CHAPTER 1: The assent
Chapter one. Glacial Terror
The alchemist stared up at the glacier and sighed. Several people from his order had died attempting this; if he died, another would take his place. Rubbing his hands together as the icy wind bit into his face, he slowly started to ascend. Progress was slow, but he managed to keep pace. As the day passed, the sun's rays shone through the ancient ice, giving off a blueish glow. Removing his glove, he touched the smooth surface, smiling. Taking his blade, he chipped a piece of ice and tasted it. This old ice was all that remained untainted from before the world died. The ice tasted clean and without pollutants. This new sensation filled him with resolve, and he continued on.
On top of the mountain was said to have the old ruins that the locals called the oracle. His order believed there was enough evidence of its existence to risk sending people out to find it. The order was small, so losing his brothers on this mountain had cost them dearly. The Alchemist’s only records of the Oracle were old and confusing. It was either some spring of magic welling to the surface. Or one of the remaining mechanical abominations that still stalked the earth. Either way, it was his order's last hope of finding answers. The old bindings that kept the world in check were beginning to fail.
So much knowledge had been lost, and his order was the last caretaker of the world's knowledge. In desperation, they had looked for other groups in hopes of aligning themselves, but all that had been fruitless. They could see what was happening to the world, and it appeared no one else could, so the order had sent out its members one after another in a vain attempt to reach the Oracle.
When his time came, he had set out. The journey had taken weeks, and his sense of unease grew with the sight of the mountains in the distance. On the final day, the settlement at the glacier's base appeared. As he walked into the settlement, the people kept their distance. The people would have been easily missed if one had not paid attention. They blended into their surroundings with their painted skin, the pale blue color of the ice. They were a very secretive people, making a living harvesting and selling the clean ice above to those wealthy enough to buy it. They had the last reserve of anything still clean and untainted. To the foolish, they all looked malnourished and weak. But the Alchemist could see their hidden hardiness. Living here and resisting outside forces had made them tough and formidable. But even these strange mountain people had shied away from an Alchemist.
Chewing on a piece of dried meat, the Alchemist sighed. Three long days and sleepless nights were starting to take their toll. Since leaving the settlement, he could not risk sleeping. But resting wasn’t an option for fear of freezing to death or being taken by the darkness that lived in the deep crevices. He had seen them in the distance a time or two, and they filled him with absolute terror. The creatures were like fluid smoke sliding out of the darkness and engulfing its victim. The screams could be heard easily as the victims were slowly digested. In the chronicles he had read in preparation, he had briefly mentioned the creatures. But the critical part was that the creature's name had been ripped out. Names had power, and there were those that could harvest such power.
Suddenly, the terrain became much steeper and more treacherous. It was a maddening several hours of going a short distance, then losing his footing and sliding back. Eventually, as the sun rose, he used his last reserve of energy. One last push-up, and he summited, collapsing in the snow.
CHAPTER 2: Spectral Meating
CHAPTER 2. In the shadowed heart of the ancient ruins, the priest of the elder creatures stood, his presence a solitary beacon amidst the crumbling stones. With whispered incantations and outstretched hands, he drew upon the arcane energies that slumbered in the forgotten depths. The air thrummed with a palpable power, crackling with an eldritch fervor as the priest wove his magic.
As the final syllables resonated through the desolate expanse, a rift in reality tore open, revealing a portal to another realm. Through it, the priest stepped, leaving behind the world of man for the mysteries that awaited beyond. The realm he entered was a nexus of swirling energies, where spectral currents coalesced, and shadows danced with a life of their own.
Guided by the arcane whispers, the priest ventured deeper, seeking the spirit of the crossroads, a fabled entity known to hold the keys to forbidden knowledge. In the ethereal twilight, he encountered the spirit, its form a shimmering enigma, at the convergence of unseen paths. With reverence and caution, the priest beseeched the spirit for the coveted insight he sought.
With the spirit's cryptic blessing, the priest turned to face the return journey, now fraught with even greater peril. He navigated through winding tunnels, their walls pulsing with an otherworldly energy. The air grew thick with the scent of ancient earth, and the distant echoes of forgotten whispers seemed to beckon him further into the labyrinthine depths.
With unwavering resolve, the priest pressed on, each step a deliberate stride toward the distant ruins on the mountain's pinnacle. The tunnels twisted and turned, their passages a maze of shadows and secrets. Yet, guided by the knowledge bestowed upon him, the priest emerged once more into the light. The power of the crossroads was now bound within him, a force that would shape the fate of worlds.
CHAPTER 3:
CHAPTER 3: In the somber expanse of his existence, the priest was abruptly wrenched back, a violent expulsion from an unknown realm. His body crumpled, lungs gasping for precious breath, only to meet the merciless embrace of the unyielding ground. Immobilized and forsaken, he became a captive audience to the savage onslaught of the elder things, grotesque apparitions that defied sanity itself. Their forms, grotesque and twisted, materialized in nightmarish splendor, etching indelible horror into the fibers of his being.
Paralyzed, the priest lay ensnared, his senses inundated by the suffocating presence of these abominable entities. They moved with a silent malevolence, assembling in the stygian recesses, forging their unholy pact with unerring purpose. It was a diabolic choreography, a dark symphony that resonated through the void. The priest's gaze was held captive by the nightmarish tableau that unfolded before him. Time seemed to stretch infinitely, a spectral tether binding him to this profane theater.
Through the interminable night, the priest's consciousness teetered on the precipice of madness; his very soul ensnared in the sordid dance of eldritch horrors. The dawn, that savior herald of light, was his only salvation, promising to sear away the malevolence that clung to his senses. With each tentative ray, the sun became his avenger, a celestial sword that rent the darkness asunder, banishing the grotesque specters that had sought to shroud his world in unfathomable terror.
CHAPTER 4:
CHAPTER 4: The alchemist lay sprawled amidst the ruins, his body, a tapestry of pain, woven by the secrets he had wrested from the universe. The knowledge came at a cost, and weakness clung to him like a malevolent specter. As the sun traced its arc across the desolation, he rose, a fragile puppet pulled by unseen strings. Relief flickered fleetingly as he realized an alternative route awaited, only to be extinguished by the looming realization of what lay ahead.
Stumbling down the remnants of an ancient road, the alchemist descended into the flatlands. The decaying path mirrored the degradation of forgotten civilizations. Night veiled the landscape, and at the crossroads, he paused. The intersecting route, a fusion of lost technology and cobblestone makeshift repairs, beckoned ominously. Dread enveloped him as he gazed down the road leading to the ruins of the city of the gods, the last vestige of an ancient realm.
At the threshold, he confronted the keeper, a mechanical semblance of a deity imprisoned within a glass case. Wired tendrils protruded from its decaying facade, and as the alchemist approached, it stirred. The mechanical guardian's gaze, void of empathy, fixated upon him. Unleashing a psychic onslaught, it dredged up all the horrors of that time long ago.
With desperate determination, the alchemist forged ahead, navigating the tunnel filled with dread as the keeper's psychic assault clawed at the recesses of his mind. Through sheer will, he emerged on the other side, breathless and battered, leaving behind the haunted echoes of a city that once cradled gods and now cradled only memories of a mechanical divinity unraveling in decay.
