Karastak quickly sat up, and found himself atop a tall hill with a single, but large oak tree. One whose roots spiraled and weaved inside and out of the hill and surrounding plains. For all around him was nothing, but a sea of grass in every direction, and left him confused for a time. Looking down, he found that his body and hands weren't marred or devoid of colours, nor was his flesh punctured by spears and rusted blades. Instead, he had an orange robe, one that reminded him of a past life where he had spent several consecutive lifetimes within an eastern monastery.

Smirking at the faded memory, his hand was gently placed upon the bark of the tree, and remembered the promise he was given. “Struggle, and be granted an Age of rest beneath thine tree of oak.”

Which meant only one thing to himself, “Sleep. Sleep would be good for my soul, and when I return... I shall begin again...” In so saying, his body propped itself up against one side of the tree, noting that many of its roots had wrapped around his legs after doing so. Not understanding, nor caring, what was occurring, Karastak gave in to the stipulation given by the tree until the whole of his body was absorbed into the bark. Where it left only his face visible until he closed his eyes, embracing the sleep he was, at long last, promised.

*****

“Shit, Toda and his groupies ain't back yet,” growled a Woodsman from the community nearest the Forest of Nu'Bai, “And now I gotta be the one to help find them. Fuck me.” One that trekked through the woods towards the small den of Goblins that was a great place for small Adventurers to hunt. Of course, the place was not without risk, and many an under equipped fool fell to the green-skins quite easily, with the females being dragged off to breed more of the pests. Though, only a few were ever rescued, as those who did not have any strong ties to someone higher up would just be marked off.

Normally they would have been written off as casualties of being an Adventurer, but a “White Beast” had been sighted traveling towards the same Goblin den as they. Therefore, when they didn't see them return by twilight, and after hearing a great rumbling from the pest's den, along with the creature's scream, they believed the worst had occurred. Therefore, this Woodsman had been chosen to act as a scout for a troop of fifty Silver Ranked Adventurers to find the den so that the rest may launch their attacks.

However, the moment he found what may have been the opening to their den, found ripped clothes, armour, and weapons scattered about the opening. Not only this, but there were Goblin tracks all over the place, as well as, “Shit. There's Hobgoblins, too,” growled the Woodsman, who then spat off towards the side. “Well fuck my life sideways,” he turned around then, and marched off towards the group around one hundred metres in the opposite direction. Where he then gave them their report, received his due, and left immediately.

No use sticking around when there were enough cannon fodder from the Guild already, yes?

In any case, once this group arrived at the cave opening, they began to spread out with their weapons at the ready. For although they've taken care of those which charged towards the community after hearing a terrible, yet muffled, primal scream, there was still a chance that there'd be more around. However, there was soon a shout from a male Elf in wooden armour nearest the entrance, where he found the remains of a mummified corpse.

Perhaps calling it mummified wasn't the correct term, as a Dwarven Priest checked over the body with both expert hands and her own magicks. Here, she spat off to the side, righteous fury burning in her eyes as she growled, “Sumthin drained 'im of 'is essences and aged 'im fitty 'ears. Then 'ey snapped 'is neck like a twig.”

Those with the Priest class felt the same burning in their hearts and minds, and did not write it off as heartburn, regardless of what a few jokers would say. Whereupon a Human in a brown robe explained in hush tones, “To prolong one's life, instead of advancing in levels like we all do, you could use Necromancy to do so. Though such a thing is a curse more than a blessing, to be honest.”

“Why's that?” asked one of their Warriors who had sheathed his greatsword and pulled free a gladius from his side, as the larger blade would not be adequate within the tunnels of a Goblin's den.

“'Cause,” growled the Dwarf who made the discovery, “those who use 'em magicks end up 'eedin more 'n more to keep 'em going.”

“To put it another way,” called out an Elvish Ranger who had lit a torch and was moving into the cave, “they might have a Goblin Mage. So be on your toes, everyone.” The word “shit” was on everyone's tongue, as the thought of a Goblin Mage could only mean that the pests had gotten to the point that they crowned a Goblin Lord into a King.

As they trekked forwards, many found side passages and holes which could hide more of the pests, but were surprisingly empty and devoid of life. Regardless, the Dwarves and Mages specialising in Earth set about to close these opening to keep any unwanted attention from being directed towards the large force of Adventurers. Especially when such Adventurers had to move in a single file down a slippery pathway, and yes, there were a few who fell, but were easily retrievable in order to keep them moving onward.

Once they reached the cavernous opening, however, they each found a breathtaking sight. One where they blinks and rubbed their eyes to make sure it wasn't a trick of the minour lights here and there. Some even went so far as to cast magicks which dispelled illusion, but found that it did not work.

For all about them were the bodies of hundred of Goblins and Hobgoblins strewn about the floor walls, and a few pointed at the ceiling high above where a few bodies were seen swinging slowly. Each of these bodies seemingly hanging from nothing, until one fell off and landed a few metres away from a group of Humans. Where, after a Priest looked over it, it was discovered that their fluids and blood was what kept them there.

“What could have done that?” gasped a Hunter in greyed leathers. One that held a shortbow in his left, and an arrow ready to be knocked and loosed in his right.

