A new kind of warfare was being waged in the depths of the earth. He watched as his allies, druid and knight alike, were popped from afar by glowing jets of mystic power. At Alric’s side, Sigmund was desperately tending to a Thestor named Lincoln who had his arm blown off by a Clthic bolt. The injured knight screamed in pain while more projectiles soared over their heads, detonating the ground and spilling molten matter about.

They were almost at the foot of the Pale Spire. From here, it seemed to stretch upward into eternity.

“Canst thou deliver him?!” Alric roared after the commotion.

Sigmund had applied faerie tears to the injury and was in the process of dressing the wound. “Aye! But he can fight no more!”

Alric peered out from the metal barricade he and Sigmund were crouched behind. Quickly approaching were those faceless soldiers; the Ebon Cultists. At least three of them were striding through the waves of fire unleashed by the druids. Thrysteen bolts did nothing to their chitin, but well-placed rython shots appeared to be able to damage them. Unfortunately for Alric, he didn’t have a rython.

As one of the Ebon Cultists fired its own thrysteen at a pack of Grue Ko’an, Alric curled his lower lip inward. The only time Alric had ever seen one destroyed was when Carthei straddled one like a bull, jammed her staff into its neck and blew its insides apart. The armour may be indestructible, but like a man in full plate, the innards were not.

The Thestor lowered his shield onto the ground, flipped open his visor, then took up his staff with both hands. He sucked in the deepest breath he could. Then, he swung to the side of the barricade, thrysteen at the ready. Alric had his cheek pressed against the base of the staff so that his gaze ran along its surface. He fired.

The bolt veered off, missing the Cultist completely. Again. It skimmed along the ground, leaving behind a smear of charred material. Once more. It struck the invulnerable armour, fizzling into dust. With this successful hit, the Ebon Cultist spun on its heels and sent its gaze onto Alric.

His heart pounding, Alric held his breath as he fired one more time. The line of light drew forth from his weapon and speared into the Cultist’s knee. For whatever reason it was not without effect. aperhaps the way it walked exposed the joint within. The Cultist’s knee folded sideways and it collapsed under its immense weight. It slammed into the ground, throwing a cloud of dust into the air.

Alric watched as one of the other Cultists vanished in a fiery explosion; the detonation of a kerst seed. The Clthic Nuns volleyed bolts from defensive positions at a stairwell by the side of the Pale Spire. The stairs were skeletal in nature, almost like scaffolding except they were fashioned from metal of some variety.

Suddenly, a smoke trail hurtled over from the Clthic position. Alric’s vision quaked violently, but he heard nothing. When he glanced down, he saw blood, bone, and innards splashed over his body. Trembling, he turned to his right.

Where Sigmund and Lincoln sat only a moment before was nothing but a puddle of mashed body parts. A torso, the armour blown apart and the meat underneath riddled with tiny holes, flopped pathetically by Alric’s knee. There was no telling who exactly it belonged to. All there was to know was that Sigmund and Lincoln were dead. And somehow, for some reason, the Lord had chosen to spare Alric from that same grizzly fate.

Alric swallowed as he snatched his shield from the ground and lowered his visor. Lord, may thou accept the lives of Sigmund and Lincoln, faithful stewards of thy word. May they continue eternally in paradise as recompense for their servitude.

The Thestor exploded to his feet, mounting the barricade and throwing himself over it. The Cultist that he felled was still firing from its prone position. With lethal efficiency, it struck and killed with a single shot the kerst wielder who killed its comrade. Like at the Battle of Threshfield, Alric’s eyes were assaulted by webs of light, intersecting beams of white-hot magic, as he sprinted across the field of death. He closed in on the fallen Cultist, lowered his thrysteen and fired. The bolt sliced into the creature’s neck, clearly a place lacking in protection. Its eyes went dark and its body limp.

Before he had time to relish his victory over the beast, an indescribable pain seeped over his face. His left hand was swallowed by unbearable heat, forcing him to release his shield. The object was entirely swallowed by fire and roasting. One of the witches must have struck true with their staff. Without his shield, Alric now only had the unzym upon his plate armour to save him from the enemy.

