Yuri woke to see a blank cavern above.

He struggled to the sitting position and saw Sonovia, Shyme, and Charon already up. They were looking at the temple gate embedded into the stone wall. The walls were plain, deeply colored rock, ‌created from the countless natural cycles. The temple, on the other hand, was a pure man-made structure of matted black metal joined to form an entrance leading to pitch blackness.

“Where are we,” Yuri asked.

“The White Tower’s biggest secret,” Shyme answered. “The Ancients didn’t seal anything inside the tower, but below it.” the wolf-girl frowned. “I am more concerned about what attacked us.”

“It is a Reverse Beast,” Sonovia said. “A type I have never seen before. From the first impression, I guess it is a speed-type.”

It was then Charon raised a question.

“Should we go in?” asked the maid with fiery orange hair, pointing to the entrance of doom.

“No,” Yuri immediately answered.

“Yes,” Shyme and Sonovia, in a rare moment of unity, overruled the puny porter.

“Why?” Yuri asked Shyme, while pointing to the creepy gates. “That thing is suspicious as hell. Shouldn’t we wait for reinforcement.”

It was Sonovia who harshly browbeaten Yuri into compliance, “Because the reinforcement will take forever to get here!” She shouted at him some more. “The bitching Elf was nowhere here, which meant she probably already entered through that gate! This is a competition. Is that concept alien to your puny planet!?”

Yuri gulped. He almost convinced Sonovia was going to kill him.

Upon making the point clear to the pygmy, Sonovia turned to Shyme, “I know we don’t get along, Enma.” She paused, looking into Shyme Enma’s eyes. “But I won’t suffer the indignity of Lucian Drakokia having another political victory.”

Sonovia offered her head.

“Agreed,” Shyme shook the hand offered. “Alliance?”

“Yes,” Sonovia confirmed, fermenting her agreement. “Until we catch up to the Elf.”

Yuri looked at the ceasefire, feeling like a mushroom.

…

Sonovia was wrong.

Serenade Asmodella didn’t make her way into the temple gate. The elf was many things, but reckless wasn’t one of them. The separation happened when the floor crumbled, and the Reverse Beast descended. Unlike normal monsters, the RB was a trans-dimensional horror, possessing the ability to fracture dimensional walls. Serenade and most of the expedition team, numbering eleven souls, fell into this crack.

Let’s say they weren’t the lucky ones.

…

Serenade and the rest of the team found herself in a misty cavern devoid of light.

As a Spirit Contractor, Serenade was incredibly sensitive to natural Mana, and this place was downright creepy. Hazy mist of icky darkness floated from below, while the claustrophobia-inducing ceiling pressed from the above. Serenade glanced around, absorbing the chilling wall of obsidian. Finally, her eyes focused at the center of the room.

There, at the center, was a pool of gloppy black soup, leaking with a malicious curse so potent it rotted Serenade’s mind with just a mere glance.

“Be careful,” the Elf said to the men and women around her. “Something is wrong here.” She activated her Quick-Equip and produced an ornate, well-varnished bow.

No later than the words leaving Serenade’s mouth, the armored RB with insect wings slammed into the pool, shocking the expedition team. Upon its arrival, the pool bubbled. Wells of negativity collided as waves of black muck rose into a curtain. And from the drape of black mud, countless grotesque, child-size creatures emerged.

Those creatures resembled a porcelain-pale humanoid with an abnormally large, bulby head of a haunted baby. A black butterfly wing kept these horrors floating in the air. To round the final horror score, the creatures opened their mouths, revealing black, salivating teeth.

Serenade immediately knew she was in the middle of a crisis. The pink-haired Elf summoned her Spirit, Lestrade, a mighty bird of winds. She nocked the arrow of winds.

“Everyone, battle-station!” Serenade screamed as the armored monster rose from the curtain of black mud.

…

While Serenade fought for her life, Shyme’s group found themselves in another room after they walked to the black gate.

Unlike the dark cavern, this room was wide and lively—a vast meadow beneath the blue sky. Square metallic columns, carved with the Ancient's tongue, dotted the grassy field. Similar metallic tiles randomly scattered on the earth nearby a worn road.

But the most striking fact of all was they weren’t alone.

A man younger than twenty stood among the meadow and turned to meet them. He was dashing with his dark hair, olive-green suit, a matching trouser and black shirt with the top button undone. A wire-frame glasses rested on his face. His eyes, deep and dark like a bottomless well, scanned each of them. He looked like a perfectly ordinary salesman or banker.