CHAPTER 5
Chapter 5. In the loathsome town, the alchemist moved through a landscape of wraith-like survivors, shadows of despair etched onto angry, soiled faces. All eyes averted as he traversed the desolation, a palpable memory of the day when he, consumed by a malevolent rage, had slaughtered those who sought to claim what was his. Pity, a sentiment he would typically extend, had evaporated that day, leaving only the haunting echoes of merciless carnage.
Suddenly halted on the barren grey streets, he sensed the faint tendrils of corruption and agony weaving through the air. The alchemist, drawn to the source, set forth with purpose, seeking the tendrils of the malevolence that plagued the town – perhaps the cultists who embodied its sinister essence. Approaching an aged manor, guards attempted to bar his path, but with a seamless motion, he unleashed his gift, igniting them in ethereal flames.
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6. The air within the manor house was thick with the acrid remnants of burnt flesh, a grim reminder of the confrontation that had transpired. Echoes of malevolence lingered in the emptiness, the torn floorboards exposing a gaping maw beneath. As the alchemist approached the edge, his gaze descended into an abyss, where a weathered stone spiral staircase wound its way into the bowels of the earth.
The stairwell bore the weight of ancient secrets, its stone adorned with grotesque carvings of eldritch horrors and cryptic runes. A shiver coursed through the alchemist as he recognized the telltale signs of a temple devoted to the old ones. This clandestine sanctuary had defied discovery even during the relentless purge of the scouring.
As he descended into the subterranean darkness, his alchemical eyes defied the encroaching gloom. The descent felt endless, challenging the very limits of possibility. Yet, with a steely resolve, he suppressed the tendrils of fear that sought to entangle his mind.
Upon reaching the unseen bottom, a peculiar silence enveloped him, where even his breath sounds were muffled, and the world seemed hushed. He ventured into a tunnel that awaited its oppressive energy, attempting to stifle him with an unseen force. The undeterred alchemist invoked forbidden incantations, pushing back the invisible resistance that sought to subdue him.
The tunnel, a winding passage fraught with malevolent forces, seemed to stretch into infinity—the dark energies pressed against him, a suffocating presence threatening to consume him. Sweat poured down his brow as he fervently chanted forbidden words, struggling against the relentless onslaught.
Finally, the tunnel relinquished its grip, and he stumbled into a vast expanse—a realm where the stench of ancient malevolence hung heavy in the air.
CHAPTER 7
Chapter 7. Stumbling into the cavern, the alchemist was awestruck by the vast expanse, dwarfing even the temple city within. A profound sense of despair washed over him as he grappled with the realization that this city, defying all beliefs, should not exist. The scouring, a monumental effort spanning 800 years, had united the world against the abominable elders.
Bodies burned, traces obliterated, yet this grandeur stood untouched.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his temple, the filth of the place causing his head to throb. Whispers of screams from the temple echoed through the Aether, dispelling his despair and reigniting the old rage within.
Striding toward the city, the alchemist witnessed the grotesque tableau of people bound, chained, and hung from ropes as cultists enacted their vile magics. Entering the temple complex's center, cultists took notice and attacked. He unsheathed his axe, cleaving through the first adversary. The ensuing battle was protracted, with death surrounding him by the end.
Examining a fallen cultist, he realized that the bones and ornamentation were not armor but the remains of a mutated, unrecognizable human.
The sound of chains dragged, diverting his attention. Gripping his axe, he waited as an 8-foot-tall monstrosity emerged, its smile revealing fangs filed down. The head priest's markings adorned its flesh, and without a preamble, it attacked.
The alchemist raged, teetering on the edge of losing himself as the battle extended into the day and night. Finally, the priest fell, eviscerated.
Standing over the creature, the alchemist spat in defiant contempt. He was a lone figure in the aftermath of a nightmarish clash.
CHAPTER 8: Carnival
Chapter 8 Sitting by his fire, stitching up the fresh injury from a demented cultist's slash; the alchemist cursed with each needle entry. Abruptly, the sound of bells sliced through the air, causing his eyes to widen as he hastily extinguished the flames with the water from his teapot.
Swiftly, he rose and concealed himself in the bushes, berating his recklessness for camping too close to the road. Suppressing his breath, he blended into the shadows while waiting for them.
A cascade of little silver bells heralded the arrival of an otherworldly spectacle - the eerie green glow of the carnival's torches in the fragment-long memories that weren't his. He recalled carnivals as joyful gatherings where parents would take their kids. The excitement and laughter from the children are like music all around you. Now carnivals were twisted by the blight that had befallen everything; they were to be avoided at all costs. Adults were taken for grisly feasts, and the souls of the children were stolen, leaving them as empty, wandering husks. The Alchemist always thought the kids were now lost because they could see beyond the veneer of the world that humans could sense.
She was leaving them open to the real world and the darkness that resided there.
The carnival's peculiar procession unfolded as the alchemist observed, hidden in the shadows. The fog-enshrouded them, and the green glow hinted at the soul-stealing flames.
They moved in spectral silence. The strange beings were twisted monster creatures pulling their carriages through the thick mist. They seemed to almost vanish, reappearing with the fog's ebb and flow.
The alchemist remained concealed, shaking long after the last trace of the carnival dissipated into the night. His only solace lay in knowing he was too far from anywhere to hear the people's screams. The carnival had come and gone, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness in the air, and the alchemist knew that the true terrors were the ones that lingered in the wake of the soul-stealers' passage.
CHAPTER 9:
CHAPTER 9: In the flickering firelight, the alchemist's muttered incantations blended with the ominous crackle of twigs consumed by the flames. Still haunted by the echoes of the night before, he wrestled with the weight of an insurmountable task, the shadows of what lay ahead dancing on the periphery of his consciousness. "Around," he whispered into the void, but time's relentless march denied him that luxury. The tunnel, a treacherous passage through the unknown, became his reluctant path.
A week of relentless travel led him to the entrance, a mere fracture in the cliff's facade.
His gaze fixated on the foreboding rock face, the gateway to an abyss of fear. Beside him was a towering metal square, its center divided like an ancient door whispering of forgotten technologies. Those who ventured through this passage emerged shattered, their forgotten voices and faces etched into their haunted minds. With his insight into the past, the alchemist deciphered the malevolence that dwelled within.
The petrified remains of colossal psychic beings, once explorers of the cosmos, now served as a macabre testament to cosmic cruelty. The ancient and malevolent elders had turned their attention to this backwater realm, driving the giants to madness and a gruesome demise. The twisted psychic energies lingered in the remains, a spectral trap that ensnared even the strongest minds.
The one he fore him was no secretion. Chats and blue robes, the cultists resided near the entrance, teetering on the edge of sanity. He approached the head priest, a sacrificial gift in his hands. Before he could speak, the priest's hand lashed out with frightening speed, drawing blood that dripped into a goblet, sealing his fate with a crimson oath. Allowed passage, the alchemist entered the eerie tunnel.
Not enveloped in pitch darkness, the passageway emitted a ghostly blue glow, illuminating his path through twisted echoes of the past. As he neared the remains of the first giant, his defenses kicked in, protecting him from the malevolence exuding from the skull. Psychic flashes assailed him, but he pressed forward, the twisted skeletons contorting with psychic screams that reverberated through his very soul.
Hours into the journey, exhaustion clawed at him, yet he persisted. As he approached a looming stone effigy, the world plunged into darkness.
Unconsciousness claimed him, the alchemist succumbing to the haunting embrace of the tunnel's secrets, his fate entwined with the twisted energies that danced in the shadows of the petrified giants.
