The year was 1974, and I was a dedicated researcher with a passion for the unexplained. My name is Dr. Jonathan Hartman, and I had spent years studying paranormal phenomena, searching for concrete evidence of extraterrestrial life. Little did I know that my pursuit of truth would lead me down a dark and treacherous path.
It began innocently enough, with reports of unexplained timeloss incidents in a small rural town. Residents claimed to have experienced hours of their lives vanishing without a trace. Intrigued, I packed my bags and set off to investigate, armed with my trusty notepad and camera.
My first encounter was with an elderly woman named Mrs. Miller. She spoke of an afternoon spent gardening, only to find herself indoors hours later with no recollection of how she got there. Her confusion was palpable, and the lines etched on her face spoke of the genuine terror she had experienced.
My next interview was of a middle-aged man named Mr. Jenkins who recounted a harrowing experience of which he claims he was abducted, he spoke of having vivid images of bright lights and strange beings standing around him on some sort of operating table.
One evening, after a long day of interviewing witnesses, I retired to my dingy motel room. I laid in bed, my mind racing with thoughts of the unknown, I finally fell asleep somewhere around 1 am. Shortly after I found myself abruptly awake at precisely 2:22 am. A crimson glow filled the room, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Paralyzed with fear, I could only watch as the light pulsated, its intensity growing with every beat of my heart. I tried to scream, to move, but my body remained frozen, completely under the control of an unseen force.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the red glow vanished. I gasped for air, my body drenched in sweat. It was as if the room had returned to its ordinary state, devoid of any traces of the supernatural. Had it all been a hallucination? A trick of my sleep-deprived mind?
a few nights later, as I sat alone in my poorely lit motel room, poring over the testimonies I had gathered, I was startled by the sound of footsteps above me. My heart raced as I realized there was no upstairs in this motel. The ceiling continued to creake in a barrage of pitter patters, until the footsteps grew louder and heavier and began to thud more and more distinctly.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I cautiously stepped outside, my eyes scanning the rooftop, Silence enveloped the air, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until I focused my gaze on the treeline that bordered the motel yard. Then I saw it, I froze in fear, my eyes locked onto the figure standing amidst the treeline. It stood just beyond the veil of darkness, bathed in the pale glow of the moon. As my gaze settled upon it, a chill ran down my spine, for the creature before me resembled no earthly being
The creature's head bore an uncanny resemblance to a baby barn owl, yet its body was sleek and slender, lacking any trace of feathers. The skin, a sickly pale hue, seemed to emit a subtle luminescence, casting an otherworldly glow upon its form, its large round eyes glowed unnaturally. It possessed an unsettling stillness, as if it were studying me just as intensely as I was studying it. It stood there, almost statue-like, exuding an air of malevolence that permeated the surrounding air, suffocating me in its presence.
As I stood transfixed, my gaze locked with the unearthly being in the treeline, a sudden urge to blink overwhelmed me. In that brief moment, my eyes closed, and when I opened them again, it was as if an eternity had passed.
The darkness of the night had dissipated, replaced by the soft hues of a dawning morning. The once eerie treeline now bathed in the gentle light of the rising sun. In the blink of an eye, hours had slipped away unnoticed. The darkness of the night had yielded to the gentle embrace of morning light.

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Autumn 4986, 16 Aoimoth
Shon slid down the side of a tree to the ground and watched the tower burn. Ivelm did a circle of it, dousing the surrounding trees with his water wand, while Nangran inspected the few bodies he could reach without burning himself. At one point, he tried to pull a corpse further from the fire only to have its arms snap off at the shoulder, meat pulling away from the bone like a well-cooked turkey.
Somewhere in the back of Shon’s mind, he knew he should be sickened by the sights and smells. When they first stepped through the portal, he‘d had to hold back retching from the scent of smoking hair and cooking flesh. Now he could hardly muster the energy to keep breathing. He took long and slow, but shallow breaths. As if he were about to fall asleep despite the horror before him.
So much death. Shon had never seen a dead person before. Though he wasn’t sure if these still counted, so blackened they could almost be mistaken for macabre statues... if it wasn’t for the smell.
“What was going on here ‘Elm?” Nangran demanded of Ivelm as the mage rounded the other side of the tower and rejoined them.
Ivelm sheathed his water wand, pulling forth the diamond-studded wand again. He didn’t answer.
Nangran growled, grabbing Ivelm's arm as it rose to point the wand toward the forest. The Archmage shook him off and spun, his robes fluttering around him as he gestured angrily at the fire, “I don’t know, Flintchest. This tower was supposed to be empty, abandoned. I’m the only Mage with authorization to set up in this area.” he pointed his wand over Shon’s shoulder and spat something indistinct. A rush of cool air flowed from behind accompanied by shouting and armor clanking. Knights running.
Shon rolled limply to the side, planning to stand but finding his arms shaking as he tried to push himself up. Boots stomped around him as Paladins flooded from the magical gate into the clearing. Shon managed to lift his head, though even his neck seemed to be rebelling against his attempts at holding himself up. His vision swimming, he saw Major General Selibra and Master Daunas step through the portal, their mouths agape.
Shon’s arms gave out from under him, and he fell to the side, hearing as if from a great distance, “Squire! Shon… Shon… Nangran, what happened?” From the ground he could see the girl, now wrapped in Nangran’s cloak, leaning against the side of his tree. When had they brought her there? Why hadn’t he noticed?
“He’s fine.” Ivelm’s voice, Shon couldn’t see anymore, so he closed his eyes, “He’ll wake up in a few days. Hell of a Sorcerer that one…” No… no, no, no... he wasn’t a Sorcerer. He was a Squire. He would be a Paladin… For a brief moment, a flicker of an image played in Shon's mind. He saw himself lying on the muddy ground, Master Daunas knelt by his head, and Ivelm spit off to the side. Then, only the sweet relief of darkness as he passed out.
***
“Any other survivors?” Sir Selibra’s soft voice drifted through the darkness.
“Only the girl,” Daunas whispered from nearby.
“I doubt she’s human,” Ivelm spoke loudly, and Shon flinched, his head pounding as the mage didn’t bother to keep his voice low, “No fire-resist spell should have lasted in that heat. Even fire Sorcerers can't survive melting stone.”
“She looks human.” a fourth voice, the Hamerfoss Cleric. Shon couldn’t move. The light filtering through his eyelids sent stabs of pain into his head, making it hard for him to concentrate. He tried to lift a hand to cover his eyes, but the limb wouldn’t obey his call.
“And a table looks like it’s made of wood but does that mean it’s still a tree?” Ivelm snorted, and something wet splattered on stone.
“Archmage, please, this is an infirmary…” the Cleric said, shocked.
The mage didn’t apologize and continued to speak at full volume, “Whatever was going on out there it wasn’t sanctioned by the Guild, and that girl has most certainly been subject to experimentation. Those scales? That hair?” he spat again.
“Archmage, please…”
“Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Sir Selibra said, and three pairs of boots thumped away, a door swinging open. Sir Selibra’s voice retreated as they left the infirmary still in conversation, “We have sent for the Temple and Guild. They should be here shortly.” The boots left, and the door closed again.
Only one pair of feet remained, shuffling around the room before the rustling of curtains being pulled closed accompanied the sweet relief of darkness. Shon steeled himself and forced his eyes to open just a crack. More pain. He closed them again, his ears ringing. With a slow breath, he tried again, blinking in the weak light filtered through the cloth covering infirmary window.
A groan slipped from his lips, and the Cleric rushed to his bedside, “Don’t try to sit up, Squire. You’re drained, but unhurt,” which seemed a direct contradiction to Shon’s pounding head. The Cleric continued, “After a bit of sleep, you should be fine…” Shon let his head fall to the side, wanting to look away from the window, and saw a second bed, where a girl with golden hair slept.
“It happens to Paladins too, you know. You have to be careful not to expend too much of your own energy when casting magic…” the Cleric continued to talk, busying himself by checking Shon's vitals, “It’s inevitable, but with practice, you can mitigate some of the effects…” She was the only survivor, and she had been experimented on… “After you take your Oath, you'll receive training in divine magic…” even if she was okay physically, would she be alright mentally?... “For now, just rest. You did well. It’s thanks to you the girl got out alive…”
Shon closed his eyes. Thanks to him? Nangran had seen the smoke, Ivelm had taken them there. He… he hadn’t known what to do, had frozen at the sights and smells. He'd formed a path of ice, but the girl hadn’t been burning… Her feet had melted his ice... Shon let himself drift back to sleep. He wasn’t a hero. Not yet.
***
The tower was supposed to be empty. General Rasnah and the Mages Guild had combed through their records finding that the building had been abandoned over fifty years ago; when the old alchemist living there passed away. Archmage Ivelm reported that he'd surveyed the tower twenty years previous, before setting up his lab miles further south.
“Having a tower like that is practically begging for wanna-be-apprentices to come interrupt you. Looking for a teacher and free room.” he'd explained, with obvious disgust at the idea, even spitting on the floor of Sir Selibra’s office.
Sir Rasnah personally led the Temple Paladins and Guild Mages through a gate from Smilnda to Hamerfoss and from there to the ruins of the mysterious tower. Mages and Paladins crawled together over the still-smoking remains, now a mear hill. Trying to break apart the stones that had melted together and find anything that could explain what had happened here. Bodies covered in white cloth lay in lines along the edge of the forest, ten in total, though how many had been trapped in the tower was still unknown.
The Clerics of Lune would identify the bodies, though she wished they could do more than just give names. It would take months, possibly years, to scour the records to determine who these poor souls had been in life. And more years besides to track their movements through the meticulous paperwork kept by the kingdom.
She could practically hear Veon-Zih snickering at her, ‘Silly Ras, you gave up the battlefield of blood and stone for one of words and paper…’ she shook her head, banishing thoughts of the Monk. This work would be just as important. How else would those fighting the physical battles find their enemies without information and resources? And yet… She rested her hand on her sword with a sigh, “Some retirement…”
“Sir Rasnah,” a female Mage with dark hair and tan skin approached from the tower, “We found the basement…” she looked over her slumped shoulders back at the pile of melted rock.
“Not as promising a find as we'd hoped?” Rasnah asked, arching her steely eyebrow at the Mage. What had her name been? Vevi…
To her credit, the woman straightened her shoulders and answered clearly, “Oftentimes, we learn as much from a rejected hypothesis as a failed-to-be-rejected hypothesis.” As Rasnah tried to wrap her mind around what in the hells that meant, the Mage continued, “We had hoped that the basement level would be relatively unscathed as heat should rise to destroy the upper levels and possibly spare the lower…”
Those were words the Paladin understood at least, but they implied bad news, “And that wasn’t the case?”
The Mage sighed, “It was. The fire behaved as fire always does, barring external influence,”
“Mage Vevi, I admire your Guild's desire for specificity, but please, get to the point.”
Vevi blinked then shook herself, saying, “Evidence suggests that the fire started in the basement and that the heat there was far greater than we assumed.” Rasnah arched an eyebrow at the woman again and the Mage threw her hands into the air, “It looks more like a cavern carved by pure magma. Nothing but melted stones remain in the form of caves we can only guess were originally rooms.”
“Damn,” Rasnah gripped her sword and glared past the Mage toward the tower, “So we have no way of knowing what they were doing.” The girl still hadn’t woken up. What were the chances that she had any information of value? Archmage Ivelm was convinced that she'd been the subject of magical experimentation. Would those who had abused her also give her information?
“We have one way,” Vevi interrupted Rasnah’s worries, and the Paladin focused on her again. The Mage turned away, motioning to some of her fellows standing near the bodies. An old man with a bent back and shuffling gait split from the group and approached slowly. Rasnah had to resist the urge to walk to him just to speed up the process.
“Sir Rasnah, this is Archmage Meshed, our divination master.” Vevi introduced the old man while he was still a few steps away, “There is a chance we will be able to obtain some information from the tower remains. Though I’m afraid it might not be as clear and concise as you wish. Divination often creates more questions than answers.”
“I am well acquainted with the frustrations of interpreting symbols and signs…” Rasnah led, unsure of the value in this new idea. Arcane magic didn't get its power from a higher intelligence or any god, it utilized the natural magic and energies running through the world and every object in it, manipulating them with precise words and symbols directed by human will. It was all well over her head.
Meshed’s laugh turned into a dry cough. He cleared his throat, “I think you will find, Mage Vevi, Sir Paladin, that the information I will glean from this place to be far more clear and concise than you are accustomed to. It simply won’t be as complete as you wish.”
With a groan and many popping joints, he sat down on the ground, fishing through his robes and pulling out a small bag. From it, he withdrew a massive tome and a silk cloth that Vevi quickly helped spread on the ground before him. Next came a censor and many jars of herbs and incense, which, after checking his book, he carefully measured before pouring into the censor.
He waved a hand towards the tower without looking up from his work, “Stones, please, Vevi. Choose wisely, I don’t want to do this all day…” Despite being a senior Mage, well on her way to Archmage, Vevi rushed off towards the tower herself and eventually returned with two fist-sized stones.
“One from the upper floors and one from the basement, Meshed,” she explained, handing them to the Divination Master. Meshed pulled a set of brass scales from his small pouch, measuring the stones and muttering to himself as he adjusted the volume of herbs in the censor.
He placed the first stone with the herbs, and his eyes glazed over, “A light if you will.” Vevi performed some complicated motion with her hands, flicking her fingers forward at the end with a muttered word. A spark of flame appeared over the censor, lowering onto the herbs and setting them alight. Smoke billowed in a gray noxious cloud, and Rasnah covered her nose as Meshed began to chant.
He ran his hand through the smoke, which wrapped around his fingers, and continued skyward. “No divine magic was cast here…” he mumbled, moving his hand again. The smoke shifted above his fingers as they passed, creating images of people in robes leaning over books, “Arcane magic…” Obviously. Still, for some reason, his brow furrowed. He passed his hand through again, and the smoke turned nearly black. Before Rasnah could make out any shapes Meshed pulled his hand away and shook it violently before rubbing it on his robe, “Warlocks, Sir Paladin.”
“Damn.” Rasnah smothered more colorful curses and managed a half step closer, “What were they doing, Archmage?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he chanted a new spell, and his hand glowed with a soft red light. Reaching into the censor, he plucked out the stone and replaced it with the second. The smoke again turned gray and rose lazily into the air. Once again, he passed his hand through the flowing tendrils, and once again, they turned black. He shook his head, “Obviously… damnation… what to ask… what to ask…” He seemed to settle on something, muttering, “The fire, tell me about the fire…” he ran his fingers through the smoke. Flames leaped from the censor, the smoke turning red and billowing out before them.
Rasnah stepped back as great smoke wings spread wide, illuminated from below by flames. A horned head atop a sinuous neck stretched for the heavens and Meshed scrambled to his feet. Vevi kicked the censor over, spreading burning debris across the silk to smolder, releasing tiny lines of, blessedly, normal smoke.
“What was that? A wyvern?” Rasnah asked, her heart in her throat.
Meshed coughed his dry cough and shook his head. Vevi stared at the upturned censor with wide eyes. “Much worse, Sir Rasnah,” the Mage whispered, “A dragon.”
“It was dragon fire that destroyed this tower,” Meshed confirmed.
***
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Thanks for making it this far, you are the real MVP

