“Magic comes from the soul, just as does Miracles do. But it also comes from the mind, which the soul is deeply connected to. A mind that has purpose can weave magic truly, but if it is too constrained by dogma, then one will find their growth stifled. It is obvious to the practitioners of the Miracles, but they blindly cling to their beliefs. That is not our way, our way is of experimentation and discovery, and no dogma shall ever halt this.”

- The Arcane Songs; Magus Lagromatus the Accursed

Within the city of Isalabi, the seat of power of the Basalos line, three individuals gathered to speak. Three important figures within the weave of nobility and royalty of the Ivory Concord, and one of the many that had a keen mind to constantly keep an eye on the newly summoned ‘champions’. First among them was Asairos Basalos, King of Isalabi and half of the Lonely Frost, then his daughter Leila Basalos the youngest among his daughters. Third was Aniara, one of the ‘trainers’ for the summoned champions.

“My Liege, the reports have come in. Both for the summoned that are within the walls of Isalabi.. And the, other two that have chosen to leave early on.”

Aniara spoke first as she sat on a chair, before her was several parchments she had prepared beforehand for her liege. Most detailed the growth of the summoned, what they have been up to, and even the skills they have been developing. Though below those would be a black notebook, unlike anything that has been seen in this world, which was clearly from a summoned.

“Oh? You work fast Ania, considering that the other nobility are also keeping tabs on the summoned. But nonetheless, excellent work. I wish to know how our hope is faring, especially when we are forcing them to be our weapons against a foe we do not know.”

Asairos smiled mockingly at the end of his statement, he as the King of Isalabi and father of three beautiful daughters could not accept the summoned. It was not because he saw them as needless individuals. The reason was a simple one, and it was that he found the forced summoning of children from another world to be disgusting. More so when they are ‘convincing’ them to fight for their world, a world they had no prior attachment to, against a foe they themselves did not truly know.

“As you wish my liege. First among the summoned is Damien, chosen by Aurolos Sovereign God of Light and Justice. He has shown startling growth in the art of Miracles, or ‘Holy Magic’ as he and the rest of the summoned calls it. He has a particular ‘quality’ that makes him out as the cream of the crop, so to speak.

Bearing much qualities that would match his ‘heroic’ role, others have come to regard him as a leading figure for the summoned. Making him quickly earn the respect of his peers, and allowing him to learn to be a better leader in the joint exercises they partake in.

For now, weeks after he had officially received the blessing of Aurolos he has gained.. Wings. Or rather is growing two wings, at the moment they are too small for anything useful. Other than to serve as a reminder that he is the chosen of Aurolos. Surprisingly he hasn’t allowed this to get into his head, instead making him seem more humble and helpful.

As for the others, they have gained considerable skill in their chosen weapons.. Swords, Axes, Polearms the list goes on.

Aside from Damien himself, there are four others that show a similar level of promising results. They have earned nicknames, like how Damien is referred to be the ‘hero’ of the group. They spend a majority of their time helping the others alongside Damien, barring a few who do not wish for their help to salvage their pride.

These are Harold, Jasmine, Erica and Bobby. Though they are promising, they have not shown any radical development like that of Damien, who as I have said is growing wings. Which some say are reminiscent of those ‘angelic’ entities to the far west.”

Aniara looked bored as he began her report, her beautiful features conveying them in a manner that would entrance any male. She was a cold beauty as many would put it, but to those that knew her she was simply a dutiful warrior. One that had silver eyes and slightly dark grey hair that framed her pale skin.

But to Asairos, and her daughter, it looked particularly hilarious as they knew her to the point she was a part of their family.

Asairos was a man that came into the world to be a warrior, either through fate or the way his parents raised him. It matched his looks, as he was a bear of a man, with scars running throughout his muscled body. In the lands outside of the Lonely Frost he would have been thought to be a hybrid, a mix between beastmen and human. But he was simply a man that had dedicated himself in the art of physical enhancement, a variation of enchanting. This allowed him to maintain a large physique and a fierce look, alongside a lustrous mane of golden hair and a particularly long braided beard.