CHAPTER 10:
Chapter 10 The alchemist awoke to a symphony of pain; his eyes adjusted, and he found himself face to face with a grotesque union of man and machine. It froze, holding a bloodied scalpel. Seizing a bone saw, the alchemist unleashed a ferocious assault, severing the creature's head in a dance of blood and sparks.
Surveying the room, horror gripped a macabre assembly line of machinery and human remains in piles or on rows of gurneys. The room was a twisted mockery of a once sacred space.
Tall walls lead to stone arch-supported vaulted ceilings. The open wounds with colored glass fragments spoke of a holy site, now tainted by the stench of decay and the echoes of assembly. A sizzling piece of the creature's mechanics drew his focus. It was pieces of humanity entwined with mechanical prosthetics into a grotesque fusion. The alchemist stood in silent contemplation, memories clawing at the edges of his consciousness, a puzzle held captive.
Light-headed and weakened, he finally took note of himself. The blood was still flowing from the incision. He stumbled around and found his pack thrown carelessly into a moldering pile of body parts and clothing. Grabbing a candle and lighting it, he laid his blade over it till it held the glow of heat. Tended to his wound, cauterizing it with the glowing blade, he gritted his teeth against the agony. He succumbed to unconsciousness, and. Collapsed. The sounds of meat and metal hitting the ground woke him.Several more of the abominations had entered.
The creatures moved stiffly and slowly as they went about their tasks. They made no sounds and seemed oblivious to everything but their tasks. He threw a glass vial, and as it shattered, the creatures gave no indication that they noticed. Realization struck him—the creatures were automatons, soulless marionettes governed by an unseen force. A sigil etched on their metal sternums brought memories flooding back, unlocking the secrets of a bygone horror.
The alchemist shivered; another layer of what he thought was real peeled off him and died.
CHAPTER 11
Chapter 11
Cold sweat flowed down his face as these mechanized horrors moved and went about their business. They shouldn’t be here immediately following the death of the clockmaker. All his puppets had dropped to the floor like marionettes having the strings cut. His long memory dragged the atrocities back at him. They had been this madman’s army. Mindless, unfeeling drones carrying out their master's orders. They moved so silently they could slip out of the shadows and take people dragging them away, never to be seen again. In the beginning, they moved through the countryside unseen. In the beginning, they only took a few people here and there, so no one noticed. The alchemist could only guess how long they had been snatching people before someone in his order discovered the automatons. The long-dead man’s memories came flooding into him. It was always painful; closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he let the memory flow through him.
It had been the stench that had caught the attention of the alchemist. The rotting remains of a human smelled different than animals. He had learned that in the war. The alchemist order had been a loose band of warders out on the fringes of society. The local governments left them alone, and in return, they policed the areas for the more esoteric problems a township might encounter. It had been a hundred years since the tuning that had collapsed society and made magic and other horrors real. Opening his senses wide, he immediately collapsed, wrenching on the ground. The stench had come from an unnatural origin. Whatever had transpired had been wrong.
Gaining his strength, he got to his feet and slowly reached its source. He came upon a covered wagon with no horses and no signs of a camp. Slowly, he walked over and opened a flap. His stomach tightened at the sight of the carved-up bodies. Sadly, in this age, this wasn’t that uncommon. Then he saw the smaller parts, the little hands. The rage almost took him until a spark of his humanity saved him. Justice, he thought, yes, that was the old word. If he incinerated the bodies, the creature that did this would disappear. Closing his eyes, he took several long, deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
It was hiding and waiting till he saw it. His eyes widened at the sight of the creature. It looked like someone had found the remains of an old mech fighter. Like the ones the old world had used. As it got closer, he saw it was part machine and part human. Like a horrid fusion, the creature had a human leg and a robotic one. Human and machine meshed together, forming its torso. Where its mouth should be was just a bundle of cables disappearing into his clothes. The human parts looked half-dead and rotting. It slowly walked, dragging several bodies tied with a rope. It simply harvested the bodies, throwing the pieces into its cart.
It moved to the front, and he grabbed the reins and pulled the carnage away. The alchemist pushed himself to follow. It never stopped or slowed for three days and nights till it came to an opening in the rock wall. It was hiding and watching as a new figure came out and barked orders at the automaton. As it began unloading its unholy harvest, the alchemist got a good look at the man. He was tall and gaunt. So thin and frail, the alchemist thought that a strong wind would blow him over. He wore black clothes and a top hat and walked with a cane. He looked like a wealthy man from the old city of man before its first Industrial Revolution. The man watched as its monster hauled its harvest into the cavern.
As the man turned to leave, it stopped, turned around, and looked directly at the alchemist. He smiled a sickly smile that never touched his eyes. Of dear little alchemist, you have found my abode; why don’t you come in for some tea? The alchemist had never been so scared. There were the esoteric horrors he dealt with every day, and he had never wavered. But this unnatural thing buried itself in his mind, terrifying him to his core. He started backing away, and as he did. The man laughed. Come now, won’t you join me? The alchemist managed to whisper who are you? Me, my dear friend, I am the clockmaker. One like you may be able to remind me of my old monicker as the ripper. But you can call me Jack. With that, the alchemist lost control of his bowels and ran. The predatory laughter that followed him spurred him on.
Snapping back to his current state, the alchemist stood breathing hard. Shaking his head, too many of the old nightmares are returning. The visions he received on the mountaintop gave him hope, but not much. His only hope was to make it to the placid lands. But that would take time. Grabbing his pack, he left the half-built and mutilated bodies behind. He left the old ruins and looked upon the clockmaker's old city. Parts seemed to be running again, and many automatons were doing their tasks. Careful at first out of fear of being spotted. He quickly realized no one was alive down here—just these soulless husks wandering around working on old commands.
As he made it to the city exit, he froze as that laugh could be heard again. But as quickly as it came, it stopped. Telling himself it's not the clockmaker but not believing it. He walked out into the open air. The sun felt good, warming him up. The first to make it through the tunnel alive and primarily intact
CHAPTER 12: The Dales
Chapter 12: The Dales
The tuning is what the scientists of old had called the effects of the primordial forces changing the world. Great abominations had arrived silently and without warning. The creatures had a moldy green and yellow color. Their size grew and shrank as their bodies molded and changed. Always wriggling and writhing that made people sick and disoriented. But the sound of the tuning stopped the hearts of man. They would sing out this lilting, haunting sound that would change the environment around them. With no visible mouths, the scientists were not even sure the singing was truly an audible phenomenon.
They would sing through the great cities of man, and the buildings would break down.
It was like smoke trapped in a glass and having the glass removed. There were no sounds of steel wrenching or concrete crumbling. They just dissipated into the air. Within a few days, most of the great cities were no more. But with their death came the birth of magic. The surviving scientists theorized people were harnessing the energy left over from the creatures' destruction.With civilization destroyed, and the people that could harness the magic; drunk on power, or insane. The creatures left as quietly as they arrived.
The powers that be tried to pick up the pieces and rebuild. At first, everyone tried to band together, but that quickly led to conflict, and people began fighting for resources. Most stayed with the scientists and surviving leaders.But others were lured in by the magicians, captivated by their budding magical abilities.In months, new villages were constructed, even with limited electricity and running water. As the abominations had destroyed the cities, the wilds of the land seemed to grow. Little forests overnight became ancient and overgrown. A dense fog settled in the dark undergrowth created by the interwoven branches of the forest. Villagers had tried to enter that dark world to forage. But those who entered never returned. Villagers hidden in their homes at night could hear their screams long into the night. But the magicians had been drawn to the woods. The fog embraced them as they entered.