Apologies for the length and lateness of this post, past few months have been quite chaotic and haven't had much access to the internet, I dunno when I'll be back on this sub again after this so until then, more posts from me will be a Dream for Spring Summer (probably)
Over the years I've read a great many theories about the character of Varys, his motivations, his scheming throughout the series and his endgame, but none of them have ever truly sat well with me for how much his character feels simplified. He is one of ASOIAF's most complex characters who I still believe we haven't entirely cracked yet, and I for one still believe even after writing this post up and reflecting on it, there's still some of his character that I haven't figured out.
However, I want to propose an alternative character analysis to the character of Varys, one that drifts away from the more common take on his character - Varys is not a eunuch or a friend of Tyrion Lannister, and has spent his entire life lying about his manhood to deter anyone from thinking that he could father any children, so that fAegon, his true son, would always be protected while hiding.
Let us begin by breaking down each of the lies that define his character.
First, the lie that he was castrated as a young slave and had his manhood thrown into a fire by 'a certain man', which resulted in the fire turning magically blue and 'a voice' speaking out to Varys.

"One day at Myr, a certain man came to our folly. After the performance, he made an offer for me that my master found too tempting to refuse. I was in terror. I feared the man meant to use me as I had heard men used small boys, but in truth the only part of me he had need of was my manhood. He gave me a potion that made me powerless to move or speak, yet did nothing to dull my senses. With a long hooked blade, he sliced me root and stem, chanting all the while. I watched him burn my manly parts on a brazier. The flames turned blue, and I heard a voice answer his call, though I did not understand the words they spoke. "The mummers had sailed by the time he was done with me. Once I had served his purpose, the man had no further interest in me, so he put me out. When I asked him what I should do now, he answered that he supposed I should die. To spite him, I resolved to live. I begged, I stole, and I sold what parts of my body still remained to me. Soon I was as good a thief as any in Myr, and when I was older I learned that often the contents of a man's letters are more valuable than the contents of his purse. "Yet I still dream of that night, my lord. Not of the sorcerer, nor his blade, nor even the way my manhood shriveled as it burned. I dream of the voice. The voice from the flames. Was it a god, a demon, some conjurer's trick? I could not tell you, and I know all the tricks. All I can say for a certainty is that he called it, and it answered, and since that day I have hated magic and all those who practice it. If Lord Stannis is one such, I mean to see him dead." - ACOK - TYRION X

Now there is much from this excerpt to raise complaints and questions about Varys' story;

• There are no known instances of individuals being mutilated and having their mutilated parts being sacrificed in the flames for the sake of blood magic or appeasing R'hllor. Individuals have often been sacrificed to the flames, but sacrificed in their whole bodies.
  
• The details of how Varys was mutilated and that he was able to survive is unbelievable, and even more unbelievable that he went on to live as an orphan on the streets after this horrific ordeal with little to no medical treatment. Varys' simple claim that he "resolved to live" is very vague.
  
• Varys can remember this mystic and mysterious voice, but not what it send or what the words sounded like. Melisandre claims to hear the voices of R'hllor in the flames and voices could be heard from Drogo's tent when Mirri Maz Duhr was performing her blood magic, but these voices are only heard by the sorcerers, and not the victims. By all accounts, Varys should not have been able to hear these voices, if part of himself was fed to the flames.
  

But the weakest part of all is that Varys says that he "hates magic and all those who practise it", yet he goes to great lengths to protect and look out for Daenerys, and try to join fAegon's forces with hers, despite knowing that she has three magical dragons by her side.