Not exactly watching where he was going, Alric barged straight into a wall. He slid down against it, shaking his head. The building had deep gouges melted into it. On the ground right there, next to the decapitated body of a Grue Ko’an, was a kerst. Without hesitation, Alric slung his thrysteen onto his back and seized the massive weapon. It was incredibly heavy, at least thirty pounds. He heaved it up and plonked it onto his shoulder where it sat uncomfortably on his pauldron.

He spun from cover, took aim at the last Ebon Cultist, and squeezed the arming key as he braced for the heavy staff’s kick. It never came. Instead, a jet of smoke poured out from the end of the kerst and its projectile hurtled effortlessly out of the tip. It hit the Cultist directly in the torso, reducing it to a cloud steadily raining bones and organs.

Before he slunk back to safety, Alric turned to the last cluster of Nuns by the stairwell. He repeated his previous attack. The cylindrical missile soared through the air, bathing the dim surroundings with yellow light. When it impacted against the ground, everything fell silent. Only the pitter patter of settling debris could be heard.

Alric desperately searched the battlefield for any sign of his comrades. Surely, Matvey emerged from behind a decimated building, clutching his ribs. Vontross and Carthei cautiously moved up. Two Thestors named Harvald and Petar, and a single Grue Ko’an named Zressi were all that were left of their original numbers of approximately twenty each. Alric had to assume that Lorenz was dead. He shook his head.

Together, in silence, the allies grouped together and made their way to the Pale Spire’s stairwell. As they walked, Matvey stuck a pair of tweezers into the wound on his torso. Alric gagged as he listened to the squelching the followed as the Correntis was forced to once again mend himself. Whatever hit him pierced his brigandine as if it were made of parchment. Perhaps a rython seed judging from how he wasn’t dead.

The skeletal staircase zig-zagged back and forth as it wound its way upward. At the very top it traced a bridge across thin air over to the entrance of the Pale Spire.

Alric told himself not to look down as he crossed, but like with many things, the temptation was too great. The surface of the bridge was skeletal as well. He first looked at his blood-stained sabatons, then the bridge, then beyond. They must have been at least five storeys up. Alric’s stomach twisted and writhed inside of him. He fought the urge to vomit, sent his eyes up, then moved on.

The Pale Spire’s entryway was much like the great gate in how it was controlled. In terms of size, it was definitely not as impressive; perhaps no larger than any regular door, only circular in shape. It took Carthei a moment to work on the nearby glyph tablet and the peculiar door opened, swinging inward.

The six survivors entered the Pale Spire. There were no dirty footprints scattered across the floor, indicating that the Clthics did not manage to enter before they were all destroyed. Alric was overcome with a bizarre feeling. The circular room…it looked as if there were pieces of furniture on the walls. After shaking his head and conducting a double take, Alric’s instincts were correct. There were tables, chairs, shelves, and cabinets fixed to the outer wall of the tower. Alric ran a hand down his face in disbelief.

In the centre of the room was a thick column. Inside the column was a ladder that led up or down to other floors of the tower.

Alric drifted to one corner of the room, Matvey close behind him, as the others scattered about, each inspecting different elements of the chamber. A glyph tablet was mounted on a table fixed to the wall. Alric reached for it and realised that the tablet was on a joint of some kind. He twisted it so that the characters were right-side up from his perspective. Once again, he was confronted by words he didn’t necessarily understand.

>J.A.C HERA XII- CRITICAL FAILURE- MISSION ABORT

>NETWORK CONNECTION FAILURE- LOCAL DRIVES ONLY

>SATLINK FAILURE- LAUNCH TELEMETRY UNAVAILABLE

[PAYLOAD ITINERARY]

[CARGO MANIFEST]

[CREW MANIFEST]

[CREW PERSONAL SERVERS]

Recalling how Carthei operated these, Alric simply copied what she did. He picked one series of letters, one that read ‘PAYLOAD ITINERARY’, and tapped it. Like magic, the glyphs upon the screen changed entirely.

Alric and Matvey didn’t pay any attention to the words that flowed onto the screen. They were only concerned with the image that accompanied it. By the grace of God…

It was the Pillar, in all of its infinite beauty. It was so lifelike, as if someone had plucked the very image of it out of their heads and placed it upon this tablet. All of its twirling sinews coalesced as it reached up into the heavens. Just like how Alric remembered it looking the last time he had taken pilgrimage to it. “B-Brother…this is a holy place…” muttered Alric.