Occasionally, the villagers would see the bands of the magicians. An unspoken truce between the two groups had developed. There was even some trading of goods and supplies. But over time, the interactions became less and less. Until the inevitable happened, and the truce was broken. A group of villagers had met with the magician's people. As they approached, the others gave no smiles or waves.The magician's people just sat on their mounts, looking down at them. One of them as they drew close enough to make out the others' faces. The magicians and the villagers this people's skin had turned ghostly white and grey. They all had cut symbols into their flesh. Stopping suddenly in fear, the magician's people took that as their cue and attached.Dragged to the village's outskirts, the magician's p eople killed and skinned them. Everyone in town helplessly watched as their friend was killed and then consumed. Without a word, the magician's people folded the skins, taking them as they left. The villagers mourned and buried what remained. Tears and anguish turned to anger and hate.
In retaliation, the villages banded together, hunting the magicians. Over the next several years, the villagers killed many. So effective were they that the magicians and their people became trapped in their forests. The last band had been killed right in front of the woods. Burned alive at the stake, their screams a warning to never enter the lands of men again. As the bodies burned, the fog in the woods was disturbed, and the warlord walked to the edge of the tree line.
He tilted his head as he watched before backing into the fog and disappearing again.
Over the next generation, the people of man knew peace and some prosperity, rejoicing in their belief that they had triumphed over the reborn world. That was until one night, the cultist appeared.
Chapter 13
Stopping at a crossroads, the alchemist sighed. Looking down the left fork as he rubbed his chin. He had been to this crossroads a few times in his travels. But he had never left partly because he had never had a reason to, but mostly, it was out of fear. The Dales, as it had been called in the early days after the tuning, was one of the first villages to fall to the rising horror. That in of itself was not what made it memorable.His order remembered it because it was the site of the first abomination.Closing his eyes, he forced the memories of the place to come to him. Quietly, he began chanting his forbidden words. The low, rhythmical chanting lulled his mind back into the memories of the long dead. The magicians started the wars and were almost killed as a result. The villagers, who still had guns and modern technology at the time, fought back. After the war, the surviving magicians became trapped in their little forests and began horrifying rituals.Cutting themselves, they used their blood as a conduit to the realms of the Elder powers.Calling upon them had been easy. But once the connection was made, it required more blood to maintain. Over many nights, the magicians burned their herbs and sacrificed their followers.As the blood flowed and the herbs inhaled, doors opened in their minds. They learned ancient lore and the most extreme forms of necromancy. Wholly intoxicated by this, they continued until they ran out of sacrifices or died from burning themselves out with their magic.
The surviving
Magicians emerged from the fog of the ritual as priests of the elder powers. Their souls had become tainted and twisted to an unrecognizable state. And on the day of their ascension, a soundless horn blew across the lands. Those still humans couldn't hear its low guttural tone, but the animals became agitated—the horrid screams from the animals as the horn blew terrified the villagers. Then, like some cosmic switch had been turned, the animals went silent, collapsing unconscious.As the world went silent, the priests took their first steps out Into the world of man. Expressionless and devoid of emotion, they were a frightening sight. Ashen grey of color with rotting skin around the edges of the symbols they had carved into their bodies. They could see, but their eyes had turned a milky white. The priest beside the Dales strolled to the village, unafraid and unarmed. The villagers were too shocked and afraid of what was happening to give any fight to this lone priest. They just watched as it slowly walked down the dirt road leading to them.It stopped a few yards from the city's gate.
Standing there, the priest bowed his head and began chanting. All the prone animals died, and their bodies shriveled and decayed to husks. As this happened, the priest's hands began to glow, and its chanting grew louder. Raising their hands, the villagers could see the glow move from their hands into the small object they had been holding. As the transference completed, the priest held open his hand, revealing an acorn. Glowing softly the priest held it and loudly exhaled. Then, suddenly, it violently slammed the acorn into the ground.
The Villagers began to scream in pain as their skin began to harden. Their limbs became ridged, and tree branches began to sprout from their bodies. Their bodies twisted as they writhed in pain. The branches became trunks, and their skin became brown and cracked. As their vocal cords petrified, the screaming stopped. Within a matter of hours, the villagers had been transformed into a melding of humans and trees. Some were rooted to the ground, and others still possessed the ability to walk. Those rooted to the ground continued growing until they entrapped the dales.
Gasping for air, the alchemist's eyes shot open. Dropping to his knees, he put his face in his hands. Of course, he had learned of the place, but to see it and feel it from the dead was another thing entirely. Weeping, he sat there long into the night.
CHAPTER 14
Walking down the old dirt road, trying to convince himself the forest was something he could handle. It had been dead for so long? But the pesky little voice in his mind reminded him that wasn't the case. Since the abomination happened, no one who entered had ever returned. There was a path that went around the forest, of course. But there was a mountain range he would have to traverse to accomplish this. Swearing to himself, he scratched his chin and forced himself to keep moving. The dirt road abruptly ended as soon as the old village gate came into view. As soon as he walked past, he was almost knocked over by some unseen force. The energy from the forest was like a sucker punch to the gut. It took a minute, but he collected and stared daggers at the woods. All this sheep shagging son of a bitch elder magic. It's always invisible! You would think someone would put up a sign, he grumbled.
Eyeing the village gate, I saw that it was in remarkable condition. The forest ended sharply at its threshold. The alchemist stopped, put his hand on the gate, and looked into the murky depths. The old village road was still there, making the journey through this place look easy. Then again, this forest was an elder thing. So, more likely, a trap or the forest had some lovely surprises in store for him.
Chanting the words of protection, he used his abilities to enhance his night sight. And with that, he pushed open the well-oiled gate. Almost immediately, the light from outside the tree canopy seemed to dim. It was like the dark and the light were battling, and the dark was winning. A bend in the road led him to a stand of old gnarled apple trees. He was starving but had to resist the urge to eat one. A glimmer of an old memory swam to the surface of his mind. He only got scraps of it, but he could remember bad things that happened to a power witch when she tried to take one. And something about red stone shoes. Or was it Rubies? Either way, the trees were tainted, so he moved on. With his enhanced eyes and the small amount of bioluminescent moss on the trees, he could see firsthand what had happened to the Villagers. They all had eventually become petrified and rooted to the ground. The villager's faces filled with anguish could be seen in many of the tree trunks. Others looked like trees with arms or legs sticking out. Others retained a twisted human form, with tree limbs growing out of them. They all had died horribly and slowly if they had ever been given the mercy to die at all. At what he guessed had been half a day, the forest's silence was murdered by a scream. The sound was like a very rusty screen door being violently opened.
Stopping still, he tried to listen for sounds of movement over the beating of his heart.
After a While, he continued, but the sounds of sticks breaking and other sounds made him feel like he was being watched. As the day ended, he could see no signs of the edge of the woods. The village turned forest simply could not have been this big. And with a cold and sudden clamping of his heart. He realized that there were far too many body trees.
Stopping for a drink of water, he closed his eyes and let the cool water refresh him. He had not seen any real dangers in here. Breathing deeply, he gathered his courage, and I believed he was okay and tried to let him. Opening his eyes again, he continued.