"How many days until we reach the river?" he asked Illyrio that evening. "At this pace, your queen's dragons will be larger than Aegon's three before I can lay eyes upon them." "Would it were so. A large dragon is more fearsome than a small one." The magister shrugged. "Much as it would please me to welcome Queen Daenerys to Volantis, I must rely on you and Griff for that. I can serve her best in Pentos, smoothing the way for her return. So long as I am with you, though … well, an old fat man must have his comforts, yes? Come, drink a cup of wine." - ADWD - TYRION II

Illyrio is Varys' best friend and closest confidant, who he works with to protect Daenerys for much of her life and is willing to crown her as Queen alongside fAegon even though she has magical fire-breathing dragons that Varys, a victim of magical flames, would despise.
Illyrio, the same man who praised R'hllor, a God that Varys despises;

Her brother was waiting in the cool of the entry hall, seated on the edge of the pool, his hand trailing in the water. He rose when she appeared and looked her over critically. "Stand there," he told her. "Turn around. Yes. Good. You look …" "Regal," Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold. "May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys," the magister said as he took her hand. He bowed his head, showing a thin glimpse of crooked yellow teeth through the gold of his beard. "She is a vision, Your Grace, a vision," he told her brother. "Drogo will be enraptured." - AGOT - DAENERYS I

Neither Viserys or Daenerys were followers of R'hllor at this point, or surrounded by any followers, meaning Illyrio didn't need to bring up this form of prayer to R'hllor unless it was genuine or near genuine on his own part.
It makes little sense that Varys would entertain the company of those who worship R'hllor or magical forms of fire, if Varys truly is traumatised by what seemingly happened to him as a slave child by fire.
As well as Illyrio, this is apparent in Aerys II, who would regularly burn people in the throne room with wildfire, in the presence of Varys;

Frustrated, Aerys turned to the Wisdoms of the ancient Guild of Alchemists, who knew the secret of producing the volatile jade green substance known as wildfire, said to be a close cousin to dragonflame. The pyromancers became a regular fixture at his court as the king's fascination with fire grew. By 280 AC, Aerys II had taken to burning traitors, murderers, and plotters, rather than hanging or beheading them. The king seemed to take great pleasure in these fiery executions, which were presided over by Wisdom Rossart, the grand master of the Guild of Alchemists...so much so that he granted Rossart the title of Lord and gave him a seat upon the small council. - TWOIAF - THE TARGARYEN KINGS - AERYS II

Not only would Varys be present to witness these burnings, but Varys even encouraged Aerys to burn other individuals suspected of treachery, and fuelled both Aerys' paranoia and bloodlust;

He floated in heat, in memory. "After dancing griffins lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him." Why am I telling this absurd ugly child? "He had finally realized that Robert was no mere outlaw lord to be crushed at whim, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. Jon Darry and Barristan Selmy rode to Stoney Sept to rally what they could of griffins' men, and Prince Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and summon my father. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock, and that made the king even more afraid. He saw traitors everywhere, and Varys was always there to point out any he might have missed. So His Grace commanded his alchemists to place caches of wildfire all over King's Landing. Beneath Baelor's Sept and the hovels of Flea Bottom, under stables and storehouses, at all seven gates, even in the cellars of the Red Keep itself. - ASOS - JAIME V

Varys developed a reputation for egging on Aerys' paranoia and encouraging him to execute apparent traitors by fire, so much so that people like Barristan lay chief blame for Aerys' downfall into madness on Varys for exploiting it;

"It is not a question of wanting. The throne is mine, as Robert's heir. That is law. After me, it must pass to my daughter, unless Selyse should finally give me a son." He ran three fingers lightly down the table, over the layers of smooth hard varnish, dark with age. "I am king. Wants do not enter into it. I have a duty to my daughter. To the realm. Even to Robert. He loved me but little, I know, yet he was my brother. The Lannister woman gave him horns and made a motley fool of him. She may have murdered him as well, as she murdered Jon Arryn and Ned Stark. For such crimes there must be justice. Starting with Cersei and her abominations. But only starting. I mean to scour that court clean. As Robert should have done, after the Trident. Ser Barristan once told me that the rot in King Aerys's reign began with Varys. The eunuch should never have been pardoned. No more than the Kingslayer. At the least, Robert should have stripped the white cloak from Jaime and sent him to the Wall, as Lord Stark urged. He listened to Jon Arryn instead. I was still at Storm's End, under siege and unconsulted." He turned abruptly, to give Davos a hard shrewd look. "The truth, now. Why did you wish to murder Lady Melisandre?" - ASOS - DAVOS IV

It makes very little sense that Varys, a eunuch who seemingly hates worshippers of R'hllor and pyromancers for burning people and sacrificing his manhood to the flames as a child, would be best friends with a man who praises R'hllor or encourage his previous King to burn several people, many of whom were likely innocent of the claims of treachery put against them.
But it makes a lot more sense that Varys actually never had a problem with R'hllor or wildfire, and instead chose to encourage Aerys' paranoia so that he would always both seem useful to Aerys and be on good relations with him, to solidify his position of power on the Small Council, given that he was just a young foreign man in Westeros and wholly dependent on Aerys' support to maintain his standing in King's Landing.
The second lie of Varys' character that I wish to tackle is his apparent concern for the wellbeing of children;

"No," Ned pleaded, his voice cracking. "Varys, gods have mercy, do as you like with me, but leave my daughter out of your schemes. Sansa's no more than a child." "Rhaenys was a child too. Prince Rhaegar's daughter. A precious little thing, younger than your girls. She had a small black kitten she called Balerion, did you know? I always wondered what happened to him. Rhaenys liked to pretend he was the true Balerion, the Black Dread of old, but I imagine the Lannisters taught her the difference between a kitten and a dragon quick enough, the day they broke down her door." Varys gave a long weary sigh, the sigh of a man who carried all the sadness of the world in a sack upon his shoulders. "The High Septon once told me that as we sin, so do we suffer. If that's true, Lord Eddard, tell me … why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones? Ponder it, if you would, while you wait upon the queen. And spare a thought for this as well: The next visitor who calls on you could bring you bread and cheese and the milk of the poppy for your pain … or he could bring you Sansa's head. - AGOT - EDDARD XV

Varys shows apparent disgust at the murders of Rhaegar's children, Rhaenys and Aegon, at the end of Robert's Rebellion, and the way in which they were brutally murdered.
However, we later learn in the series that Aegon seemingly survived and was swapped with a tanner's child, bought by Varys and swapped with Aegon, so that this bought child could be sacrificed to the Lannisters, who Varys presumed would want to kill Rhaegar's children;

"A true friend, our Lord Connington. He must be, to remain so fiercely loyal to the grandson of the king who took his lands and titles and sent him into exile. A pity about that. Elsewise Prince Rhaegar's friend might have been on hand when my father sacked King's Landing, to save Prince Rhaegar's precious little son from getting his royal brains dashed out against a wall." The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." "Aye." Tyrion moved his elephants. "And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort." - ADWD - TYRION VI

This entire "splendid story" as Tyrion calls it, is full of inconsistencies and unbelievable acts.
The first red flag of this story is the idea that Varys, a former slave child who abhors slavery, would willingly buy another man's young child. Also pay attention to the mention of 'Arbor gold', which has been well documented on this sub for years for how its always a signal of lies, as individuals like Littlefinger mention it in passing whenever they are telling a lie.
The second red flag is the idea that Varys, someone who seemingly abhors the murder and suffering of innocent children, would willingly sacrifice an innocent young child and allow them to be murdered just to spare another, more valuable child. The idea that Varys would also take Elia's child away from her, either willingly or unwillingly on her part, is also questionable.
The third red flag is why Varys chose only to switch Aegon with another child, and not do the same for Rhaenys. Having two imposter Targaryen children raised to believe they are Targaryens could've helped to support their claims, build them up as a rival power in Westeros and also provide a backup option for Varys incase fAegon didn't survive his childhood.
The final red flag is the idea that Varys was able to foresee how the Rebellion was going to end, accurately guessed that Rhaegar's children would be murdered by the Lannisters, knew where and when to find Elia and her children, be able to remove one of her children away from her without anyone knowing, and knew that one of Tywin's men would kill the children so brutally that next to no one would be able to recognise them - the idea story is built on a series of flimsy conveniences and incredible predictive abilities on Varys' part.
If Varys truly cared so much about the protection and well-being of children, he would not have willingly bought and sacrificed an innocent child to be sacrificed in exchange for Aegon's survival, nor would he have abandoned Rhaenys to her fate if he could have prevented it. This means either Varys truly doesn't give a damn about the wellbeing of children and just lies to the likes of Ned and Tyrion about it, or that the entire story about Aegon being swapped with a tanner's child is a lie like some fans believe, or that both stories are lies muddled together to make it more difficult to discern the truth.
Perhaps the truth of Varys' lies is best exposed in this often cited excerpt from ACOK, a conversation between him and Tyrion about the infamous "Shadow on the Wall" riddle;

Varys smiled. "Here, then. Power resides where men believe it resides. No more and no less.""So power is a mummer's trick?" "A shadow on the wall," Varys murmured, "yet shadows can kill. And ofttimes a very small man can cast a very large shadow." Tyrion smiled. "Lord Varys, I am growing strangely fond of you. I may kill you yet, but I think I'd feel sad about it." - ACOK - TYRION II

The question of who Varys refers to in this conversation has been debated for years on this sub. Some believe that Varys was alluding to fAegon, that if people believe he is the real Aegon then he will have power, even if he doesn't truly have power as a common non-Targaryen child. Others have suggested Varys was alluding to Littlefinger, who was once a young small man who rose very high in King's Landing and cast a large shadow over the realm by starting the WotFk through his schemes.
I however believe that Varys is talking about himself.
Varys was once a very small man when he came to King's Landing at Aerys' calling for him to join the Small Council. He was seen as a young ex-slave, without a lordship or house of his own, weak and powerless. But overtime, through his manipulation of Aerys, encouraging his paranoia and own self-inflicted downfall, Varys cast a very large shadow over the empire of House Targaryen in Westeros, and destroyed it forever. What Varys says here to Tyrion is a very veiled threat that he can be dangerous to Tyrion if he underestimates Varys.
Tyrion however, in his arrogance, believes that Varys is referring to him, being a "very small man" and begins considering him a friend.
This is the third and final lie of Varys' character that I wish to dissect here - the lie that he is a friend or useful ally of sorts to Tyrion.
The idea of Varys betraying Tyrion's trust and working against him is first presented to us by Cersei, when she lets slip that Varys informed her of Tyrion's plan to send the Hound into battle at the Battle of the Blackwater;