Yuri didn’t know who the man was, but he knew it was a big deal, because everyone else was flabbergasted.

Sonovia’s mouth hung open like a goldfish. Charon’s entire body tensed. The greatest reaction was Shyme, who immediately conjured a ruby topped magical staff into her sweating palm and pointed it at the stranger.

“A surprise,” the man said, unconcerned with the hostile reaction. “But not an unwelcome one.” The man’s voice was neutral, rough but not grating. “The 33 Egotists return to have their ego smashed,” the man mused. “But I have to ask this. How many of you are left now? I lost count after Balos Aurorin retired after losing the Hidden Vault Showdown. I remember Sun Senwei was comatose, Chandra Tianshang disappeared and Cytortia presumed dead.” He suddenly realized he dropped a notch too low. “I’m sorry,” the man apologized to Shyme. “We might have grudges, but I have nothing but respect for Cytortia. It must be hard to lose your only friend.”

Shyme didn’t accept the apology. “You killed her,” said the wolf-girl. “She died in the Venistalis Incident.”

“I never did,” the young man in suit replied. “To be honest, I believe Cytortia is hiding under the radar, but I understand you have every right to hate me.” The man shrugged. “After all, I nearly killed you.”

“How nice of you to exclude yourself out of the 33 Stars’ roster,” Sonovia growled and summoned her human-size bastard sword meant for fighting dragons. “We did kick you from the list in the worst possible way.”

The suit defended his position, “To be fair, I kicked myself from the list.”

Charon groaned, “That is‌ a twisted way to hand in a resignation.”

Yuri scratched his blond hair and pointed toward the suit. “Okay,” he asked Charon, “who is that? Am I supposed to know him? He literally came out of nowhere.”

“Remember the story I told you last night,” answered the flaming hair maid. “That,” she pointed at the suited man, “is the Orwell-fucking-Mehest. He’s the guy who started the Venistalis Incident, killed about a million people in a week, and nearly broke the Grand Empire.”

“Quite a colorful introduction,” said Orwell-fucking-Mehest. “But you aren’t wrong.”

Yuri’s mind bricked. The suited dude who would blend into a book convention was the mass murderer of this century? This was the crippler of nations, the mage of doom? Where was the bearded Saruman on top of the creepy tower, hurling lightning from his staff. Yuri originally imagined Orwell as an unhinged archmage — an uber Lord Voldemort haunting the nightmare of the SCA — not a lanky, pleasant guy who might invite him for a chat about astrophysics.

Not sharing the fear displayed by Shyme and Charon, Sonovia immediately brandished her humongous sword. “I see this as an excellent opportunity,” said Sonovia. “Sorry, Orwell, but I need to salvage the Seven Continental Alliance’s reputation. I always want to know why those old farts claim an Enma whelp of all people defeat you despite the humiliation.”

Shyme’s face twitched. “Be careful,” she warned her temporary allies. “Orwell is stronger than you know.”

Yuri agreed. Shyme was trembling, trying to suppress the animal’s instinct to run away.

“Peril of youth,” Orwell exhaled. “I have to warn you, Shyme. Chronicler wasn’t here to rescue you again.”

“Shut up, Orwell,” Shyme growled at the mention of her hero.

…

As one battle was about to start, another concluded.

Body-parts and blood scattered like slaughterers’ show-and-tell. The gory remains remained from Serenade Asmodella and her team’s brief stand. Like vultures, the pale, chattering monster was feasting upon the corpses. They laughed as they crunch the upon bones and fleshes like children enjoying candies.

Fear, wrath, terror and dread, ‌these emotions rose and extinguished under the raw tide of the jeering monsters.

The armored knight watched its fellow scion of evil dined upon the corpse of the innocents, its eyes focused on a greater prize.

A limping Elf hung from its hand, still holding the broken piece of wood that used to be her bow. Serenade Asmodella’s graceful and stylistic clothes were reduced into a torn, blood-soaked strap of leathers and fabrics from the one side beating she suffered. Her body spasm, a final sign of life from a woman who should be dead. Blood trickled from her broken lips. Light no longer reflected in the murky eyes, inside them the hope to see the morning no longer existed.

The tongue of the monster licked across the Serenade’s face, and she could only twitch a few fingers as her final resistance.

The monster bared its teeth, but instead of devouring the Elf, it tossed her into the pool of black muck.

Serenade Asmodella sank beneath the soup of darkness like a log. Her eyes filled with shattered hope, will no longer have the strength to grieve, and darkness took her.