Much of his qualities was inherited by his daughters, especially an innate need to battle. Though unlike his, theirs was quite manageable, and it allowed Leila who was near him to find Aniara’s boredom to be hilarious.

“This seems to be boring you Ania. I thought you loved testing the skills and will of warriors, especially these summoned that are to be our hope and weapon?”

Asairos turned to his daughter, Leila who spoke teasingly towards Aniara. She and Aniara, alongside her sisters essentially saw Aniara as their sister, getting along well and teasing each other from time to time. It wouldn’t even surprise anyone within the Ivory Union that the four would engage in spars. This made Asairos proud, as it was clear that his daughters were not just some helpless damsels for some heroes to save, but rather particularly willful girls that could break several limbs.

But their physical prowess aside, the summoned clearly did not view his daughters as individuals to fear, but rather to admire and to protect. He could not blame them, as they exhibited strange quirks and have been raised this way in their world. The way his daughters look did not help.

Leila in particular looked liked the sheltered princess, just waiting for some knight to show her the world beyond the walls of Isalabi. This was enforced by the pallor of her, which surprisingly matched her long silver hair, inherited from her mother. She resembled the Aniara in a way, in the fact that she looked like one of the snow elves.

But she wasn’t one, and her golden hued eyes signified this. Which allowed her to be quickly identified among the masses as one of the Royals. She however was more inclined in partaking in sparring sessions, whilst still being able to act in a manner befitting of a princess. This she did not properly show to the summoned, save for a certain individual.

“You have been sparring with them, no? Testing their skills with the aid of our Royal Guard, trying to find out their limits and attempting to make them better? If so, why are you so unenthusiastic with this report?”

At that Aniara would sigh as she would stop her report. She was simply doing this because her liege, the father of her dearest friend asked. And she was sure that he simply asked her to do this for his amusement, as he himself had some knowledge of the progress of the summoned.

“It is not that I am not enthusiastic with this, it is simply that I find no reason to be impressed with the summoned. Certainly a few, such as Damien, Harold, Jasmine, Erica and Bobby show great promise. As all the summoned, barring three, are blessed by Gods, allowing them to rapidly grow in strength and skill. But that did not mean they had proper experience as they are yet to truly fight against sapient creatures.

Before you even say it, I do not consider the Goblinoids or the other beast-men dregs that live to the north-east of the Frozen Wastes to be sapient. They barely are. But the nobility and their own trainers are impressed by this, as if the slaying of lowly beasts would allow the summoned ‘they’ sponsor to be able to ascend higher.

Their actions four weeks ago shows how easily they are lead by emotions, in the pursuit for what they think is right. With that mindset, they may aswell be easily swayed to the side of our unknown enemy, or enemies should the Oracles be wrong.”

With her own personal experience, and that of the Royal Guards themselves, what she was saying was not truly biased. As the summoned, who were only summoned two months ago, couldn’t truly be the ‘hope’ the Gods had told them about. She certainly had been happy about them, willing to help, but a particular event involving one of the summoned had made her spirits a bit more grim than usual.

“Wait, has.. Benedict’s death affected you that much?”

Leila would ask a bit hesitantly, knowing full well about the demise of that summoned, and how he died for a crime he himself did not even commit. To be chased by the other summoned like some petty criminals for an entire day, hounded as if he had committed treason even though her father only asked for him to be brought back. At this Asairos would sigh, as Aniara did not reply for several minutes.

“In a way, yes. I do not know why, but his death, if we can call it that, was untimely. As at that time, when I received orders to accompany the summoned in capturing Benedict, I fully believed that there was a simple misunderstanding. As one of the summoned told me that he, that boy, had killed. Stabbing a Squire in the neck, and then fleeing the town of Plorty afterwards.”