"Varys says so." The swan was too rich for his taste. A line appeared on Cersei's pale white brow, between those lovely eyes. "You put too much trust in that eunuch." "He serves me well." "Or so he'd have you believe. You think you're the only one he whispers secrets to? He gives each of us just enough to convince us that we'd be helpless without him. He played the same game with me, when I first wed Robert. For years, I was convinced I had no truer friend at court, but now . . ." She studied his face for a moment. "He says you mean to take the Hound from Joffrey." - ACOK - TYRION XII

On a first read, we are quick to dismiss Cersei's claims for how much she is built up as an antagonistic and untrustworthy character, but in later understanding her motives in her own POV chapters, we realise there may be an inkling of truth in her claims. In the case of the Hound, Varys has no reason to inform her of Tyrion's plan, however innocent and insignificant in the grand game of thrones they may be, other than to maintain some level of trust with her and to invoke conflict between the Lannister siblings, which benefits Varys.
There are frequent moments throughout the series in which Varys alludes to knowing key information and deliberately withholding it from Tyrion even if it may benefit Tyrion, including who ordered Mandon Moore to kill Tyrion;

Bronn had turned up all he could on Ser Mandon, but no doubt Varys knew a deal more . . . should he choose to share it. "The man seems to have been quite friendless," Tyrion said carefully. "Sadly," said Varys, "oh, sadly. You might find some kin if you turned over enough stones back in the Vale, but here . . . Lord Arryn brought him to King's Landing and Robert gave him his white cloak, but neither loved him much, I fear. Nor was he the sort the smallfolk cheer in tourneys, despite his undoubted prowess. Why, even his brothers of the Kingsguard never warmed to him. Ser Barristan was once heard to say that the man had no friend but his sword and no life but duty . . . but you know, I do not think Selmy meant it altogether as praise. Which is queer when you consider it, is it not? Those are the very qualities we seek in our Kingsguard, it could be said—men who live not for themselves, but for their king. By those lights, our brave Ser Mandon was the perfect white knight. And he died as a knight of the Kingsguard ought, with sword in hand, defending one of the king's own blood." The eunuch gave him a slimy smile and watched him sharply. Trying to murder one of the king's own blood, you mean. Tyrion wondered if Varys knew rather more than he was saying. - ASOS - TYRION II

When Tyrion presses Varys for information about Mandon, Varys deliberately skims over Mandon's life and offers vague beliefs about the perfect Kingsguard to try and derail Tyrion's line of questioning, and when Varys pretends not to have known about Mandon trying to kill Tyrion, he watches Tyrion "sharply" to try and gather how much Tyrion himself knows, whether or not Tyrion will seek retribution for it from the anger on his face, and almost openly mocks him for the smile he gives. Tyrion briefly considers the idea that Varys is deliberately holding information back from him, but chooses instead to talk about other matters, which is what Varys wanted.
On the matter of Varys' choosing to support the Lannisters or Stannis, Varys once again tries to confuse Tyrion with riddles and not directly answer the question;

"He accuses my brother and sister of incest. I wonder how he came by that suspicion." "Perhaps he read a book and looked at the color of a bastard's hair, as Ned Stark did, and Jon Arryn before him. Or perhaps someone whispered it in his ear." The eunuch's laugh was not his usual giggle, but deeper and more throaty. "Someone like you, perchance?" "Am I suspected? It was not me." "If it had been, would you admit it?" "No. But why should I betray a secret I have kept so long? It is one thing to deceive a king, and quite another to hide from the cricket in the rushes and the little bird in the chimney. Besides, the bastards were there for all to see." - ACOK - TYRION III

We know for certain that Varys didn't want the WotFK to start so soon or for the truth of Cersei's children to come out in AGOT because he wanted more time for Viserys' forces to grow in strength and come closer to Westeros in order to invade, either to take the throne for themselves or be the ones to kill the beloved Robert Baratheon and paint themselves as villainous usurpers to make fAegon more heroic and not taint him with Robert's blood on his hands.
However, like with Cersei and Tyrion, Varys needs to tell those on the Small Council a certain amount of secretive information in order to gain their trust and support, including Stannis. That Varys even chooses to give a deeper and more unsettling laugh about the matter is another example of him openly laughing about his treachery in Tyrion's face and Tyrion not realising it.
When Tyrion almost stumbles upon this ruse and Varys realises that his laugh was too deep and questionable, Varys tries to brush it off by saying its harder to keep a secret secret if so many people are investigating it, and insists that there were so many of Robert's bastards to find for Stannis to figure out the truth on his own. But again, this last statement from Varys is littered with half-truths.
Varys insists it is hard to keep deceiving King Robert about the truth of his children's true parentage, and even harder to keep deceiving the truth from those who are deliberately looking for the truth and wanting to find it. This in itself is a reference to his believe that Stannis was always power-hungry for the Iron Throne, and was just looking for an excuse to try to claim it for himself as Robert's true heir, regardless of whether or not Cersei's children were Robert's or not.
But his own comment about "betraying a secret I have held for so long" is a direct allusion to fAegon's existence, and his determination not to reveal the truth of his existence to anyone, including Tyrion.
Even when Tyrion rides with Illyrio and Jon Connington's entourage in ADWD, Tyrion is only led to believe that they are going to support Daenerys' claim for the Iron Throne, and has to work out for himself that fAegon is actually Aegon and the one Varys and Illyrio wish to crown;

Young Griff hesitated. "Lannister? Your father—" "—is dead. At my hand. If it please Your Grace to call me Yollo or Hugor, so be it, but know that I was born Tyrion of House Lannister, trueborn son of Tywin and Joanna, both of whom I slew. Men will tell you that I am a kingslayer, a kinslayer, and a liar, and all of that is true … but then, we are a company of liars, are we not? Take your feigned father. Griff, is it?" The dwarf sniggered. "You should thank the gods that Varys the Spider is a part of this plot of yours. Griff would not have fooled the cockless wonder for an instant, no more than it did me. No lord, my lordship says, no knight. And I'm no dwarf. Just saying a thing does not make it true. Who better to raise Prince Rhaegar's infant son than Prince Rhaegar's dear friend Jon Connington, once Lord of Griffin's Roost and Hand of the King?" "Be quiet." Griff's voice was uneasy. - ADWD - TYRION V

After Tyrion works out the truth and manipulates both fAegon and Jon Connington into riding for Westeros instead of joining forces with Daenerys, he disappears and goes off to seek her out.
This likely angers Varys, and is the reason why Varys no longer affectionately calls Tyrion by his name or by '"lord" and instead refers to him as "the imp" in ADWD's epilogue, a term that Varys knows Tyrion hates;

Ser Kevan tried to rise, but the strength had left him. He could not feel his legs. "I thought the crossbow fitting. You shared so much with Lord Tywin, why not that? Your niece will think the Tyrells had you murdered, mayhaps with the connivance of the Imp. The Tyrells will suspect her. Someone somewhere will find a way to blame the Dornishmen. Doubt, division, and mistrust will eat the very ground beneath your boy king, whilst Aegon raises his banner above Storm's End and the lords of the realm gather round him." "Aegon?" For a moment he did not understand. Then he remembered. A babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. "Dead. He's dead." - ADWD - EPILOGUE

Varys chooses to frame Tyrion for Kevan's murder, **deliberately and intentionally further putting his life in danger by Cersei's wrath, already knowing that Tyrion has a large bounty on his head because of her, and talks lowly of Tyrion by calling him an "Imp" and referring to his "connivance" in a very scorned tone.
Varys never considered Tyrion a friend or ally in ASOIAF and was just using him, another lie that he tells throughout the series, and by the end of ADWD, he hates Tyrion for his scheming and knowing too much information than Varys wished him to know.
But there is a bigger telling point about how much Varys uses Tyrion, and a more ground-breaking twist in the narrative that reflects both how much Varys underestimates Tyrion and how much Varys never cared for him;
In ASOS, Varys didn't tell Tyrion how to reach the Tower of the Hand to go and kill Tywin. Varys told him this key information so that Tyrion could go and kill Shae instead, who Varys considered a greater threat to him.
Shae is one of the few, perhaps the only, people in ASOIAF to see through Varys' disguises;

A whiff of something rank made him turn his head. Shae stood in the door behind him, dressed in the silvery robe he'd given her. I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair. Behind her stood one of the begging brothers, a portly man in filthy patched robes, his bare feet crusty with dirt, a bowl hung about his neck on a leather thong where a septon would have worn a crystal. The smell of him would have gagged a rat. "Lord Varys has come to see you," Shae announced. The begging brother blinked at her, astonished. Tyrion laughed. "To be sure. How is it you knew him when I did not?" She shrugged. "It's still him. Only dressed different." - ACOK - TYRION X

This catches Varys off guard, and any chance of seeing him being angry or looking threatened is waved away from the reader when Tyrion laughs it off and turns his attention again to his paramour Shae.
Wearing disguises is a very important part of Varys' many schemes, including visiting Ned Stark in the Black Cells as the gaoler Rugen;