He heard a rhythmic sound very faintly out in the woods, and it began to get louder until, out in the murky blackness, there was a faint glow of light. Picking up his pace in hopes it was the edge of having to stop suddenly when another scream broke through to darkness. There was no the forest, he denying it—that was a person. Human.
The alchemist carefully approached the light and sounds until he came to the edge of a clearing. He was stopping in awe and horror at what lay ahead. In the middle of the clearing was a very tall blue marble pillar. The blue veins glowed in the moonlight. Towards the top was a pure black stone slab, like a balcony. Shivering in utter terror, he watched as what he could only describe as a human tree. Not all had died. Its skin was grey and brown, rough and riddled with cracks, just like a tree bark. The chanting below grew louder, and he noticed the creatures at the pillar's base for the first time. There were thousands of them. They were all like the first. Some looked more human, but most looked like grotesquely twisted human trees.
The chanting rose now, and he could make out the words.
It was an elder language. Not one he had ever heard, but something in him could understand the spirit of what was in said. The rhythm was too close to one he used for calming himself. And he found that he had to try not to fall under its spell. Helpless, he watched as a screaming human was taken and bound over to what he assumed was the high priest. Standing high above the other, it summoned its dark magics. With the now familiar scream, he watched as the priest ripped the soul from the person. It made no sound, but even from a distance, he could see it trying to scream as it was pulled into a small object in the priest's hands. Letting go of the human, it fell to the ground. Small creatures like rotting dog carcasses ran to the corpse and began feasting. The Alchemist's legs shook as he tried to maintain his sanity as his priest raised the same object in his hands. The alchemist voided sanity as his Bowles. He stared up and saw a softly glowing acorn.
It was the priest of old. That ancient evil was still king in these woods. The priest kissed the acorn, opened his palm, and let it fall to the ground. As it hit the ground, a new one of these creatures grew rapidly out of its shell, screaming and twisting as it grew.
It took hours, but its agony ended as it became fully grown. As the priest finished his ritual, it closed its eyes, tilted, and lowered its head. What courage the alchemist had its face to the sky. Then, he slowly clung to evaporate as he realized the priest was staring directly at him.
The alchemist turned and fled through the woods, desperately hoping to find his way back. A lone alarm, the sound of one blowing through a shell, called out from the dark and was picked up by many. Blinded by panic, he ran and didn't stop, his lungs beginning to burn. He hoped he was running in the right direction when he tripped on a root and fell to the ground.
Before he could rise, one of the abominations found him and charged at him. The alchemist used his best offensive magics instinctively. The abomination burst into flames. Picking himself up, he continued to run. More and more of the abominations found him and attacked. But the magic and combat training that had been beaten into him as a youth had saved him every time. But more and more were coming. The whole army seemed to have picked up his scent. Tripping again, he lay there, unable to breathe or get up. He could go no more and accepted his fate. He was closing his eyes and waiting for the horrors that were getting very close. His eyes flew open as the sound of flowing water entered his ears. Standing with his last remaining strength, he ran towards the sound. He abruptly stopped at a cliff edge. Far below, a raging river. Looking out, he could see the river flowing out of the forest a long way off.
Looking back, he saw that the first abominations had slowed to a walk. He could see no expression on their faces, but their drawn weapons Said all he needed. Another pair appeared on the other side. Looking back at the water, he chanted words to fortify his strength. As he spoke them, the abominations grew agitated and charged him. With nowhere else to go, he jumped. His last thoughts before he hit the water below were that they knew those words. Hitting the water was Ike hitting stone, and he lost consciousness. The abominations watched from the cliff edge as the alchemist's body rose to the surface and was swept down the river.
CHAPTER 15:
Beezel wandered through the stacks of books lost. He and his brother Magnor had made the library when they were young. But now? Time had seemed to have stolen their wits a little at a time. The two had fought off the Elder beings for so long. They had made the Earth shake with their furry. Poor old Beezel could not remember how to leave this grand gallery. This was one of hundreds of galleries. It was not the biggest but still miles long and wide. The roof was gilded and adorned with gold leaf and molding. But it had been many centuries since anyone had lit its lantern. So its beauty was obscured in the vaulted darkness 50ft above. They were wandering for days through the maze-like walkways between the towering bookshelves. He had tried to remember why this gallery was so important to him. The gallery triggered flashes of images, tempting the revelations to come forth. Flashes of an old battle with a creature so old it had made him seem a youth. It had been gigantic, with its shape and mass constantly changing and morphing. Hints of the final moment when he and the creature were about to clash faded from his mind like sands through one's fingers. And then he was alone again.
As he came to the end of the row of shelves, he tried to remember if it was left to the exit or the right. He noticed the old oxidized green brass location plates at the end of the shelves. He squinted, trying to read the old greenish oxidized metal. They had to implement this system after the 5th or 6th person got lost and died. Squinting at the plate on the wall, he scratched his head, feeling the growth of one of those damnable little flowers. With a sharp yank and a yelp, he ripped it out. He was grumbling to himself about the unforgiving nature of the Green Man. Sure, he thought, he keeps the world green with new life. But sleep with his sister one time and be constantly reminded of the blasted man's displeasure. He had hoped for the first few hundred years after that the curse would lift. Now, it was just another annoyance. He was scowling now at the plate, feeling the trickle of blood roll down his head. He suddenly snapped his fingers and smiled broadly. This was the hall dedicated to the terminal wars. With a big grin, he turned around and wandered off the way he came.
As he left, the gallery became silent. Specters had become trapped here after the great war. Slowly becoming corporeal, soundlessly, they wailed in the giant hall. They foolishly chose to stay with their beloved leaders after they had died. Feeling they could not leave poor Beezel and Magnus alone as they lay broken and bleeding on the ground. The pair had survived and carried on with their outstanding work. The specters had been so happy to see them survive that it took a while before they realized they were trapped and could not move on to their deserved resting place. Once this hall had been built, it had been like a beacon to them, and they all congregated here. But millennia after millennia, they had driven them made. The great hall dedicated to their sacrifice had become their prison.
As crotchety as old Beezel was, Magnus had become a happy old fool. Walking with his cane, he attempted to look at the shiny hoard of gold the two had collected during their travels. He came to the only bridge connecting the library to the vault. Unfortunately, the bridge had collapsed into the deep abyss below. Tilting his head momentarily confused, he sighed. He carefully got down, sat on the ledge, and let his feet dangle.
Humming to himself, he tried to remember when he was spry and built this place with his own hands—his own hands and a whole hell The library extended down many levels, and the many sections could be accessed by the network of bridges extending over the void between them.
He sat there smiling, lost in his thoughts, for who knows how long. But eventually, a moth had found its way into the depths. It glowed a pale yellowish green. With a laugh, the older man got up and chased after the pretty little light. Well, he hobbled on his cane more than chased.
Chapter 16: Remembrance
Hitting the water was like hitting the cracked and worn remnants of some old highway. The Alchemist had watched helplessly as the water rose up to meet him; then everything went black. His body was quickly washed away from the dangers of the cursed forest. The Creatures that had followed his trail stood on the cliff edge and watched as his body was carried away.