Asairos would nod, as he had not actually heard Aniara voice her thoughts about the death of Benedict. He did not know the full story, as it was reported by one of the summoned. He did not truly know this particular summoned, only that he was among the three that denied any sort of blessings from the gods. Many of the nobility, elves and humans alike, even the other summoned found this action of theirs arrogant, and foolish. Asairos on the other hand, found this to be respectable, as he thought they had some sort of martial pride that made them not want to believe in other gods.

“But he didn’t kill that person, did he? I read the reports sent to father, the person he supposedly killed was a squire of sorts. It didn’t mention which Knight Order he came from, but it is strange he could actually have died to Benedict.. Considering that…”

Leila looked a bit unsure as she looked through what she knew of Benedict. Of course, she knew little about him. But she had seen him and the two other godless in spars, far away from the other summoned. He was not skilled in battle, he had too many holes in his defense, and his techniques in utilizing weaponry, be it sharp or blunted, was to go in a sudden frenzied rage. Which should have made him a prime candidate to be chosen by the Gods related to bloodshed.

“He has little to no formal skill in wielding weapons. And he was alone at the time, with the two other godless, Carleon and Jio already parting ways with him, heading to the other towns within our domain. He couldn’t possibly even stand a chance against a Knight Squire, especially one that has more training than he has. He himself had stated that he only knows how to fight based on what he had observed, and not practiced.”

Leila sighed as she relayed this, Asairos and Aniara looking at her with a raised brow as they wondered how she knew of that. Seeing their looks, Leila would realize her mistake and nervously chuckle as her father spoke, his eyes narrowing as he leaned slightly closer to the table. He knew most of what she said, but not the part where Benedict admits he does not know how to fight properly.

“Interesting. We will have to talk about this later. Aniara, is there anything else that you wish to report? I can read through these later, as the growth of each summoned at their current levels, is not significant enough for us to consider.”

Leila would look down for a moment, before shaking her head, she hoped that her father wouldn’t be mad should she tell her what she knew. Aniara then would nod, picking up the strange notebook below all the reports, and giving it to Asairos, who would take the strange thing in confusion.

“That is one of Benedict’s belongings. We found it on the room he stayed on in Plorty, alongside his bag. Initially, it was of no import. As it contains what seems to be his writings, with it being a journal for him. This is not uncommon for adventurers who wish to keep their thoughts penned, for future reference.

But as we would have remembered, Benedict left exactly after he lost to Damien. Which was a month after they were summoned. The two do not see eye to eye, and with Benedict being anti-social and untrusting, it is not a surprise that he would leave. This would have been of little consequence, as we have eyes on each summoned.

Coincidentally, his two friends, Carleon and Jio left for other towns as you have said Leila. This would be strange as they would do better in a group, but it seemed they were searching for something. I believe their goal is found in that notebook, and perhaps the reason why Benedict was running away from me and the other summoned in extreme distress.

Alas we cannot read it, as it is written in not only one language, but two. The first being ‘English’, which many of the summoned knows of. The other, we cannot identify at the moment, which also uses the same alphabet as the English Language.

But even if we could not read it, it shows something disturbing.”

Aniara’s tone would turn grim as she spoke, Asairos who had been listening was turning the pages of the notebook. It contained a staggering amount of pages, nearly three hundred in total. This was highly unusual for a notebook, but he assumed this was the norm for the world the summoned originated from. The pages he had skimmed through looked trivial, being filled with what he assumed to be writings of Benedict’s experience. It was worth noting that it was written in the most horrible hand-writing he had ever seen, like the scribbling of a madman that had a shaky hand.

He would thoughtlessly turn the pages as he couldn’t read them, and he would simply send it to the linguists of his empire for translation. But after skipping several dozen pages, he would encounter something utterly disturbing. Drawings. There was drawings, many of them carefully drawn while others were scribbled hastily.

The drawings that were drawn carefully was that of skeletons. Various parts of the human skeleton. It wouldn’t be surprising that Benedict was an aspiring surgeon, but the skeletons were accompanied by armor. As if they were undead. It would become more elaborate, showing skulls with dots for eyes, howling out as the others carried weapons.