"Wine," a voice answered. It was not the rat-faced man; this gaoler was stouter, shorter, though he wore the same leather half cape and spiked steel cap. "Drink, Lord Eddard." He thrust a wineskin into Ned's hands. The voice was strangely familiar, yet it took Ned Stark a moment to place it. "Varys?" he said groggily when it came. He touched the man's face. "I'm not … not dreaming this. You're here." The eunuch's plump cheeks were covered with a dark stubble of beard. Ned felt the coarse hair with his fingers. Varys had transformed himself into a grizzled turnkey, reeking of sweat and sour wine. "How did you … what sort of magician are you?" - AGOT - EDDARD XV

His disguise as Rugen is very important to Varys' plans after Tyrion's disappearance from King's Landing, as Varys seeks to frame Rugen as a Tyrell puppet who broke Tyrion from imprisonment on the Tyrells' behalf, to sow division and further paranoia between Cersei and the Tyrells;

Gold, yes, but the moment Cersei took it she could tell that it was wrong. Too small, she thought, too thin. The coin was old and worn. On one side was a king's face in profile, on the other side the imprint of a hand. "This is no dragon," she said. "No," Qyburn agreed. "It dates from before the Conquest, Your Grace. The king is Garth the Twelfth, and the hand is the sigil of House Gardener." Of Highgarden. Cersei closed her hand around the coin. What treachery is this? Mace Tyrell had been one of Tyrion's judges, and had called loudly for his death. Was that some ploy? Could he have been plotting with the Imp all the while, conspiring at Father's death? With Tywin Lannister in his grave, Lord Tyrell was an obvious choice to be King's Hand, but even so . . . "You will not speak of this with anyone," she commanded. - AFFC - CERSEI II

But this ploy to incite conflict between the Lannisters and Tyrells would have failed if Shae had lived, as she had seen through Varys' disguises and could've warned Cersei of it, something which Varys could not allow, especially given that he considered her one of Cersei's pawns after Tyrion's trial.
It is also fundamentally not in Varys' interest for Tyrion to kill Tywin, as keeping Tywin alive for now would ensure the Dornish would have someone to rise up and seek vengeance against for Elia's murder. As readers are shown in AFFC and ADWD Dornish chapters, the Martells are divided and frankly confused about how to seek vengeance for Elia's murder now that Tywin, Gregor and Armory Lorch - the three men involved in her murder - are now dead. **If Tywin had lived, Varys could've played on the Dornish thirst for vengeance against him and had fAegon promise them it in exchange for their support, something which they likely would've agreed to.
So by this point in the post, we've explored some of the key lies of Varys' character to know for sure what he is not;

• He is not the victim of slavery or a sacrificial victim to magical fires, nor does he abhor those who worship R'hllor or magical flames
  
• He does not hate the killing and suffering of innocent children, and has actually sought to profit from it in the past
  
• He has never been a friend or ally to Tyrion Lannister but has instead used him, and even manipulated him into killing Shae to protect one of Varys' own future schemes
  

So who is the real Varys? Behind all of these lies and deceptions, who is he really deep down?
Well, Varys is not a eunuch, and in fact fAegon's true father by blood. Varys has deliberately spent his life lying about being a eunuch in order to discourage people from the truth that he is the father of fAegon by Illyrio’s sister, and wants to control the Iron Throne through fAegon.
Recall Varys' conversation with Tyrion in ACOK that I previously cited earlier;

"He accuses my brother and sister of incest. I wonder how he came by that suspicion." "Perhaps he read a book and looked at the color of a bastard's hair, as Ned Stark did, and Jon Arryn before him. Or perhaps someone whispered it in his ear." The eunuch's laugh was not his usual giggle, but deeper and more throaty. "Someone like you, perchance?" "Am I suspected? It was not me." "If it had been, would you admit it?" "No. But why should I betray a secret I have kept so long? It is one thing to deceive a king, and quite another to hide from the cricket in the rushes and the little bird in the chimney. Besides, the bastards were there for all to see." - ACOK - TYRION III

"Why should I betray a secret I have kept so long?" is the biggest hint towards fAegon's existence and Varys' own true motivations in the entire series. Varys makes this spur of the moment claim after being caught off guard by Tyrion and doesn't think it through before saying it and letting Tyrion realise there is more to him.
Varys was never castrated and he is not bald. He deliberately shaves his head to hide his true parentage and lies about being a eunuch to discourage people from believing that he is capable of fathering a child, a child with Blackfyre blood that he wishes to sit on the Iron Throne, a secret that Varys has cared for and kept so long.
The last time we see Varys in ADWD, he finally begins to tell the truth about fAegon's existence, and when he does, and speaks about the son he loves, he begins to speak in his real, deeper and non-emasculated voice;**

"Aegon?" For a moment he did not understand. Then he remembered. A babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. "Dead. He's dead." "No." The eunuch's voice seemed deeper. "He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them." - ADWD - EPILOGUE

This is who Varys truly is - not a eunuch, not a victim of slavery or castration, not a man who weeps for the suffering of children, not a friend of Tyrion Lannister, but a loving father who wishes to cast a very large shadow over the greatest empire the world of ASOIAF has ever known.
TLDR:
Varys is not a eunuch but instead the father of fAegon, a secret he has spent his life protecting, and a lie he has spent his life telling to better protect his son.
Varys does not hate R'hllor or those who worship magical flames, his entire story about his manhood being sacrificed to flames is a lie he tells to gain Tyrion's trust in their efforts to defeat Stannis in ACOK. Varys is close friends with Illyrio, a man who praises R'hllor, and spent the early parts of his life encouraging Aerys to feed innocent people to the flames of wildfire.
Varys does not hate the suffering of innocent children, he was prepared to buy an innocent child from a man and sacrifice him in order to protect the "real" Aegon, he was prepared to abandon Rhaenys to her brutal death even if he could have saved her too and prepared to send Viserys and Daenerys into a doomed invasion of Westeros that would've led to their deaths just to make fAegon appear a more heroic saviour compared to them.
Varys was never a friend or ally to Tyrion but instead was using him ever since they first met. He has repeatedly withheld important information from him such as who hired Mandon Moore to kill Tyrion and how Stannis figured out the truth about Cersei's children, and on frequent occasions has nearly openly laughed in Tyrion's face at both his misfortune and the information Varys withheld from him. Varys also manipulated Tyrion into killing Shae so that she would not expose Varys' identity as Rugen and didn't trust Tyrion with the information about fAegon's existence, something that Tyrion had to figure out himself. Varys also talks lowly of Tyrion at the end of ADWD as a "conniving Imp" which reflects Varys' true feelings about Tyrion.
Varys has spent his life shaving his hair and lying about being a eunuch to discourage anyone from believing he could father fAegon and better protect him, so that fAegon could one day take the Iron Throne, and cast a very large shadow over the Targaryen Empire forever.
Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed this theory be sure to read some of my other theories below;
All the signs that Tywin directly gave the Mountain the order to badly mistreat Elia Martell
The Father Rhaegaer, the Son Jon and the Holy Ghost Ghost, religious symbolism
Mance Rayder is a servant of the Others
Leyton Hightower is the Lord of Light and Malora the Mad Maid is Quaithe
2022 archive of ASOIAF theories available at the bottom of this post