Opening his eyes, he screamed as he fell in the blackness. It was too dark to see even his hands. But the sensation of falling was too visceral to go unnoticed. His screams died out as his throat burned out from the excursion. It had taken a long time for him to gather his wits and realize this wasn’t real. He was in the dream…. And with this realization, he snapped out of the black and slammed into the stone floor of his home at the library. His order had called this reality the dream after one of the Libraries keepers, a cranky old man, berated them on their sheer stupidity. Two mysterious Librarians mostly stayed away from them. The pair had been here long before the alchemists had made it home. He had only seen one of the pairs his entire time with the order. He had been pulling a tome off a shelf and had heard laughter. Stepping to the walkway's edge, he peered down onto the levels below him. And there he was, far below, a glowing moth seemed to light his way.
The world flashed again, and he stood on a green grassy strip of land in a city he didn’t recognize. But the air smelled sweet; the grass was lush and green. His heart stopped at the sight of the blue sky. Never in his wildest imagination could he have dreamt up something so beautiful. Sadness enveloped him as he realized this was before the Elder Beings had arrived and used their magics to tune the world into its current horror. The people of this city carried on about their day without noticing him. The alchemist began to walk down the sidewalk, marveling at what the world had been. He was so engrossed in thought that it took him a while to see that everyone had stopped and was looking up into the sky. The pit in his stomach grew as he prayed he was wrong. He looked up and realized this was the day the horror began. What looked like a patch of soot was growing in the sky. As it grew, the silhouettes of creatures inside became visible. They had found us.
The world flashed again, and immediately, he clutched his head, screaming. All around him were the elder beings. He was in their realm, and his mind couldn’t handle the sensations. It was a world of twisted horrors. No grass or trees, or houses, just … flesh. Like a world made out of corpses. The giant, shapeless horrors stood as they sang their haunting, lilting songs. Their songs filled him with such deep sadness that he stopped struggling and rolled to his back. Looking up at the creatures soot colored sky he was now looking through the path in the sky from the other side. The colors of his world seemed like violence to his vision. Everything here was black and moldy green. The leathery ground he laid on pulsed and moved. Looking up, he watched as the tuning commenced. Hopeless, he just cried as the sadness washed over him again.
Great yellowish-green bulbous vines connected the creatures to the ground. Like a glowing umbilical cord, it sent pulses of green energy up to Elder Beings. Something about this tugged at his mind. As the gears of his mind slowly started to rotate, an understanding blossomed. The sadness he felt in the song didn’t come from the elder beings. It was coming from the ground itself. This realization snapped him back completely. For the first time, he could really examine his environment. As his understanding became clearer, the links in his mind that fed him emotion were cut like the power from a broken fuse. This was how he survived; this was how he could handle the truth. The landscape was like flesh because it was flesh. Millions upon millions of living creatures had been stitched or magically fused together to make this abomination. The lands writhed in pain from what the elder beings had done to it.
The elder beings got their sustenance from the suffering of the untold numbers of civilizations they had conquered. Looking around, unsure of what to do, the Alchemist breathed hard. As the current song reached its crescendo, he looked up at a city slowly being transformed. A giant marble monolith
stood sentinel before a long rectangular pool leading up to an open-facing marble building. As the monolith began to be eaten way from its top, The Alchemist couldn’t help but wonder who the man the stature in the building was supposed to be.
Trapped in the dream with no way to stop what was happening, he watched the destruction. For what seemed like years, he watched as the world was consumed and changed. He couldn’t do anything but add this to his order’s extended memory. So, should anyone in the future pull from him, they could see firsthand what had killed the world. He could feel the rise in energy from the elder beings. It seemed they were building to something. The glow from their umbilicus grew faster and faster. The Elder Beings became bloated from the glowing energy.
Through the Aetheric window, he noticed a man standing with his hands together as if praying. The man's eyes slammed open, and with a primal shout, he extended his hands upwards, releasing a torrent of energy. White searing light blinded the Alchemist, and he staggered as the psychic scream from the Elder Beings exploded with the sudden release of their power. And suddenly, he was falling up into the sky towards his world. And suddenly, he was falling down into his world. Everything went black again, but a voice carried him through the dark. He felt more than heard the message. You must live a little longer. Your world’s emissary disrupted the elder's final push into your world. He greatly wounded the sleepers but could not kill them. The price for your world being saved was his life. They will heal and return. Your long journey to me is almost at an end. Push through this and find me.
Chapter 17: Crysin
Chapter 17. Crysin
The Alchemist snapped his eyes open, gasping for air. The Oracle's words slowly receded from his mind as he rolled to his side, wincing in pain. He hurt everywhere and seemed to be bleeding from all over. Memories from the dreaming held onto his mind, trying to pull him back. But the pain from hitting the jagged rocks as he was swept away kept him grounded in reality. His eyes were almost completely swollen shut, but he could open them enough to get a bearing on his surroundings.
He was on the shore of a strange lagoon set off from the raging river. Rubbing his eyes, he thought I must have gotten lucky and drifted here. Closing his eyes and running his hands through the pebbles on the beach, trying to calm his nerves and settle his mind. The pebbles felt wrong. They were smooth and had pointed ends. Picking up a few pebbles in his hands, he examined them and quickly threw them away. Stumbling to his feet in shock, they were not stones but teeth. Human teeth—thousands upon thousands of deaths would have been required to fill the beaches. In a macabre way, he wondered why no other bones were lying about.
Motivated to escape this cursed place, he began exploring his surroundings. But the wall of the jungle vegetation trapped him between it and the river. Walking along the narrow band of ground, he made his way around the lagoon and could see how lucky he had been. Just after the lagoon, someone had placed razer wire and long sharp pieces of a strange metal in the middle of the river. If he had gone through that, he would have been cut to ribbons and bled out. But even if he had survived the snare, a waterfall lay just beyond that. He didn't know how far it went down, but from what he could see beyond the misty Watters was an expansive valley hundreds of feet below.
The sun was setting, and he found what little he could to burn. He sat shivering that night with his little fire to keep him company. He ran his fingers through the death all around him. Doing this absent-mindedly till he made contact with some wood lump. It was so out of place that he dug it up and was immediately sorry he had. It was a human femur; pulling it out, he examined it. It was from someone young, probably almost a teen. Upon closer inspection, he saw teeth marks and cuts left from a blade. He was gripping the bone tightly as understanding washed over him. Filling him with anger so bad he could barely control the trembling of his body. Very little was known from this side of the mountain. The people who survived the journey to his side of the hills had all been raving mad. And everyone assumed the tales of horror and cannibalism were just delusions from the people's madness. Calming himself self, he reverently laid the child's bone down.
He thought by now nothing should surprise him, but even his hardened soul wept for the nameless victim he encountered. The Alchemist Watched the fire slowly shrink and die out. He was starving and weak. The months it had taken to get here had almost broken him. If the Oracle from the dreaming had been real, he would soon find the journey's end. But would he have any strength left once he got there?
He was awoken at daybreak by the screech of a strange multicolored bird with a hooked beak. Sitting up, he groaned. Righting himself, he stood. He spent the morning hunting down food. He managed to find some unripe fruit and some edible roots. All tasted bad, but his hunger drove him to finish all of it.
The Alchemist walked along the shoreline, looking for a way in. The canopy was dense, and the leaves were shockingly sharp. He almost missed it, but the sound of flowing water caught his attention. It was just on the other side of a few trees. He hacked at the vegetation with a metal bar he had found and slowly entered. By the time he got in and found the creek, he was covered in very shallow and bleeding cuts. Exhausted, he winced as the sweat mixed with his open wounds. Parched, he stooped to drink from the mountain stream, but the feted smell caused him to pull away. The water was thicker than it should be. As a breeze blew the tree canopy, the sun descended on him, illuminating the area. It was watery blood; the death of countless people was flowing down the creek.