These were clearly undead, but nothing he had ever seen in his life. It surprised him that a summoned would be drawing these, as Necromancy didn’t seem to interest them. Then he saw the drawings scribbled hastily, and it caused him to open his eyes wide in surprise as they were disturbing.

“He was being followed by something..”

It showed various humanoid figures, all depicted to be either shadowy or winged. It was accompanied by writing, clearly showing he was unnerved or fearful. Each figure was clearly something else, and as he turned a few more pages, he realized what they were.

“These are.. Heralds.”

Heralds of the Gods. Beings who serve under specific Gods, doing their will which either is to watch things, or to pick out interesting individuals. The sight of them was not strange, and in fact they are present in Isalabi, watching over the summoned who became champions for their Gods. But they rarely take their ‘true’ form, often times taking on a much more human approach, which makes them look as if they are normal people.

But the ones depicted here did not match any description of Heralds he knew of. And what was peculiar, was that he did not see them within the walls of Isalabi, suggesting they were not related to the Gods their people worshipped.

“Yes my liege. But they are not just any Herald for the Gods we do not worship. They are related to the Dark Pantheon, who we assumed to have either been destroyed, or have dissolved. It seems they have returned, and I think I know why.”

Asairos furrowed his brows at this. There was nothing wrong about the Dark Pantheon, in fact the dark arts are generally accepted by the people of the Lonesome Frost. As any sort of magic, whether or not its roots is evil or good, was considered to be acceptable. It was only the worshippers of the Gods of Light that did not like the dark arts, and with them being a large majority, it was rare to see a worshipper or user of the dark arts. More so when the Dark Pantheon was presumed to have faded decades ago.

“Turn to the page after that. It is presumably written before the murder he was accused of to have occurred. We cannot confirm if that is so, but what is drawn there could be a clue as to why the murder occurred, or if he even committed it.”

Asairos would do as she says, his finger turning the page to the next. What greeted his sight was another drawing, accompanied by more writing. This drawing was special in a way, as Asairos instantly recognized it. The drawing was depicting a large gate, a stone gate that seems to be ancient. At the center was the locking mechanism of it, but to others it would simply look like a large skull grinning madly surrounded by a circle of magical runes.

“This is the Gate of Martolem. Said to be one of the many Ancient Gates that lead to grand libraries, or to an army like none other. This one in particular is related to the undead, specifically to the ‘God’ Laktori the Sufferer. Any who search for the Gates rarely seek this one out, as it leads one to ‘suffering’ and ‘sacrifice’, in exchange for the power over the dead.”

There was many that sought power over the dead, either to extend their own life or to gain power. Many have achieved this through various means, commonly using dark magic to achieve it. But the Gate of Martolem was something no one would wish to willingly choose, as it was one that promised suffering and sacrifice in exchange for power. If compared to the existing dark arts, and even Gods that offered the same power, this Gate was an idiotic choice. But it was clear Benedict was searching for this. And he could not fathom as to why.

“It is peculiar as to why he would want this. There is a far easier route one might take for the power over the dead. But perhaps this is why those Heralds was attracted to them, and maybe it was not he who had killed that squire, but rather someone or something else.”

Asairos would close the notebook, giving it back to Aniara as his daughter remained silent at this. Her eyes showed confusion and conflict within them, and it was clear she knew of something. But he did not ask, and simply turned to Aniara.

“That is a possibility. Though I suggest we keep this information away from the other summoned. This might make it look as if he was planning something malign, and we cannot expose to them to this as of now. I believe we should let his friends know of this first.”

Leila would nod at this. Looking at her father with her golden eyes, this was a good idea. As they would need to know of his fate, for they seemed to be the only people Benedict had trusted, and they obviously were friends even before they were transported to their world. Asairos would nod, giving his approval as the two would begin to speak of the other summoned.