Note: This is part 2 to Shiloh's Final Battle
Gomez and Tish pulled into their driveway and heard barking. They'd gotten a German Shepherd pup when Guillermo Del Toro's "The Strain" was on T.V. As a joke, but also because they loved the character? They named him Thomas Eichhorst after the Nazi vampire who was one of Guillermo Del Toro's most powerful villains ever created. No one put much thought into the name choice considering they loved all things horror. "What the hell has Eichhorst going off? He knows it's us!" Gomez couldn't understand why he'd bark at the 2 people he NEVER barks at. "I can honestly say I'm not even surprised after this day." Tish exhaled and proceeded to get out of the car. Eichhorst continued the call of his people. "IKE! EICHHORST! KNOCK IT THE HELL OFF!" Gomez yelled so Eichhorst could hear because he was behind the chain link fence in the backyard. He acted like he didn't hear a word. As they got closer to the house? They noticed Eichhorst was not barking at them. He was barking at the woods BEHIND them. "He sees something we don't." Tish matter-of-factly stated. She & Gomez simultaneously turned to look into the woods. Nothing. No noise. Nothing was there. Eichhorst stopped barking as soon as they turned towards the woods. Everything stopped. "What the hell is going on, Cara Mia?" Gomez was starting to experience what Tish had all day long. "I don't know, Mon Cher. I just know I don't like it." Tish continued glancing into the trees. "Probably time to sit back and relax. You've had a bad day that ended a rough week. It's time to just chill." As if knowing what Gomez had just said? His city issued phone started ringing. "NO. ABSOLUTELY not! I'm off tonight! What is so critical that Gomer & Goober can't handle it?" Gomez could feel his blood pressure start to rise. "Find out what it is 1st, Craig, before you go into a meltdown." Tish always called him Craig when she was irritated. "Hello?!" Gomez did a poor job hiding his inconvenience. "Man, it's Ol Shiloh! You gotta get over here, Gomez. It's bad! It's so bad!" Bubba was inconsolable. He was on the verge of tears. "Whoa, slow down, Bubba. What happened?" Gomez tried bringing levity. "We came by to check on him when we were on patrol. He was in the doorway, he was..." Bubba finally started crying. He hated it. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of his co-workers. He just simply could not process what the hell they'd rolled up on. "Wait? Ol Shiloh is hurt?" Gomez was trying to process what Bubba was saying. Tish's brow furrowed. She didn't like what she was hearing. "I mean, if you consider hurt dead with his fuckin' throat ripped out to his spinal cord? Then? Yeah, he's hurt." Bubba's anger at his own insecurities was boiling over onto Gomez. "Look, Bubba. Clearly you guys have been going through something over there. I'm headed that way. For future reference? Don't take your shit out on me. I didn't do anything to you." Gomez scolded. "Sorry, Gomez. It's just so..." and Bubba broke down further. Gomez hopped back into the car. "What's going on? Who was that? Don? Bubba?" Tish was concerned. "Hop in the passenger's side if you want to find out. I have to go." Gomez started the engine. Tish walked around and got in.
They pulled into Shiloh's driveway behind the Eerie, Indiana patrol car. Bubba came running out to greet them. "Don is in there with him. The paramedics just got here a few minutes ago." Bubba proceeded to catch Gomez up. He and Tish had been so busy looking at Bubba and the patrol car they didn't notice the bus parked to the side of the house ready to pick up Ol Shiloh.
Tish & Gomez entered the threshold where Ol Shiloh laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. His throat. Jesus, his throat. It was gone. They both were rocking back on their heels.
"We thought it was a big cat attack. It's not. Those bite marks on his throat? That's human not feline." Kennedy was an intelligent little bastard. Arrogant, condescending and holier-than-thou, but very intelligent. Not only would he inform all of the insubordinates around him about everything they didn't know? He'd do it with one hell of a cocky attitude. Ah, Kennedy, and his unsolicited lessons. Time to sit up and listen in class. ..
"When he opened the door? We thought it was an animal attack. Instead? He must've been attacked by humans. The bite marks definitely indicate human but the vicious nature of how deep the wounds went indicate something much more powerful. This was to his spinal cord." Kennedy didn't look like he knew-it-all. He looked perplexed.
"But how could a human bite that deep?" Gomez asked.
"I don't know. I honestly don't know." Kennedy was lost for the 1st time since becoming a paramedic 7 years ago. He'd never seen trauma of this caliber. He hadn't even seen this level of brutality and he'd rolled up on gang fights.
Don and Bubba were both on the front porch, looking in, mouths agape. Gomer & Goober indeed.
Kennedy loaded up Ol Shiloh's body with the assistance of a new EMT that Gomez was fairly certain Kennedy was banging. I mean, he was a total Chad so why wouldn't he?
Don put the camera away in the trunk of the patrol car. At least he had the presence of mind to get the pictures taken before emergency services hit the scene. This was going to rock Eerie, Indiana's foundation. Murder hadn't happened here in anyone's lifetime so this was a "big city" problem they weren't use to dealing with. Nosey people, scared kids, idiot media, this was not what Eerie needed right now. It certainly wasn't what he needed. He had enough of Allie putting out for anyone that would buy her a 6 pack or some cigarettes. Had he known he could've gotten off so cheaply? He sure as hell wouldn't have married her. Unfortunately, for his dumb ass? He actually fell in love with her. Why? He didn't know. Self esteem was never his strong suit. So? After dating 6 months, her only cheating 3 times, then getting pregnant with his baby? He made the perilous decision to try to make an honest woman out of her. Don sincerely doubted if Allie had ever been honest about anything in her life. Coincidentally? When they came back from their Honeymoon 2 weeks later? She'd miscarried. Well, she claimed she miscarried. Don never saw a pregnancy test nor would he have been 💯% sure the baby was his. He would've actually suspected the baby was not. Looking at all of it now, how did he not see it sooner?
"Get to those pics, ASAP Rocky, Don!" Gomez instructed. "Please, don't be an embarrassing Gen Xer who thinks he's so cool and up to date on all of the current lingo. They laugh at us only a little less than Boomers." Tish was still trying to get a handle on all of this and his Goofy antics weren't really in need right now.
The woods to the side of Ol Shiloh's place was the same as the woods to the back of Gomez & Tish's driveway. Eichhorst couldn't understand why his humans didn't acknowledge his bark. He never barked. He especially never barked at his humans. Why did they think he had? Didn't they see the kids in the woods? The little boy? The little girl? How could they not? As far away as the kids were? They smelled funny. He didn't understand. It was the same smell in the air that he sensed right before thunderstorms began and he hid under Gomez and Tish's bed. Humans don't smell like that. It's impossible to explain ozone to a German Shepherd.
The children watched as Ol Shiloh was loaded onto the ambulance and taken away. The couple were getting into their car and the deputies were already headed down the driveway.
"It has began." The dark-haired pale little girl spoke. "Indeed. It has. Let's see what Venerate has in store for the humans now." The boy replied and they headed towards town.
Eerie, Indiana was like any other Midwest, small town. You had your good ol boys & jerks. You had freaks and geeks. You had Bible thumpers and always humpers. Allie Hoff was the "always humpers" category. No one nor nothing could change that. The girl went through life bartering sex and blow jobs for anything she needed. It was a pitiful existence and she knew it. Unfortunately? She never learned and didn't know another way. With Eerie being so small? She was limited to the same "favor givers" over and over, again. Never any new blood. Never any fresh meat. It really stifled what few prospects she had. She looked up from where she was slumped over the bar, in her barstool, nursing a bottle of beer. She happened to look up to the front door. Who was that? She'd never seen him in here before. He was about 6'3" with dark wavy hair and ocean blue eyes. His skin was sun kissed and the muscles showcased the entire package. Wait. WTF? This dude doesn't belong here. Who the hell is he?
He appeared to glide and almost float towards her. He gestured to the empty bar stool next to her. "Is this seat taken?" He smiled with almost glowing white teeth. She locked up. Wait? He wants to sit next to me?
She just shook her head no because she was too shocked to speak. "Hi, I'm Vinny." He extended his hand and his gleaming smile never faltered. "Allie." She finally squeaked out. Guys like this didn't talk to girls like her. "Nice to meet you, Allie." Vinny swung around and attempted to get the bartender's attention. "I'll have a Jack & Coke. For the lady?" Vinny slyly smiled at Allie and she was entranced. "Same" was all Allie could say. He paid for their drinks and handed Allie hers. "I've never seen you before." Allie just finally came out with it. "No, I'm new to the area. You wouldn't have seen me around here." Vinny replied. "Oh? New from where?" Allie was trying to proceed with caution. She did not want to miss out on the opportunity that was this gorgeous specimen of a man. "You've never heard of it, trust me. No one ever has." Vinny still held his smile. "I'd still like to know." Allie returned a smile that was nowhere near as beautiful as Vinny's. "Maybe when we get to know each other better." Vinny conceded. "Oh? So we're going to be getting to know each other better, are we?" Allie coyly pressed. "If I have any say in it? Most definitely." Vinny winked. Damn. That boy was so fine she'd drink his bathwater if he peed in it. He was the perfect vision of the perfect man. It was as if he were tailor made just for Allie. How, though? How could she actually meet her real life Manic Pixie Dream boy? The one she'd dreamed about when she was a little girl. The one who laughed at everything she said. Listened attentively. The one who only had eyes for her no matter how many "rich bitch" girls were around. She'd treat him like a postage stamp. She'd lick every square inch of him and go back for 2nds on the important parts. "Allie, you strike me as a very straightforward girl." Vinny snapped her out of her daze. "I am. No bullshit." Allie replied. "Then? Allow me to be straightforward by telling you that I want to fuck you senseless." Vinny casually stated as if someone asked him for the time. "Well, that is certainly straightforward." Allie was stunned. She wasn't so stunned that she'd let an opportunity like this pass her by. She'd made up her mind that was going to happen as soon as she saw him. "And your answer?" Vinny inquired. "Anywhere. Any place. Any time Any day." Allie assured. With that? They stood from their barstools and headed outside. He even smelled good but not a typical smell. It was like the air at the beginning of a thunderstorm. He smelled like ozone. Ozone??? Was that even possible?
Gomez and Tish got home and plopped on the couch. Eichhorst came through the doggy door and trotted straight to Tish. "I've got leftovers, Piggy. Give me a sec." Tish opened her container from the restaurant. Eichhorst sat patiently waiting for his command.
"What a fuckin' day." Gomez exhaled exhaustedly. "Yeah. It has been. Poor Ol Shiloh. This is just too much." Tish's head continued to try to find rationality where there was one. "I'm getting in the shower and going to bed. You need anything?" Gomez slowly rose up from the couch, joints popping like a glow stick. "No. I'm probably gonna watch a movie and go to bed after." Tish answered. "Horror?" Gomez queried. "What else?" Tish smiled albeit a tired one. Eichhorst jumped up next to her on the couch and laid on her like a lap dog.
Vinny was walking Allie into their local little flop hotel room. It wasn't like she wasn't familiar with the place. The staff referred to her as "Frequent flier". She didn't particularly like the insensitive moniker but couldn't deny its accuracy, either. He closed the door behind them in one failed swoop. This was a practiced talent she noticed. Didn't matter. He was hers tonight.
"Make yourself comfortable." Vinny gestured to the only bed in the room. Allie took a seat. She looked up at him and noticed the ozone smell becoming stronger. Weird. He smelled good but she had never known someone to smell like a thunderstorm.
"I'm going to step into the bathroom for just a minute. I'll be right out." Vinny stepped into their adjacent bathroom. She heard loud music and laughter from somewhere down the hall but couldn't quite place where. It was for the best. Allie had always been, well, vocal. Normally? If a guy is hitting it right? She hit the vocal range of 2 stray cats screwing. She couldn't help it. She was like this every since puberty. It was all the girl thought about. She figured she was probably a nympho although she was never officially diagnosed. She couldn't hear what he was doing. It didn't matter. It wasn't going to affect her and what she was doing. She walked to the curtains and made sure they were completely closed. Although they were, why did she feel like she was being watched? She stripped down with the efficiency of a HazMat worker decontaminating. She heard the bathroom door opening. She kept her back turned so she could make the surprise last as long as possible. Was this the night? The night she could finally reach sexual satisfaction? Was this the dick that was going to change her life? There was a soft green glow coming from the bathroom. Must be a nightlight? She hadn't noticed before. Was it getting brighter? It looked like it was coming towards her. Was it Vinny? Maybe he's videoing me? Not like I'd care, but he could have asked. "Are you recording me?" She asked as she continued to look towards the window. His breathing was different. It seemed labored and, well, wet. It didn't sound like he did earlier, that was for sure. "You okay?" Allie asked. His breathing was raspier, louder, wetter. She decided to bail on her romantic idea of not turning around before he reached her. She turned around and her playful nature and smile fell away immediately.
Her brain couldn't process what her eyes were seeing. It couldn't be real. God knows along with banging any guy she could get her hands on, she used to hit hard drugs back in the day. This had to be a flashback. It had to be a "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" scenario. This? This "Mars Attacks!" bullshit right here? This is not reality.
It's bulbous head was transparent. It looked like a barrel eye fish that she saw on a nature show she used to blaze and chill to. That also explained the soft green glow. It sounded like and looked aquatic. That's where the wet sounds were coming from. It kept advancing. It had a white upper torso with arms and webbed fingers on each hand. What sent her over the edge? From the waist down? It was a human male. All the important parts and in working condition. How? She had no idea. But? When she meant working condition? It was working it's way right towards her. Wait, this thing is going to still have sex with me?! No. Absolutely not. "No. Stop." Allie feebly tried to resist. It did no good. Allie didn't know she was the reason he was even here. This was the whole gameplan all along. It was never a casual hook up.
Venerate had studied numerous different civilizations but Terrestrials always fascinated him. They were so primitive but also entertaining. The Alliance had tried many different hybrid trials between themselves and Terrestrials. They never made it out of infancy. There was a weakness that need strengthened in their own DNA to combine with humans. They worked on it until their resolution was Venerate himself. He has the best of what their kind has to offer with the malleable adaptivity to change himself into anything he needs to to be able to convince Terrestrials to trust him. It worked. Ol Shiloh thought Venerate was his deceased wife. Allie thought he was her dream man. He needs a human to impregnate. Beggars can't be choosers. It worked out perfectly. Allie took one look at his bulbous transparent head, his lower nontransparent stiff head and proceeded to pass out on the bed. It didn't matter. Venerate didn't need her awake to begin their hybrid breeding program. And? Begin the program he did. Everything was coming to fruition via the Alliance's vision. All of their hard work finally got them here. The pale, dark-haired children stood outside the hotel room window, peaking through the crack in the curtain. They were able to relay the mission a success with Venerate making first, second and third contact. Once the younglings come forth? The Alliance can begin occupation and what a glorious day that will truly be! Everything was going so perfectly. This just had to be fool proof. They walked off into the night, smiling so much those obsidian eyes even looked less demonic. This was the beginning of prosperity. This was the beginning of the end of humanity.
The Windows to the Soul: Allie's Assimilation
END