“Maybe it was the big guy on the pile of skulls,” called out a Goliath Warrior in chainmail, who then pointed with a short spear towards a pale skinned Goliath with many spears and rusted weapons sticking out of his cooled flesh. One who stared unblinkingly towards something which only he could see, and was found to be smirking at it.

“Woah,” commented one, “Think he did all this?”

“Dunno, but I think it's best we-”

A crack of thunder resounded throughout the cavernous chamber, causing all to clamp their hands over their ears whilst staring about in search of the perpetrator. After which, each of the fifty scattered in search of whomever or whatever it was that created the sound, and a few pointed towards the pale man's corpse. Where it slowly and silently crumbled to ash, dust, and nothingness, releasing the spears and rusted weaponry from their tomb of cooled flesh.

*****

Within a white Void Space nearest to the world of Terra was Azazel, who was rampaging throughout its entirety. For she had lost, not only her source of entertainment, but also all of her plans to lash out against her sister and her chosen race had fallen apart. In that she would need to wait a whole year for Karastak to return to life, due to his Undead nature. That is, unless something lit his hollowed body on fire.

However, she would make sure none of this occurred, but when she calmed down enough to create a new screen to stare at his body, she found a peculiar sight. There were Humans, Dwarves, Elves, and Goliaths within the cavern, and each were staring at the body of her Vampire. However, they didn't seem to realise this, yet, because all were just pointing and speaking amongst themselves.

Then it happened.

A thunderous crack filled the area, and some heads turned towards the body of the pale Goliath-like being. Whereupon they each gasped and became slack jawed as the pale man's body began to crumbled away to dust and ash, and even that crumbled away into nothingness. Until only the crude spears and rusted metals which were within his body were left to fall and dance amongst the skulls that were turned into a throne.

“Wh-what?” mumbled Azazel with great surprise, “What just... no... No, no, no, no, no!” Her voice became one full of panic, as she recalled that the only way a Vampire could never return was one of two things.

The first was to burn the body and consecrate the ashes with holy waters. Not only this, but to seal everything within a silver chest and bury it upside-down within the grounds of a holy site of some sort. This was created by some superstitious people hundreds of years ago. Where, after the ashes within the silver box was placed upside-down, the soul that was attached to those ashes would be forced to enter a hell. The truth of the matter was not so different, except that the silver prevented the body from ever regenerating until its essences were able to fully detach and fly away. It was still a hell, but not one they foresaw.

Whereas the second way to remove a Vampire completely, was to be picked up by Charon, the Ferryman of the River Styx. Afterwards, their souls and essences would be transferred into the reincarnation cycle of Terra. However, the journey to the other side of the River was a long one, and she would have to leave this instant in order to catch the pair before Karastak stepped onto the other side. For once he does so, nothing she could say or do will bring him back.

“COMMAND!” she howled into the open Void Space that was her domain.

“,” responded a deep, but monotonous voice which appeared to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Command, open a pathway to the River Styx. I need to speak with Charon immediately.”

“” After which a violet and vertically oval portal swirled into being before her person, and one that she stepped through without any hesitation.

*****

The River Styx, a place where the dead congregate upon the shoreline with their two denari in order to pay for their way across the river and into the next life. Where Gods and Goddesses were forbidden to set foot, lest they wish to be picked up by the Ferryman, Charon, and escorted into the next life and away from their powerful forms. However, although they were not allowed to step foot here, it did not mean they could not visit.

As such, they all found a loophole with this law: as long as they did not set foot upon the shoreline, pier, boat, and river, they could still visit the River of the Dead. In other words, as long as they don't touch anything, or let a grain of sand, nor drop of water come in contact with their skin, they could still wander around.

Therefore, when a violet portal erupted into being inside this world, it did so several dozens of metres above. Thus forcing Azazel to fly with a shimmering bubble of shadows condensed around her body. Of which was used to keep her safe and away from Charon, who was ever watchful over these immortals who dared to venture into his domain. Yes, it also meant that he was easier to spot, as he always stayed nearest his boat in order to ferry those who paid for their passage across the waters.

The boat itself was in the shape of a grand gondola which was able to house up to one hundred souls at any given time. Whereas the Ferryman himself was always situated in the back, clutching a blackened pole with bony hands as he pushed the boat forward towards the opposite shoreline. His form, on the other hand, was of a large skeleton spanning a dozen metres in height, whilst being covered in a thick, hooded robe made up of the darkness which surrounded his body. Though there was a lantern at the other end of his gondola, he did not need it to see. Instead, it was used as a beacon for those upon either shorelines so that they knew he was nearly upon them.

As for his location at that time? He was unloading the souls of the dead upon the other pier, where a white and gold portal had opened up for them. Next to this portal, however, was a great, three-headed dog who growled and made sure each and every last one of them entered the portal. For if they did not, there was always the chance of it eating the essences that tried to escape whatever awaited them within.

Regardless, Azazel found Charon as the last had left his boat and it was turning about to repeat the process when she alighted herself a few centimetres from his eyes and demanded, “Where is Karastak?! Where is my Demon Lord?!”