Unbeknownst to them, there was something they had overlooked. Specifically on the depiction of the Gate of Martolem. The skull had a strange look to it, which was a slit on its forehead that showed dozens upon dozens of eyes. This was a minor detail at best, a mistake or artistic addition.

-

Benedict did not like to dream. He never had a proper sleep ever since he was summoned to this world. There was something about the dreams he would experience that made him dislike them. They were visions in a way, visions that would relate more to nightmares than any casual dream. He could not explain these, and he did not seek help from others as he found this to be some problem he needed to solve himself. Though there was no proper way of solving them, as they come and go at some strange leisure, leaving him baffled and reluctant to sleep each day.

These dreams or nightmares depending on how one views it, did not truly affect him. But each one grew more elaborate, with more creatures being added. It would convince him to draw them in his ‘journal’, which was more like a blank book that a notebook, with him buying it for some sort of project in his original world. Like each day before this, ever since he had stated he would not serve any God of this world, the dreams would begin.

Each time he fell into a slumber, they came crawling out. Disturbing the usual nothingness he would have. First the blackness would disappear, as he would be given a false sense of reality. It was like a lucid dream, but he had no control over it. Then he would feel himself to be lowered on a field of sorts, a field made entirely out of skulls.

The first time he experienced this, there was a lot of screaming from him. A hysterical reaction surely, but one that was not unwarranted. It was made more stranger that each time he was deposited into this strange dream, all he had on was some boxers. It meant that aside from that, he wore nothing else. But now, he had new additions, his scything-blades.

They would roughly hit the ground of skulls, piercing through some of them as he shrugged at the sight of it. He then looked up, only to be greeted by a beautiful starry night, accompanied by one large moon. It was nothing too peculiar, but the land of skulls he was in was a little more than disconcerting the first time he came here.

“Great.. This dream again.”

He whined as he began to walk, heading to no specific direction at all. It did not matter, as the direction he would head to mattered not. The outcome was all the same, he would wake in cold sweat. Wishing to not have this sort of dream again.

As he walked, the vast expanse of skulls would reveal some other oddities. Oddities that had slowly popped up as he continued to visit this twisted dream world. First it was skull-crabs, or hermit crabs that used the skulls as shells. They were adorable in a way, as they would peek out with their large glowing eyes, snipping at the air in acknowledgement to his presence before following him, and stopping after a few minutes.

As he would continue to walk, there would be skeletal individuals appearing. Initially they would be simple skeletons, mindless things that would either follow or stare, with parts of them missing or covered in rags. They would grow elaborate however, slowly appearing with pieces of armor here and there, trudging around aimlessly in some vague manner of sapience. Those that follow him would do so dutifully, silently following with every single step as their eyes began to glow with some sort of red energy.

Benedict however would briefly look back, eyes widening in surprise as he would began to briskly walk. It was vain however, as the slowly growing horde of skeletons would follow without a hint of stopping at all. He had seen this in past dreams, but they would only number in the dozens, but now they steadily went beyond that. With that strange glow to their hollow eye sockets, almost as if they were following their lord.

It would have been flattering, but the sheer clarity of this dream was on another level. Making him assume that he was in some other astral plane, a land where the forlorn dead was and he was an oddity, an oddity that many of the dead began to notice. He had to admit to himself, that deep within he was happy about this in a way, as he had found necromancy to be something desirable. Even if he would have just used it for the mastery of magics that would cause the living to fade.

He knew that this world was magical, but there was little to no mentions about Necromancy. There was some dark arts, but they did not dabble into Necromancy, but rather the summoning of daemonic entities. This was peculiar to him, but it wasn’t surprising. No one would tolerate such a ghastly art, especially since it desecrates the sanctity of the dead.

If anyone else would have seen this, they would be shocked and terrified. But he had gotten used to this by now, yet he could not expect everything to stay the same. As it is shown now, there was new additions to the land and the behaviour of the undead. With each step he took forward, the undead became more armored, more strange.