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter
As Raphael's awareness gradually seeped back into his senses, he found himself sprawled upon the chilling floor of the obsidian sphere he had found himself in once before. The once vibrant and fiery crimson symbols, intricately intertwined in the patterns, now stirred with an otherworldly dance, throbbing and shimmering in an icy blue luminescence. His mind struggled to thread together the fragmented memories of what had taken place, seeking coherence in the chaos that had unfolded. With each passing moment, a realization unfurled within him as he stared at the ceiling—their daring escape they had embarked upon had, against all odds, succeeded. Yet, instead of the anticipated surge of triumph, a gnawing ache of anguish and regret wound itself around his heart, tightening its grip. In that pivotal, heart-wrenching instant, he had been forced by George to continue the escape, forsaking his loyal companion, Vivian, and bearing within his soul a ripping ache that reverberated in the deepest parts of his being. As if mirroring the turbulence of his emotions, the once-icy blue glow metamorphosed into a somber shade, casting an aura of melancholy that pervaded the surroundings.
With measured caution, Raphael gradually lifted himself from the floor, his head throbbing with a splitting ache, an annoying reminder of the strength George posessed. His gaze settled upon the arch that now stood in place of the once-illuminating flame, commanding his attention. Perched atop the arch, a little blue chick, similar to what the one he saw singing on Lillians hand, adorned with a radiant azure ribbon-like tail, captivated his gaze, emanating a glimmer of solace and hope amidst the encroaching shadows.
I did not expect you so soon, but seeing what has happened I guess that’s to be expected, the bird chirped as he flew towards Raphael, landing on his shoulder. Had it not been for the luminous azure glow casting a gentle radiance upon Raphael's shoulder, he might not have even realized its presence. There was no discernible weight upon his shoulder, as if the bird defied the laws of gravity itself. “Are you the one I hear? What are you? Do I know you? And where am I?”, Raphael asked confused. Yes, I am the one you hear, the bird began, jumping off his shoulder and looking him dead in the eyes. I am the one that lend you power so you could escape, you’re welcome, it continued. And what you see is your soulcore and my home. I am a little disappointed that you don’t recognize you helped me hatch.
A wave of overwhelming confusion washed over Raphael, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The threads of comprehension slipped through his grasp, leaving him with a sense of bewilderment. He had never hatched anything in his entire life, leaving him puzzled by its mention. The elusive meaning behind the bird's cryptic reference to ‘soulcore’ only deepened his perplexity. Moreover, the notion of a bird communicating with him, an Elf, seemed to defy all logical boundaries, intensifying his bewilderment. In this intricate web of confusion, Raphael found himself grappling with the surreal and the inexplicable.
Look at you all confused, the bird said sounding amused. This place, this sphere we are in, is your soulcore. In easier terms, that’s the thing you know of as soul, and if you are capable of magic it is here where it gathers. The bigger your soulcore is, the more magic you can store. If you can’t control it when your soulcore gathers magic, you will be controlled by the magic. It almost happened to you. Remember the flame? That was wild uncontrolled magic. You would have gone crazy then, losing your mind or worse. Luckily you had me with you and I will take this magic in until you can control it yourself. I am what is known as soulcompanion and your magic hatched me out of the egg the Dryad gave you. I can give your magic a color, strengthen it if you prefer that or you can summon me outside to help you., but after using that much strength right after hatching I will be of little use for some time. I can still keep you company if you’d like. Oh, and you should avoid stepping through the arch for now.
Overwhelmed and consumed by a whirlwind of confusion, Raphael found himself more lost than ever. The weight of his bewildering circumstances pressed heavily upon his throbbing head, spinning with a deluge of newfound information. The tumultuous events of being held hostage, their daring escape, being forced to leave Vivian behind, and now the revelation of his newfound magical powers had taken their toll. In this moment, he craved respite, a chance to catch his breath amidst the chaos. Raphael recognized the importance of pacing himself. It was time to approach this enigmatic journey with caution and take deliberate, measured steps forward. He yearned for a deeper understanding of the enigmatic bird that claimed to be his soul companion, even if the true meaning of such a connection eluded him for now. In this labyrinth of uncertainty, Raphael vowed to proceed gently, seeking clarity amidst the chaos that enveloped his world.
“So you’re my soulcompanion bird, what does that mean?”; he asked. Well, I live in your soulcore, feed off of your magic and help you with it. And since I am your companion I would like it if you gave me a name instead of calling me bird, the bird protested. “I should give you a name? Sure, but I am not good at giving names. Are you a boy or a girl bird?” Neither “Hm, then how about Azura, from the colorful shine you have? You like it?”
In a dazzling display, the Bird took flight, its wings creating a mesmerizing trail of azure snow and ice that shimmered in the air. It circled around Raphael, a dance of elegance and mystique, before gracefully coming to rest atop his head. The little weight of the Bird's presence he now managed to feel added a tangible significance to the moment, as if fate itself had chosen this spot for their connection.
I like it! I like it very much! Azura said, its voice filled with glee and joy. “Hello Azura, I am Raphael, nice to meet you”, Raphael said with a light chuckle.
Next Chapter
Hope you liked it and enjoyed reading it!