Desperately, he wanted to turn and run, but he suddenly could feel it. The pulsing energy from the dream that had spoken to him. It was so faint, but it was there. And, of course, it was in the direction of where the creek was flowing from. Closing his eyes, he chanted phrases of power for protection and to increase his willpower. He had to stop as he realized the blood in the water was reacting to his magic and pooling around him. Letting go of his gift, the water began to flow again, overwhelmed by the situation to be concerned about the environment's reaction to his gifts. With a final deep breath, knowing he had run out of options, he started the strenuous hike into the dark jungle by way of the river.
Quickly, the canopy blocked most of the sunlight, and he had to use his night eyes to see. After hours of hiking, he promptly stopped dropping to his knees. The sharp bones under the water cut into him, but he barely noticed. Up ahead stood three ghostly hooded figures just standing there in the creek. Scarcely able to breathe, he crouched behind a rock, watching transfixed. The men stood motionless, and after a while, the Alchemist slowly got to his feet. And took a step towards them. They didn’t make a sound or move. It felt like forever, but eventually, he got within striking distance. Hands shaking, he pulled back the hood of the first one. The momentary terror lasted seconds before relief washed over him. His deep memory let lose a word. Scarecrow. It was to ward off whoever might come this way.
The Alchemist was about to push on when the wind again blew, allowing the moonlight to shine down and illuminate the exposed skull. Blue lines and sigils glowed brightly on it. His breath caught as he recognized the language. He didn't know what it said but had found a tome with such writing. Years ago, he had been looking for a scroll when the wood he was standing on had broken, sending him into a new chamber 10 feet below him. He had gotten curious and adventurous that day. He went far deeper into the labyrinthian halls of the library than he was technically allowed to. This new hall of tomes seemed different somehow than the others he had seen. He could tell it had been many decades since anyone had been here. The thick layer of dust on the stone floor was not disturbed. Looking around, he was in awe as he observed that many of the books glowed faintly and had grotesque imagery on their covers. One in particular had caught his attention. He was about to pick up the tome with the same writings and sigils he was staring at on the skull. A moth that gave off a greenish glow floated over to his hand, landing on it and bringing up his hand to look closer at his new friend. It flew up and away and then stopped as if waiting. The Alchemist took one last look at the book but ultimately walked away. Letting the glow of his friend lead him back to where he belonged.
Snapping back to reality, he gave a wide birth to the scarecrows and continued. After a while, he turned back to look, and the scarecrows had turned themselves and were now looking straight at him. The glow of the moon lit up all their passive faces. It took every strength of will not to run in fear of injuring himself on the rocks. For the rest of his hike, he would keep looking back to see if they had followed even long after he had lost sight of them. Shivering, he could feel the presence of the Aether all around, but the evil of this place seemed different. The Aether was slow and subtle; this new energy was violent and angry.
With one last bend in the creek, the jungle opened up, and he was confronted with a new horror. He could look down into an isolated valley. The trees had been cleared away from an enormous sinkhole. A temple held up by the thinnest of rock stood in the middle of the sinkhole. He could see the energy from the place lash out at the world and be forced back. As if striking the side of a mountain. Over and over, energy waves would rise up and out, crashing on the invisible wall.
An army of people surrounded the temple. Choking as the wind shifted, bringing with it the smell of the people. They were adorned in human bone, and their skin was stained red with blood. Fanatical chanting could be heard over the sound of the grinders. These were the descendants of many of the first magic users who had gone mad during the tuning. They were the… Crysin. These people were still human but true abominations. Changed by the Aether but not of the Aether. The Elder Beings did not create these cannibals; these were the results of man's dark, hidden nature. The Elder beings were not malicious; they were just old and powerful, their motivations beyond comprehension. The Crysin were sadists in the truest sense of the word. The Crysin's had perverted the old magic. What made them worse than others is that they had managed to stay sane just long enough to find a way to blend their necromancy with the mechanical abominations. They captured entire peoples and got pleasure as they fed them into what could only be described as corpse grinders—the release of blood and bone into the machines filled their abilities as they cried out and screamed in joy.
Looking out in horror, this siege was a long and sustained attack on the temple. The piles of bone stood tall as the machines vomited out the gore. The crysin were filled them with the power and sent waves of power at the temple. The Alchemist stood and watched with a strange sense of cold calm. He had found the lands of the Crysin. He had found the lands of Hell.
Journeys End
The machines were similar to the mechanical abominations of old. And perhaps they were even birthed from them. The largest towered over the killing fields as the blood flowed out like an open dam. The great machines had adornments that looked eerily human. Leg-like protrusions and bulbous heads with eyes that vented a strange rust-colored exhaust out into the air. The Alchemist bore witness to the horror. People forced through what he could only think of as cattle pens were taken and thrown into the machines. The human life force taken from the pulped mass of what was left.
Poets and philosophers of old talked about the beauty of the human heart. Looking out at the army of humans that were wearing clothes made out of corpses and sending innocent people to a grizzly death. The Alchemist felt sadness underneath all the anger and disgust. Sad because this horror couldn't be blamed on the Elder Beings; this was humanity. The Crysin got their powers from the tuning. But somehow, they escaped the influence of the Elder powers. Weeping, he couldn't help but wonder if there was even a point to saving the world?
Choking on the thick, putrid air, the Alchemist turned in alarm at the sound of a horn. It was a quiet thrumming sound that forced its way to the forefront of the cacophony —eclipsing even the most giant of machines. Scanning the killing field, he spotted the source. A Crysin stood atop one of the machines, blowing a long twisted horn from some animal he didn't recognize. As the tone ended, the Alchemist took a step back in horror. The machine's flesh and bone adornments were, in fact, alive. The machine the Crysin stood atop moved forward several steps towards the temple. As it did so, the temple light dimmed and flashed back as if it was almost snuffed out but pushed back at the last moment.
Suddenly, he felt so small and unimportant. What could he do to stop these monsters? This was a sustained attack on the temple. Watching the Crysin drag their captives to the grinders and throw them in by the hundreds. How many thousands or possibly millions had lost their lives to humanity's true spirit? So many people were losing their lives that the blood draining from these machines had pooled into a large lake of rotting gore below him. Hopelessness sucked at his energy. A tear rolled down his cheek at this sight. The hope for the world clung to that light of the temple like a flame clung to its wick in a storm.
The Alchemist tried to find a way to get to the temple. Between the lake of literal blood and the rocky terrain, it seemed impossible to travel to the temple without the Crysin spotting him. As the tide of hopelessness took hold of him, a flicker of light caught his attention. Using his gifts to enhance his night sight, he could barely make out a man standing in the dark. Bald and formidable, the stranger looked right at him, nodded, and stepped back into the shadows.