Matvey swallowed. “Then the Under…the arcane artefacts…they were all left here by God?”

What does this mean? The druids…the Mnem’non at least…do they also worship God, only they have mistaken him for something else? Father, please, explain this to me!

A commotion erupted at the other side of the room. Carthei was rambling to Vontross and Zressi. Alric jerked his head in that general direction. Together, he and Matvey converged on the druids. Carthei swiped and tapped away on a glyph tablet. This one had the images of many human silhouettes.

“What is the matter?” Alric asked.

Carthei, swallowing, shook her head. “It is a gift that we arrived here when we did. You must understand…Athroct’u is a cycle. It has happened before. This tower? It is a slumbering ground for those who have rotted the world in the last cycle. We cannot permit them to wake.”

Alric scoffed. “No, that cannot be true. Matvey and I witnessed something. This place carries the Sign of the Pillar. This is a holy place.”

Harvald and Petar gasped. They both peered over at the tablet that Alric had used and there, as clear as day, the Pillar still graced it.

“Perhaps…perhaps the slumbering ones also worship the Father, or…they are his angels,” Alric continued.

“Godslave, they are not what you think. They are your demons,” Carthei started. “They will emerge and they will bring about the End Times.”

Alric’s eyes widened. “The Clthics believe that these slumbering ones, holy or unholy, are our creators. Of the two choices, there is one that is unacceptable. I cannot believe that we are products of Hell. I cannot believe that we are destined for evil. I must insist that mankind was born of light.”

Vontross took a step forward. “Listen, Alric. This place has nothing to do with your God; he is not here. The beings here did not create you.”

Matvey added, “Be reasonable, my friends. What if…what if they are your gods, the Ethereals? Maybe they never left and were instead sealed away in this tomb? Would you commit deicide?”

For once, Alric welcomed Matvey’s open-mindedness. It had to help Carthei see that to pass judgement too early is wrong.

“That is precisely why we must act,” Carthei answered sombrely. “The Ethereals themselves brought on Athroct’u. We must not follow in their footsteps.”

“Please, this is…this is madness,” Alric pleaded. “Why else would the Pillar be projected here?”

Carthei rubbed the back of her head, clearly troubled. “In an effort to fool you. To trick you into unleashing the end,” she sighed and strode passed Alric, headed for the ladder in the centre of the room.

It happened so fast. Alric felt his heart pounding in his chest. Then he felt his hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger and blood oozing onto it. He glanced up and looked into Carthei’s eye as she wheezed. He pushed the dagger up to its cross guard into the side of her neck, gently grasping the back of her head. Tears welled in his eyes. “Forgive me.” He wrenched the dagger across Carthei’s throat, slitting it clean through.

A wordless, gut-wrenching scream escaped Vontross’ mouth.

For a moment, Alric felt as if he had left his body. Some incredible impact shook him out of his senses. For some time, he saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing, smelt nothing. First to return was his smell. Sizzling meat. Heated metal. Then feeling returned to him. Every inch of his body felt as if molten iron had been poured onto it. Last was his eyes. He saw trails of smoke tracing from his armour into the air, like a forest of ghostly trees winding and swirling as they grew. He blinked rapidly, and everything cleared up just in time for him to watch as Matvey, Petar, and Harvald set upon their two druid foes. Alric gathered that he must have been hit with a thrysteen bolt and thrown across the room.

Matvey wrestled with Vontross while Petar and Harvald had to combine their strength to take on Zressi.

Alric reached for his thrysteen, but found himself grasping at thin air. He saw it lying with his dagger by Carthei’s side as she bled to death. Alric fought the pain that ravaged his body and pushed to his feet. Vontross fired his thrysteen just as Matvey managed to push it away from him. The wayward bolt gutted Harvald. Matvey gained the upper hand, disarming Vontross and tackling him to the ground. Alric slammed down his visor, drew his longsword and charged at Zressi.

The Grue Ko’an combat fibres did not appear to be any more robust against a sharp blade than a well-made gambeson. Alric’s charging half-sword thrust aimed at Zressi’s mid-section tore through this textile layer and buried itself into his body. Pulling free, Alric watched as Petar threw himself onto the druid, plunging his dagger into the dying man’s throat.