They would rise from the ground of skulls, letting out a silent voice that he couldn’t hear. But they would do it nonetheless, followed by their bodies slowly rising up, revealing their attires. Some looked like Knights, Vikings, Monks, Saracens, Crusaders and other medieval-like individuals. Even some clearly came from this world, wearing glorious armors wrought in gold, or ones made from stone. Those that would follow him would gain glowing eyes, staring at him and following dutifully.

But those that did not, would begin to form their own groups. Following figures that showed more intelligence than the rest, and having the aura of authority. One was an ancient King of sorts, those that followed him were Knights that had similar emblems to the one found on his armor. Behind were peasants, following the safety of the Knights.

Another was what could be a religious figure. Its attire was that of a black robe, with a veil that barely hid its skeletal face. Those that followed it were flagellants and crusaders, the flagellants themselves would flog themselves with modified floggers. Ones that had sharp blades at the tip of each tail. This was a stupid thing as they shed no blood, but they did it still, in the name for some religion.

Regardless of how many groups that were forming, Benedict moved forward. He regarded the leaders of the group with nods of respect each time they looked at him, and in turn they returned the gesture. This was the first time they had actually done this, and it spooked him. If they would utter a word, surely he would be screaming obscenities right now.

Even then the strangeness of this plane or situation did not stop. First the undead that came was clearly humanlike, nothing too strange. Aside from being utterly skeletal and coming from different walks of life. Then the appearances of skeletal constructs changed that, undead composed of more than one skeleton came out of the ground.

They ranged from conjoined skeletons, to an entire amalgam of skeletons forming an even larger skeleton. Each growing more insane than the last, and slowly becoming more malevolent in design than practicality. They made no sense at all, but they had an impact on one’s sanity. But for Benedict, one that had been playing games that had similar or even much more worse equivalents, they looked fascinating in person.

He would allow himself to gaze at them, examining their looks as he still moved onwards. Seemingly walking forward eternally in a land of eternal bones, with a moonlit sky with nary a wind to caress their bare forms. Many would question the need to even walk, but to Benedict it was better than nothing. And he wanted to see if this dream would remain the same, or rather would end the same way it had always did.

There was nothing more fascinating for him here, than trying to understand this dream, or world. But it was hard to understand, when the beings that inhabited this place could not talk at all. And initially, they were oblivious to his presence, acting as if he was a ghost. Now however, they actively followed him, or even formed their own groups and matched his pace.

He remembered clearly the first time he began to walk. The undead that existed was of a simpler form, the skull-crabs. Yet each dream, each fall into this many came, rising from the skulls. Growing elaborate as he continued to walk. He could not find an explanation for this, but he doubted that it wasn’t connected to him in some way.

“Spooky. Utterly spooky..”

He sighed as he continued on, there was nothing really great happening. All that happened now, was them following him. Nothing exciting or anything like that, it was more like a solemn march. A solemn march for something he did not know. It would have been interesting at the very least if one of the skeletons had a trumpet, dooting around and breaking the creepy atmosphere already set.

But that would just alleviate the boredom he was slowly feeling. There was no goal to this dream, not one that he could perceive or comprehend. If this dream even had a point, he was losing sight of it, or was blind to it. At least that was what he thought for now.

“Is there any point to this?”

He asked, motioning out to the vast expanse of skulls and to the growing gather of skeletons. He was the only living thing here, and those that followed him was clearly different. But he did not want to think deeper, it was a dream, that was what he wanted to assume. A dream, a representation of sorts, or something else entirely.

And so, doing the only logical thing he could do in this place, was like always walk forward. This would span on for what seemed to be hours to him, the endless sea of skulls always being there. With undead rising, feeding the ever growing hordes with new members, as without him noticing it, they would have formed some manner of congregation. With two strange undead, armored and covered in black robes, which had embers upon them, holding thuribles. Modified in a way that the censer itself was also a flail, but still able to serve its original religious purpose.

