Prologue

[A city on Earth, doesn't really matter which...]

The room was bleak, devoid of light, except for the solitary ceiling lamp, hanging atop a messy table, swinging like a pendulum in the breeze that wafted through the gaps along the window sill. Rain pelted the panes from outside, accompanied by vicious, howling wind.Though a dingy, cheap apartment, the foundations were sturdy, and thus the furious elements of nature could only lament in vain as they kept on trying to breach the flimsy barrier of cheap wood and dirty glass, but never succeeded.

A small bed, barely big enough for a single person was thrust to one corner of the room. The table occupied most of the space to its opposite. The sheets on the bed were surprisingly clean given the condition of the other furnitures and objects in the room. Most of the floor-space was occupied by several arrays of books and folders comprising of newspaper cuttings. At a quick glance, it could be deduced that most of the books were on topics that were found only in fantastic worlds of stories, movies or video games. Books on magic, occult and rituals were propped against books on reincarnation theories, rebirth, ancient scriptures of various religions. There were also topics that tried to signify their ‘legitimacy’ by adding the suffix ‘-logy’ at the end of their titles. Demonology seemed to be the one the procurer of the books seemed to have focused on, judging by the sheer number of volumes that were present. Apart from the books, there were several notebooks scattered across the floor. One in particular seemed to be of special importance, because a figure, the only occupant of the room, was hunched over it.

The figure belonged to Scott Degen, a lanky, tanned man in his mid-thirties. An unruly crop of black hair speckled with grey covered his head. His brown eyes were bloodshot from sleeplessness. The T-shirt and cargo trousers he wore were both long overdue for a trip to the laundromat. Despite the haggard looks, his eyes burned with a fervent passion as his hands kept on scribbling letters in a language not known to the masses. On the floor next to the notebook he was working on sat a small wooden bowl filled with a dark red liquid and a stylus fashioned from the feathers of some bird. A similar stylus was also present in Scott’s hands, with which he was scribing the esoteric symbols. His left arm was bandaged with white gauze, but crimson splotches on the surface of the gauze showed that whatever wound he had dressed was done either in haste, or sheer neglect, or maybe both. The wound or its state obviously wasn’t a big concern for the man because his attention was fully focused on what he was working on.

Several hours passed. The storm raging outside had mostly abated, the torrential downpour regressed to a mild drizzle. Scott lifted his head and was apparently only just aware of his surroundings. In front of him, the notebook he was scribbling on was down to its last blank page. Scott glanced at the bloody bandage on his arm, a wry smile forming in the corner of his lips as he looked at the bowl, the ‘red ink’ now merely a lees at the bottommost depth of the container. He dipped his stylus once more in the last vestiges of the ‘ink’ and started writing once again, on the last page of the notebook. One line, then another, and another….and then he stopped.

“Three thousand, one hundred and twenty nine. This better work.” He voiced out hoarsely.

Reaching under the bed, he pulled out a duffel bag, from which he took out a bundle carefully wrapped in several layers of newspaper and bubble-wrap (with the bubbles already burst, because otherwise its a heresy). Unwrapping the layers of protective covering unveiled a piece of cured skin, big enough to wrap the notebook in, which was what he did. Once again he dove under his bed, and this time he pulled out a large cardboard box. The contents that came out of the box were in order of rapidly escalating aberrance. A glass jar in which an umbilical cord was floating in a sea of preservative fluid, another jar of the same nature containing a severed human hand, and a third glass jar with perforated lid, containing a humongous cockroach. The insect was alive and twitching.

Scott arranged the three jars in front of the skin-wrapped notebook and proceeded to bring out yet another object from under his bed. It was a heavy bronze brazier with intricate oriental arts carved along its surface. The brazier was filled with chopped wood chips. Scott gently fingered the chips in the brazier and chuckled, thinking how the most innocuous object of his ritual was the most expensive and dangerous to get. He lifted one of the wooden chips. “10,000 years worth of human history, about to go up in smokes.”

The digital clock on his table went off. Scott glanced at the time. 11:55 pm. He broke the seals of the two jars containing the umbilical cord and the severed hand. Without the hint of the slightest unease, he took the body parts out. The room was instantly awash in the strong, overbearing odour of formaldehyde. Scott placed the notebook on top of the withered, embalmed palm and wrapped them together with the umbilical cord. He placed the ensemble on top of the brazier, making sure the entirety of the book was snugly fit within the circumference of its mouth. Satisfied with the setup, he then reached inside his pockets, took out a matchbox and struck a matchstick alight.

“I feel like I should say something cool…but fuck it.” He chuckled and dropped the burning matchstick on the brazier. The wooden chips caught fire unnaturally fast, even for dry wood, and within seconds, the brazier was set ablaze. The flame started out yellow but soon the yellow tinge disappeared, turning blue. Scott opened the third jar and took the cockroach out. It obediently sat on Scott’s palm, waving its antennae around. “Sorry buddy. Nothing personal.” He gently dropped the cockroach right on top of the blue flames.

The change was instantaneous. The blue flames immediately turned purple and shot up at least 40 cm in height. The heavy brazier started shuddering on a steady floor. Scott’s eyes were on the digital clock. 11:59:40….11:59:41….11:59:50. The flames were even higher than before, the brazier was shaking violently, threatening to burst apart. 11:59:55…11:59:56. Scott opened his mouth. 11:59:59…12:00:00.