A flicker of hope grew in him at the sight of him. The stranger was just a man. Not mutated, or a magic user, or a goddam cultist. What was once so ordinary now seemed like the most precious thing. In all the pollutants and evil magics, this one person was untouched. Immediately, the Alchemist hastened to catch up. He was so overwhelmed that he couldn't see the cliff or the downed tree. Running full bore, he tripped and fell. In the first 10 feet, he lost but landed in a sandy patch, cushioning his landing but not enough to stop his momentum. Tumbling down the steep incline, he rolled, cutting himself on rocks before landing hard at the bottom, driving the wind out. Unable to move, he desperately tried to gasp for air, but his whole body wouldn't function. As everything began to go dark, panic gave way to survival, and his mind cleared. Drawing upon his abilities, he calmed his body, allowing it to function again. Jolting upright, he gasped as air filled his lungs. After some time, he was able to stand and get his bearings.
Quickly scanning the darkness for any sign of the man, the Alchemist moved in the direction he had hoped was correct. Slowly working his way into the dark. The smells and sounds from the battle were far above him, and a cool breeze felt good on his fresh wounds. The dense canopy was so dense it managed to deaden the sounds above him. As he slowly worked his way through the dark forest, he heard little chittering sounds. As the chittering grew louder, he spotted the source. There was a little light in the fog, then there were two, and then three, and then there were many. As the creatures numbers grew the dark slowly lit up with an eerie magenta glow. One of the lights glided past him, and he realized they were silk lights! He had read about them. They looked like little winged people that gave off the slowly twinkling light. He found himself surrounded by the most beautiful light he had ever seen. Stopping so as not to scare them, he just watched in awe as this beautiful force of nature slowly migrated through the woods. The silk lights seemed to fly around half hazard individually, but the mass of creatures moved as one. As if pushed by an unseen wind, they moved on slowly past him.
As the little creatures moved past him and he was returned to the dark, he felt strange. The best word he could think of was feeling clean for the first time, like all of the world's rot and disease had been cleansed of him. Even here, with all the horror, nature still clung to life. Beauty still existed in this world. With a newfound spring in his step, he continued his slow progress. Walking silently, pushing through some brush, the Alchemist stumbled into a clearing in the vegetation. Coming to full alert, the Alchemist quickly realized he had stumbled into someone's camp.
A cough caused him to nearly jump out of his skin, spinning around in anticipation of an attack. He quickly let go of the energies he had instinctively gathered. It was the stranger and didn't seem to intend him harm. Staring at him for a moment, the man stood watching as if sizing him up. The Alchemist was about to speak, but the man just turned and entered the dark. Bolting forward to follow, afraid if he lost him, he would never catch up to him again. With his night sight, he followed the older man without stumbling too much.
He followed the man along an animal trail for the next several hours. Above, he could hear the screams of the people mixed in with the endless humming and grinding. The flow of people being fed to the machines never seemed to cease. He tried to control his anger at this, but he was failing and had half a mind to be stupid and race back up the cliff face and start killing. He had powers, and he could kill many before they killed him. With a mental start at this new visceral emotion, he managed to reground himself and move on. The cold stillness of his training slowly worked its way back into the front of his mind. Occasionally, there would be breaks in the tree canopy, and he could see the waterfalls of gore flowing out of the great machines. The gore glowed faintly, making it look like the hills were on fire.
Pressing on into the night, they continued. Ahead of them, a faint reddish glow worked its way into the foggy cool air. The smell hit him as the glow deepened and bled into his surroundings. Rotten and feted, unlike anything he had experienced before. As it became too much, he stumbled, caught himself, and emptied his guts. Wiping his mouth, he looked up ashamed, trying to regain his composure and keep moving. But as he took his first step, a firm hand on his shoulder pulled him back. The stranger motioned with his head, and the Alchemist looked down. One more step, and he would have fallen off another cliff. If the fall didn't kill him, landing in the lake of gore below him would have. Mouth open, he just stared. The lake was more extensive than he would have believed. It reached from mountain side to mountain side. Frustration grew in him again. Of course, the temple was just on the other side of the rotting lake of death, he thought to himself.
The stranger spoke for the first time in a raspy, rumbling voice. The Alchemists long memory brought up images of people inhaling from … the name was lost. Still, they were white, long, skinny, and smoked. Those people sounded like this man. He spoke quickly and quietly. "Hurry, we can't stop to look at the scenery. The lake is shallow, but everything that it touches gets warped and twisted. Or dies. We must get past it to reach the Oracle; follow me". The Alchemist, full of questions, pushed those down and followed.
Just to the right, the little trail continued. The path headed steeply down in switchbacks. The path turned into stone stairs, leading him down to the bottom. Now, just mere feet above the lake, the stairs ended, his foot hitting metal grating. Stopping to examine the grating was metal made in the old world style. Rusted and pitted, with some sections completely eroded away. Whispering, the old man spoke, "It's old from the before times; step where I step and nowhere else. The two made eye contact and moved on.
The rickety old walkway quickly left the safety of the tree canopy and out into the open water. The Alchemist held his breath every time the structure shook. With the weight of the two men, pieces of the walkway were breaking off. With a sudden lurch, the support struts below began to fail. The stranger made no sound at this and just started running. The Alchemist ran after, but when the stranger came to the end of the pathway, he seemed to just jump into the lake! Confusion winning over panic, he slowed and carefully walked to the end of the path. Just below him was an exposed pipe. Large and coppery in appearance. The pipe's roof had been corroded away just below where he stood. Looking into the pipe, he saw a black pit. Panicked, he looked around, but there was nothing else. The grating was shaking badly, and whole sections began to fail. They were dropping into the thick mass below. The section just behind him failed, leaving him stranded on a little Island of steel. But as quickly as the rest failed, he felt the struts below him go, and he jumped. Into the black abyss below him as everything else fell into the lake's depths.
Falling no more than 15 feet, it still hurt, landing on the bend in the pipe and groaning as the man helped him up. The man patted him on the shoulder, then took out a silver sphere and shook it. A clean blueish light lit up the pipe around them. The Alchemist was shocked at the tech but too scared and tired to ask. He continued following the man into the pipe. As the way ended in a collapse, he was led through a break in the pipe to another. He had to jump 4 feet over a deep open chasm to get to the next, but at this point, he was too numb to think about it.
The pair continued like this till the last pipe ended in a vast gallery. High over his head and far below him, it extended. Pipes ran everywhere around him. Patting his arm again, the man pointed. Squinting into the dark in the distance, the Alchemist could see more blue light on either side of a large ornate stone set of stairs. The stranger grinned and pointed to the skinny little pipe, which took them straight to it. This was the first show of emotion the Alchemist saw from the man.
"Don't worry," the man said. You haven't died yet, and I am very impressed. Following me one more time across the pipe." As the stranger was about to take his first step, he turned and smiled again. "Don't slip; it's a long way down. And if I'm honest, I don't even know what is at the bottom." Grinning wildly now, he winked and stepped off onto the top of that little pipe. Looking down, the Alchemist could see the light far below him that just ended in blackness. Rubbing his face "it's just like the library" he told himself. Holding his breath, he steps out into the void, his foot landing solidly on the pipe. The pipe was about as big in diameter as his head. Thankfully, it wasn't slippery, and he could slowly travel across the abyss.
His legs wobbled and almost gave out as he put his foot down on the sturdy stone platform at the end. Breathing heavily, his sweat-soaked clothes made him shiver. As the adrenalin dissipated, he turned his attention back to the stranger. Now, back to his solemn expression, the man spoke. "She has watched you and has been waiting. But be wary. She is your ally, but she has been isolated over the eons. With the threat of the Crysin, she is strained and has become quite mad. Your journey has come to an end. Follow up the stairs and find the answers to your questions.