael’s sight became pitch black as he heard frightened shouts surround him. His body moved, it knew where it headed, pinpointing where it was meant to go. Who it was meant to reach. He felt his ligaments tear because of how much force he used to move. Though the world was pitch black, a single silhouette of red stood out far away. It moved away from the city and back towards where it had come from.

Just as he fully locked on, as he coalesced a bolt of gray that shook the reality around him, a fist collided with his head knocking him out.

Bialo stood over his unconscious form, a sad smile on his face. As his lieges protector, like his father before him, he could not allow him to fall down a path of revenge and self-destruction. They always ended in horrible ways for those that tread their addictive paths.

"Young Master, please forgive me, but I cannot allow you to to begin on this dark path,"