On the infinite nothingness, an elderly voice echoed:

“In the darkness, there isn’t time, there isn’t space, there isn’t emotion, there is only nothing, however, the place where even the darkest of creatures wouldn’t venture or better saying aside from a selected few, no one knows. This place that doesn't exist and was never told is your origin and is also your name. What is your name?”

“Mordread. Hm... to name what doesn't have a name, maybe was a mistake for you that never had anything? But thinking about is an irony, it isn't? because before your name you already have a ‘Legend’, you can see a gift of the world, if you so wish.”

“Sealed Deep under a mirror"

"Lies the other half of the Fate"

"However don’t matter how much the mirror shatter the Fate of they are but a reflection"

"Until either the last breath"

"Where meet The End”

“Have fun, also remember that the first impression is the most important.”

“Color the world with your own paint stroke…”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mordread regained his conscience, the memories in his head were fuzzy and fleeting. He knew that someone had talked to him before, but the more he thought about it, the less he remembered. He could only recall was that some time ago he was moving, going somewhere, when this... this elderly voice appeared, talking in half words and insulting his naming sense, but everything that just happened was blank. At a loss, he could only let out a tired sigh, and mumbled to himself:

“This isn’t even the beginning and I feel tired already…”

He looked around and waited patiently while the ethereal colors jumped and danced around him. However, no matter how long he waited nothing changed, the whole space around him was always the same experimental canvas of colors and tones, where the only constant is the ever-changing random mixes and compositions of colors floating around in a vaguely logical pattern, filling the whole space, but otherwise uncaring for Mordread’s presence.

When he raised his hand and "touch" the color, they freeze and a world pass would open, with it vague base is hidden on the colors that form. But Mordread wasn't impressed, the forms are always beautiful but lacking in something that himself couldn't put a word, his mind wanders on what meaning of his action was to find this, without much attention of the sweet calls that each time he "touch" offer, a small glimpse of their wonders.

Until, the wonderous of the sight in front of him. That stood out from the rest, as even though the colors are still like always, at their very border of each 'color cell' the illusion of the colors slowly sliding as if a very thick liquid was gently dripping out, and this effect wasn't more clear than on the white ring at the very center of the 'canvas'. In fact, was part of a three composed piece, a chalice-shaped black shadow with a light cloud of colors filling the rest of the space around. The central ring was filled with a pure black while the borders the golden red like a mix of radiant flames and dripping blood, slowly moved in the line that created in the middle, dividing one hemisphere, of the 'chalice', that was in fact made out of colorful but waterly dark shades of iridescent colors outside, as if was dark chalice inlaid in this multi-colored moss. At the edgy, the pale colors give space for dreamy clouds of colorful fume that seen to both drifts toward and apart of each other mixing and separating. While the only clear line is the division between the 'chalice' and the 'cloud edgy' in a smooth curved line and the white ring and the black center.

The special qualities of this 'canvas' were beyond its composition. Everything is surrounded by this gold, gray and black colors, giving instead of the usual reliable sensation of what is about, an unspeakable unsettled feeling. What is know is that there are many conflicts happened everywhere, be the fierce splashes on the center or the “calm” assimilation at the borders, there isn’t a main motive like the others canvas, no great fight us versus then, no great apocalyptic threat, no cultivation to nirvana. And neither have a deciding factor or main way of life, Mordread can feel the golden desire, the bloodbath conflict, and even the peace-loving cooperation just inches apart. Was this moment that struck him, it was way past the couple of seconds that he normally had before sinking on the painting, but even now still fine on the surface.

With a frowned face Mordread, decide to push forward, only to find under the gelatinous layer, a conflicting feeling of touching a hard crystal barrier and thin plastic film. Unknowing to him he was using more and more strength, but like trying to swim in a very dense liquid the crystal refused to let him past that point, was for a moment but he feels the 'crystal film' stretch under the pressure of his fingertips, and absorbed by the progress he hasn't noted that almost all his arm was already sucked inside the dead center of the black and white circle. Until it popped like a bubble, a distant shattered glass could be heard, and like waking up from an illusion he noticed his surroundings, everything was black and breaking the logic become dark darker, yet darker, his mind freeze at the same time the scream of a thousand nails on boards resounded like a mocking laugh in his ears, the horrifying situation prompted him to hold his breath and luckily he had done.

Because, soon he was feeling as if was drowning in this black ink, his non-existing body become heavier and heavier, while the ink become even more dense, before he could even struggle he feel his hand broke through something above him, the force that was around was gone, and he with a clear objective he tried everything to get to wherever it was.