Without warning, a thrysteen bolt pierced Petar’s plate and ended his life in a gruesome shower of gore. If he had not been hit during the skirmish with the Clthics, he would have survived.

Alric turned and saw Vontross with his Thrysteen in hand, Matvey struggling to remove the weapon from his grip once again. However, Vontross pulled one hand free, snatched his dagger from his belt, and sent it at Matvey’s face. The dagger’s blade passed through the sights of the Correntis’ helmet, slicing into his eye. Vontross pulled it out, then did it again. Matvey’s body shivered.

The Thestor sprinted for the Mnem’non, who struggled to push the armoured Matvey off of him. Just as Alric reached him, Vontross freed himself. Alric’s thrust missed, while Vontross’ found the inside of Alric’s leg. It was essentially exposed, protected by nothing but the hose Alric wore underneath to allow him to ride a horse.

The knight tumbled, dropping his longsword and falling onto Vontross. The dagger now plunged over and over into Alric’s armpit; with enough force, it was able to bypass the mail that covered the gap. Alric seized Vontross’ throat and squeezed. The dagger continued tearing up Alric’s side, but he did not relent.

Minutes passed. Vontross wheezed and gurgled, fruitlessly pounding against Alric’s armour with his other hand. His strength eventually waned so greatly that he could no longer push his dagger through Alric’s mail. Finally, Vontross’ final breath left his body and his muscles relented.

Alric clutched his bleeding armpit and he staggered upright. Tears streamed down his face and his lip quivered. The bodies of Matvey, Petar, Harvald, Vontross, and Zressi littered the room. Carthei lay near Alric’s feet, clutching at her throat, her eye widened as she stared up at him.

A knot of tension pulsated within his chest. His face crumpled, then the knight howled in despair.

Tears still soaking his face, he stumbled over to the tablet that Carthei was using. The top of the screen read:

‘CRYOGENIC STORAGE’

There were many silhouettes of human bodies, but they were all coloured red. Only one was green. When Alric glanced over to the ladder, there was text upon the wall that also read ‘CRYOGENIC STORAGE’, accompanied with an arrow pointing up.

Mounting and climbing the ladder was the hardest thing Alric had ever done. Countless times he almost lost his footing, but alas, he had purpose. This place held divine knowledge, it placed him closer to God than he had ever been before. He was not going to fail.

When he reached the cryogenic storage floor, Alric had to wipe the sweat from his forehead. His other hand was caked in his own blood. This room was also circular. But instead of the walls being covered by items of furniture, legions of sarcophagi lined the perimeter. They had clear lids…but it was plain to see that they were all empty. All but one.

Alric staggered over to it, growling in pain. As he drew closer, he saw ice encrusting the interior of the lid. He saw a shape in there…but anything else, he could not discern. At the sarcophagus’ side was another glyph tablet. This one bore one simple command:

[INITIATE THAW]

The Thestor sighed as he hunched over, relieved that it was something he could understand. He tapped the glyph.

Vapour rushed out of the sides of the coffin, urging Alric to take a few steps back. His heart raced as the lid rose, flooding the room with chilling air. It took a moment for the mist to fade, and when it did, Alric could not even comprehend what he was looking at.

It was horrifying. Its flesh was unlike anything Alric had ever seen before. The colour…it was sickening. It was not bright as skin should be, instead it was a dirty bronze. It was also mildly translucent, speckled with tiny blemishes, and covered with tiny near-invisible hairs. When his eyes drifted around, he realised that it had a woman’s features. He saw its rigid muscles tense through its bare skin. It was disgusting…like something was crawling about underneath. Alric gazed up at its face and watched it wrinkle in discomfort. Its brow had small rows of hair lining it…and It had a patch of matching short brown hair on the top of its head.

The creature grimaced as it gripped the side of the sarcophagus with one hand and rubbed its temple with the other.

Suddenly, the thing’s eyes sprung open. Much like all of the colour on it, it was much too warm. The irises were dark brown and the eye itself did not glow. It glistened…like it was wet. Alric felt his stomach convulsing. Whatever this thing was...it terrified him.