The thuribles swayed in their hands as they raised it, letting it hang just low enough that it was in the same level of their waists. They allowed it to swing to the sides, letting out a smoke of incense that induced a strange calm to Benedict. He himself did not notice as all he saw was the growing expanse of skulls. However, there would be new things to see.

Actual pillars of skulls rising through the floor, with braziers burning brightly above. Whilst whole structures dotted the area now. Made not only from bones, but a dark stone that let out such dark feelings. There above them would be figures, not undead, but something akin to living beings. He looked at them, recognising them as the figures that he would briefly see in the waking world following him.

They were covered in strange attires, wearing masks or having no face at all. They looked at him with obvious interest, as they stood tall and high, examining him like some prized blade. They made no move however, as they only watched him and nodding at the amount of undead following him. If this was some sort of test, then he would be surprised that whatever he was doing was acceptable.

“Hey! Stop stalking me you bastards!”

He would yell, as he felt a momentary sort of anger towards them. They unnerved him greatly in the past, making him feel as if he was going insane. It even made him question if he was doing the right thing by secluding himself away from the others, searching for a way to make himself stronger. While just adventuring around the Lonesome frost.

They made no proper reply at that. Instead they would shake their heads, as if what he asked could not be done. This only made him angry, but his anger would only be stopped when he noticed something. Something that he always saw when his dream was about to end. It was a large gate, rising from the sea of skulls alongside a large series of walls that span into eternity.

It was a large gate, something that could have been built by giants. As it was as talls a building, with its designs being meticulous and utterly alien. At its center was a symbol of sorts, a large skull surrounded by a circle of runes, unlike the ones he saw on that clearing he was on. Each one seemed to move, to be fluid, but they remained the same as he stared.

There at its forehead would be a crack of sorts, a slit into it. It contained hundreds of eyes, aimlessly looking outwards, until they would see him approach. In an instant all eyes would move to stare at him. With the wet noise of flesh squelching and bubbling echoing out. It would continue, becoming more gross by the minute.

It was trying to communicate, like always. As if it was trapped behind the gate, wanting a way out. But still he could not understand why it was locked away, or why he should help it. And so like always, he just stared at it, as hundreds of eyes stared back. It was like that saying, that if you stare into the abyss, it would stare back.

As he stared, he would notice that the undead that gathered would be kneeling now. All looking down in reverence towards the gate as if they did not notice the strange thing behind the crack. That thing, would stare at him, like some sort of abomination beyond the stars. It would do this for minutes, before it would close it eyes. But this time it did not, instead tentacles would come out of the crack, attempting to cause more to occur. But it couldn’t do so, making it unleash a high pitched whine, before its eyes would close and its tentacles returning to its side.

Usually in this moment he would be pulled to a dark abyss. His mind being wrenched into a state of unfocused cold. However, he would instead feel pain to start enveloping his body. As if he was slowly being set on fire, or rather being torn apart from the side. Naturally he would start to scream, as he did so he would open his eyes and brought to the waking world.

In a daze and still feeling the pain, by pure instinct his scything-blades would try to lash out. But to his dismay they couldn’t move, as the sound of metal being strained reached his ears. With unfocused eyes he would look around, only to see that he was in some sort of wooden home. Light would illuminate the room he was in, passing through glass windows which allowed him to see that he was alone. At least that was what he thought.

To his side he would hear a voice speak, a voice of a female. This would startle him as he would try to move, trying to push himself away from the source. But like his scything-blades, his arms and legs were bound. It was made worse with the pain he was feeling now.

[Ah- You’re awake! You shouldn’t be awake.. Oh no no.. Elder! Elder! He is awake!]

He would see that he was bound in chains, and it caused him to struggle more. But it was in vain, as he noticed that the source was a familiar girl. A tanned horned girl, with what seems to be black hair. The first thing that his mind thought was that she was a demon of sorts, one that would most likely use him as a sacrifice for their dark gods. But he couldn’t think any further, as he felt that pain again. Pain that coursed through his body, but mostly being located on his sides. In this he screamed, as he couldn’t do anything else.