For a moment. The lowest unit of time possible, briefer than a blink of an eye. Faster than a strike of lightning, and the flap of a fly's wing. A shock wave exploded, and the path of the untamed power left everything still. Frozen in time. Then just as fast as the sudden stillness came, it went. Not many knew of its passing. Not even the wind or water, with their ever going movement. Gods, Lords, Devils or Demons. Mimir and his all-knowledge didn’t know of the event.

For those that did feel the impossible pulse of nothing, few still knew what it meant. What was just born. The Fates knew. They foresaw it in their twisted divination of string. Nature beings felt the new coming. Malar, Chateau, The old-father mainly. Lessers merely having their perception fall onto the gravity of destiny and unanswered questions.

He knew. It was in his domain after all.

Deep in Sectio, far from life. Deeper than the dwarves dug, far past the dark-elves and the under-gnomes. Where even the Atla didn't reside. Not even death could be found, because its opposite and brother couldn't be found either. He long ago excavated a room. Simple and spartan besides for the big, extravagant throne made out of yellowed bone. It looked jagged, roughly made and largely uncomfortable. But still, he sat in it. He had no choice.

When the wave passed him. His old eyes opened. The first time in decades. Black, colorless his stare was. He waved a finger, and the gathered dust in his room disappeared in an instant as a torch roared to life.

He twisted his head up to listen. Then confusion settled in. “Hmm.” He grunted. Air shivered in anguish as a black tear formed. In and beyond the forced opening was a space devoid of light and that demolished any that entered it. The old man shoved his hand in the void and slowly pulled out a large scythe. Using its haft for leverage he stood. As he righted himself, large cracks from his joints physically vibrated him. “I'm too old for this shit.”

Another has been born. The next one. The wrathful one

***

He had traveled far. Past many civilizations and continents only ruled by apex beasts. The slight tug at the back of his brain was the only compass he owned. With the others, he had a soft cry or even heartbeat for guidance. But neither was present in his ears.

He finally ended on the edges of the Enish. A section separated by a large natural barrier and an impossibly vast ocean. A deep gash in the earth dipped to the point where a glow bubbled from the depths. With its edges straight and ends pointed, it looked as if an unfathomably colossal giant struck Sectio in anger. Mountains rouse as the tectonic plates beneath Enish cried from the pressure of the titanic blow.

This land was further divided by politics and nations of opposing sides. The first to the west, in the mountain range of the Gash. Second and third divided equally from north and south. The pull in his mind pulsed and strengthened. He stopped, looked down. Past the clouds onto a large house. No. It was a palace surrounded by high walls further guarded by a city and hugged close to a large tree. So tall and thick that its top reached that of mountains and covered the sprawling capital

The old man grunted. A black rip in the fabric of Sectio formed beneath him. In moments he was in a lavish room, all the furniture made out of a gray wood. The candles long ago extinguished. Shades pushed open to allow a light white glow to cling to a cradle. It was big, and eloquently carved out of a tree stump.

He floated over the newborn. Consternation landed on his face. The child was silent and odd. Terribly so. Some were born with the lack of tears, but this one, was beyond the stillness of sound. It had no natural fat of newborns, gaunt and light gray skin. Deathly. Its eyes weren't there. Just open sockets of flesh. Skinny arms and legs with a visible rib cage.

Was he too late? Was it already dead? A sick joke of The Fates? A premature death so re-birth couldn't be faced.

The baby's head twisted and looked at him. As if it knew he was there, no, knew who he was. The old man's eyebrows arched in concern. He closed his eyes, and delved back into his realm. A black, endless sea of void. Vetamor

Across from him was a man. Covered and outlined in a thick mist. The old man gasped and fled back to Sectio. He tried to escape further as a large tear was formed.

As a large rumble of hunger shook the room. He knew he was too late. Visible tendrils of black power were leached off the old man, each coming to an epicenter above the baby. When the siphoning stopped the old man stumbled back and gasped in agony as shocks of pain pulsed inside. His chunk of Vetamor, nestled in his brain, shrunk. Not hesitating, the old man ripped the space below him and fell in.

Above the baby the dark power congealed into a dark, oblong rock. It fell and nestled itself into a vacant eye socket. Veins around the eye permanently turned black. A soft, barely audible giggle escaped from the child's mouth.

***

The woods acted like its master. Wild, untamed, and ferocious. Tall and wicked trees with barbed spikes twisted to sick points. The underbrush was just as pain inducing as everything else. Sick and unnatural animals plagued the forest. All of them mixed and mashed painfully together with other animals to maximize lethality.

The old man stood. Out of choices and angry. At least, in this realm, he wasn’t unwelcome. Neither his power nor will was rebuffed from this place. But nothing was certain.

A large growl sounded from behind. The old man turned and saw an ugly creature. The length and dimensions of a monkey. Chest covered in black scales and a tail that followed suit with an entangling end. Legs leather like and hairless, with feet that had the claws of a sloth Arms furred to the fingers. The hair gray with a white undercoat. Its head was oddly human and had pointed elven ears. But the color of their skin was a deep orange. It, the creature, the god, smiled. The teeth were long and large, yellowed with old flecks of dried blood covering it. “A deal? You want? A death beast, we seek?”