In a tongue that would definitely sound like gibberish to any sane person, Scott uttered a series of words. In the middle of his chanting, he saw the brazier being lifted above the floor by an unseen force. The individual flames in the brazier all amalgamated into a single entity - a purple blade of flame, 60 cm tall. It stopped dancing and was now utterly still. “…athrush imag nekh rokha hal akah…dakh.” Scott finished chanting.

And then he dropped to the floor, unconscious. The brazier was still afloat in air, the purple flame impaled on top of it, still motionless.

[In a realm far beyond mortal ken…]

A grandiose manor stood amidst a placid, azure lake. There were no visible entrances to the manor, nor a walkway existed anywhere on the water to connect the manor with whatever land that lay beyond the lake. As far as human eyes could see, the lake was endless. Apart from the faintest of ripples, the most subtlest of eddies, the lake was void of even an iota of disturbance. The sky overlooking the lake and the manor was as clear as the purest of crystal. No clouds, stars or other celestial objects were present in the sky.

A figure stood on the roof of the manor. It was distinctly feminine, dressed in an almost translucent fabric that was wrapped around her body in a tasteful manner, accentuating her womanly curves. Her snow-white hair was parted neatly into two segments, both cascading all the way down to her waist. Her hazel eyes woefully gazed at the horizon.

She was lost in thought for what could have been ages, or mere minutes…since time itself had no special bearing in this realm. However, an anomaly occurred all of a sudden, which drew her immediate attention. In the sky above the lake, a tear formed in the shape of a lightning bolt. The perfect canvass ruined by an errant stroke. The tear stayed intact long enough for a single object to pass through, following which the sky reverted back to its original clinical serenity. The object that passed through was a tiny orb of dazzling brilliance. It slowly drifted through the air-less void and settled on the outstretched palm of the woman on the manor roof.

“How quaint. A wish.” Her flawless lips held the hint of a subtle smile. “No wonder it made all the way to here. This… creature… went to the trouble of using primal essences in all the components of his ritual.”

She turned towards the sky and spoke in a slightly louder voice. “Hraxanthus! I know you’re watching, and probably smirking. Present yourself, at once!”

A snort reverberated across the sky followed by the appearance of a person right in front of the woman. Sleek, red hair tied into a tight ponytail revealed a handsome, chiseled face. The man wore in a long-sleeved jacket, dark violet in colour, adorned with tasteful embroidery. “Your Ladyship’s awareness truly knows no limit. Indeed, she can detect even the minutest…”

“Cease your flattery, for it will get you nowhere as far as I am concerned.” Her rebuke was curt. “I have an interesting project for you.” She held up his palms and the orb gently drifted towards the newcomer. Hraxanthus scooped it up in his own palm and closed his eyes. Very soon, the roguish smile at the corner of his lips broke into a wide grin. “This is most interesting my Lady. This man…he actually went to all this trouble. I really am curious what he wants. Do you want me to pay him a visit?”

“I do. However, the realm he is in has lost all its potential. For a person who is willing to go to this extent…I want to know what interesting histories he’ll wrought in a realm where he can spread his wings to the fullest.”

A sinister light played in the eyes of Hraxanthus. “Oh? Looks like my Lady is considering him as her champion? Isn’t he too insignificant for that title?”

The female scoffed at his words and her demeanor became aloof. “Don’t make ridiculous assumptions! I thought you’d like the opportunity to partake in a little project, that’s all. Feel free to dispose him off if you like, my interest in him is no more. You can take your leave now.” The last sentence, though merely a statement, had enough steel in it that Hraxanthus knew his time was up. Without wasting any more words that could potentially land him in trouble he should avoid, he gave her a devout bow and vanished from the realm. As soon as he was gone, the feature’s of the female regained its original tranquility and she resumed her mournful gaze at the horizon.

[In yet another realm, also beyond mortal cognition…]

Hraxanthus materialized at the top of a desolate mountain peak. It was an austere structure, devoid of any signs of life. Surrounding the peak, as far as eyes could go, stood countless similar peaks, all shorter in height than the one he was on. Each individual peak was jagged, uneven and had varying contour. Together, however, all of them formed a unique sense of uniformity. Hraxanthus sat cross-legged on the stony floor. The orb floated in air in front of him. A sneer formed on his perfect face.

“Pretentious harlot. Don’t worry, I’m nothing if not patient. I’ll be your errand boy, your loyal lackey for now. I’ll savour the look in your eyes on the day you turn back and see none of your followers willing to subjugate their will to your whims. That will be the day when I erase your existence forever. Even gods fall, Neimatria.”

The sneer disappeared, replaced by a curious and eager look. “Thank you for this project Neimatria. I’ll bring this ‘pet’ of yours to heights you never would have deemed possible. Just you wait.” Hraxanthus closed his eyes and opened his mouth.

The orb flew straight in, settling near his diaphragm after coursing down his body in a leisurely pace. A feeling of comfort soon enveloped all of his senses. Emotions that he hadn’t witnessed in centuries flooded through him like irrepressible waves of a raging sea. It was a rush unlike all else. He reveled in it, and wanted it to never end. But end it did, way too soon for his taste. When he opened his eyes, Hraxanthus, for the first time, and only for a fleeting second, envied the human race. He let out a sigh and the feeling was gone in an instant, as if it never existed.

Hraxanthus looked up at the sky. The colour of this sky was a stark contrast to the other realm - It was an endless expanse of fiery yellow with orange tint in some places. “Scott Degen. Let’s hear your wish.” He whispered. And then disappeared once again from the peak, leaving behind a small, cloudy pearl on the spot where he was sitting.