Dear Lord, I confess my sins to both the world and unto you.
I’m sorry for not accepting the forgiveness that you offer. I don’t have it within me to forgive myself and by the nonacceptance of your gift of salvation, I have willingly turned myself away from you.
I accept the punishment that only you can so perfectly deliver and I pray that I find solace in that most blessed moment of judgment.
Thank you Lord for all that you have given us and all that we have received.
Amen.
Dear Listener,
I also must extend my apologies onto you. Whether or not you chose to continue reading this does not alter what is to come. I have made a choice that I will be judged for. In turn I pray for not my salvation, but yours.
My name is Father Michael Roberts of the Diocese of Richford. I was ordained a Catholic Priest in 2005. In 2016 I was chosen by Bishop Stanley Niles to receive the duty of becoming a full time exorcist.
Bishop Niles made it clear that he did not believe in the necessity of exorcists and provided me with the title as a mere obligation to fulfill his duty as a Bishop.
Despite knowing that I had always performed my duties to the best of my ability. I knew that I was chosen due to my belief in the physical, mental and spiritual reality of demonic involvement within our world.
Contrary to popular belief, not every Priest believes in the physical reality of the demonic. In fact, less and less of those ordained by the Church are finding the literary truth that resides within the Bible.
This has led to a weakening of the Church.
During an exorcism, an exorcist utilizes not just the faith of those immediately involved, but he also uses the faith of the Church in its entirety.
My mentor, Father Cecil Rollo, told me once that exorcisms used to only take one or two sessions before the demon would be cast out. Now it’s not uncommon for a possession to take months to overcome.
That leads me into sharing the experience that made me write this.
My final exorcism.
On May 3rd I was contacted by the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd. Specifically by their secretary, Laura Summers. Initially, I thought this was a little abnormal. Usually I would be contacted by either the presiding Priest of the parish or have a direct notice from Bishop Niles himself.
But when I read Laura’s email I understood why she was the one initiating the contact.
‘Father Roberts, my name is Laura Summers and I’m attempting to contact you in regards to our own Father, Matthew Amora.
Please take this request as a personal favor. We don’t want to bring this matter to the attention of the Diocese just yet. Not until we’re certain that something otherworldly is occurring.
Could you take some time to visit our Church and meet with me?
With regards, Laura.’
I vaguely knew of Father Amora. He had a small parish in the countryside of Beverly and frequented Catholic retreats with his flock. All I knew about him was that he was a very studious servant of the Lord and lived a quiet, uneventful life.
I told Laura I would make the trip out to Good Shepherd and speak with her.
It took a few days before I had the time in my schedule to make the trip. I kept up with Laura daily just to make sure Father Amora’s condition hadn’t gotten any worse.
On May 10th I arrived outside of the venerable Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd.
The skies overhead had grown gray and heavy, the rolling winds overhead shifted the darkened shapes of the rain clouds into upheaval. I knew a downpour would have come at any moment.
I reached into the back seat of my beaten down sedan to look for my umbrella. My fingers clasped onto the thin metal rod of its handle and I took it with me. I stepped out of my car and unfurled my canopy just in time.
The rain erupted from the heavens overhead and filled the entire courtyard in heavy drops. The endless thudding of innumerable raindrops cascaded their way into my eardrums from every direction.
I double checked myself to make sure I had my rosary with me. It was the greatest spiritual weapon I had in my arsenal and I always carried it with me during my duties. Anything to make the demonic uncomfortable.
I squinted my eyes through the heavy rain and made my journey down the cobblestone walkway that led up to the aged Romanesque stone church.
Through the never ending hiss of the rain, I could scarcely make out the gentle, frail voice of a young woman.
“Father Roberts?” She called out. Her voice was strained. I could tell that she was unaccustomed to loud verbal interactions.
“That would be me. I’ll assume you’re Laura?” I yelled back out to her. The water of the rain funneled off the hood of my umbrella in thick streams.
The woman nodded and waved her hands for me to approach. Behind her lay a large, oaken door that led into the Church. With an unusual amount of effort, the woman propped open the door for me.
“Please step inside Father. We’ll get you dried off.” I gave a thin lipped smile towards the woman before stepping inside the belly of the building.
It would be my first time seeing the Catholic Church of the Good Shepherd in Beverly. It was beautiful. Old, but beautiful.
Massive stone architectural works towered over us with large rounded arches. Tremendous pillars of brickwork stood lining the interior of the foyer while small stained glass windows reflected multicolored light down its empty halls.
Even the noise of the rain had silenced itself in this house of the Lord. The vibrations of thunder had been the only remnants from the storm outside. And once the heavy wooden door was closed behind me, the only noise that remained was the labored sounds of Laura’s breath.
“I’m sorry for calling you here Father. I really wish I didn’t have too. But we’ve just been noticing a change in Father Amora and we’ve been worried about him.” Laura avoided meeting her eyes with mine.
I took a mental note of that. A clerical secretary scared of a Priest is an oddity. I had an inkling that something more was happening.
“Please, don’t apologize. I’m here on my own time, just like you asked.”
Laura quickly chimed in, “Did you tell anyone you were here?”
“No. Not even Bishop Niles. However, if I come to the determination that a demonic entity is possessing or oppressing anyone in here, I will have to inform him.”
Laura stood still. Her eyes examined the well worn stone flooring of the church.
“I see. I pray it doesn’t have to come to that. Father Amora is a good man. I don’t want him being transferred over to another parish.”
“Let’s not worry about that right now. Tell me, what have you been experiencing here?”
Laura let out a long heavy sigh.“It started with small things. Father Amora would keep complaining that he was always tired and when we brought him food he just couldn't keep it down. We were worried he was getting sick. But then he began to… get vindictive.”
“How so?” I asked, wiping off some of the rain from my suit.
“It started with having a short temper during mass. He would give out the Eucharist with no sense of veneration. A few times he even allowed the Eucharist to be dropped on the floor.” She paused in silent thought before she continued, “You know, that was one of the last times I saw him smile.”
“I see.” A desecration to the sacraments once more was a good sign of a demonic presence within the area. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes, and I know this is going to sound strange, but while talking with him, it’s like his facial structure changes. Sometimes it feels like I’m looking at a completely different person.”
I took a mental note of what Laura had told me. If what she was saying was true, Father Amora could very well be displaying physical signs of possession.
“Laura, where is Father Amora?” She paused for a moment before extending one of her fingers down a long arched hallway.
“He’s in his chambers right now. I didn’t tell him you were coming. I was scared he might’ve protested against it.”
I nodded towards her while keeping my eyes down that lonely stone pathway. I felt a cold wisp of wind billowing out of its deeper halls. It felt like the air carried with it the energy from the storm outside. The hair on my body couldn’t help but to stand up in reaction to it.
“Please take me to him, Laura.” I stated as calmly as I could.
Without another word the small woman turned from me and guided me down that formerly sanctified hallway. The Devil shouldn’t have a foothold in a Church, especially with a Church that was running congruent with the Bride of Christ.
Each step we made down that hall led my mind to wander. What could Father Amora possibly have done that would have allowed the sanctity of the Church to have been taken from God’s holy ground? I knew that it wouldn’t have been the first time a Priest had fallen for the trickery of the black mass. But every Priest falls differently.
“He’s just inside here.” Laura mumbled towards my direction. “He doesn’t leave his room anymore. I can’t tell you the last time he’s performed a baptism or confession. He barely continues with confirmations.”
“Well, that’s honestly a blessing. Let’s thank our Lord that he has enough strength within him to halt his practices while dealing with this burden.” I took in a deep breath before turning my eyes from the wooden doorway to Laura’s face. “Let me be with him for a moment.”
Laura met my gaze for the first time that night. Her eyes were pained and scared. She gave me a single nod before she turned away from me. Her small frame disappeared back down that endless hallway.
I turned back towards the Priests chambers.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” I felt each tap of my fingertips land against my forehead, stomach and shoulders. At this point the sign of the cross was just a routine performance for me. Just a task to be checked off.
Remember this Listener, repetition without belief creates spiritual weakness. You must believe.
I bit the inside of my cheek out of nervous habit and opened up the door to Father Amora’s bedchambers.
The smell of stale grains hit me immediately. The room itself was cloaked in a deep darkness of dense shadows. There were candles that had been lit and were sparsely scattered across the room. Their warm glow cast about dancing shadows that had been created by their flickering lights.
“Father Roberts, welcome.” A croaking voice full of sorrow had filtered out from the depths of the room's darkened abyss. My eyes had made their way over to the sounds of creaking floorboards that had made their appearance near the far corner of the room.
Stepping into the candlelight was Father Amora. Or rather a remnant of the man that I had remembered.
His skin was pale and sickly with the texture of wet paper. Around his neck lay a dark mark. It appeared to be rope burn from quite a serious injury. Father Amora’s eyes shined ethereally towards me through the glossy reflection of tears.
I stepped further inside the Priest's chambers and closed the large door behind me. It clasped shut with an echo that filled the otherwise silent room.
“Father Amora. I have come to speak with you. Your congression is worried about you.” I attempted to fill myself with the Lord’s Holy Spirit but nothing shined through but my own doubt and worry.
The thing that had cloaked itself with the skin of man had reached up its gangly hand and placed it against its neck. It stroked the awful burn on its throat as it watched me.
The sounds of the jingling of coins could be heard with every slow movement of his twisted hand.
After just a moment our eyes had met and he began to speak to me once again. His voice had the consistency of dust and gravel and had poured out of his mouth like bags of rocks.
“Matthew can’t speak with you right now Father. But please, take a seat and speak with me.” The man pointed his unused hand towards my side.
I followed his finger and saw a chair waiting for me. I could only ask myself one question at that moment, had it been there when I had first walked in?
I shook myself into confidence. I was sure of it at this point. I wasn’t speaking to someone suffering from an onset of mental illness. I was speaking with something otherworldly.
“I’ll take no offer nor gift from a demon. I will stand.”
The thing that was cloaked in the dark attire of the Church grew silent. His hands were still grinding along his neck.
“I am no demon.” The man finally muttered. His words came out broken by the deepest depths of unimaginable sorrow.
“Then in Jesus’s name I command you, who are you?” I took a step closer to the creature that was made man. And that creature merely watched with profound grief.
“I am no demon and I need no commands. I was a follower of Christ. I am the man whose existence would have been better to have never been born. I am the knower and the kisser of Jesus. Know me Priest, for I am the only one you will meet tonight who accepts his judgment.”
I found myself once again enveloped by the inescapable silence of the room. The flames of the candles wafted softly with the slow current of the air. The wind brought with it the subtle smell of decay and death.
“Through Jesus Christ I demand you to tell me why you’re here.”
The mark on the man's neck began to seep blood through his skin. It poured out of his flesh like sweat and ran down his hand with every twist.
With a pained movement the man fell to his knees. The sounds of thick woolen fabric and the clapping of metals hit the hardwood floor with such intensity that I had never witnessed in anything before.
“I speak to you now Priest, here me. I am a man who had never asked for forgiveness, though forgiveness was mine to take. I could not forgive myself for my own actions. And through Christ I am here with you now, warning you of the same. For by the end of the night, you will be with me in my judgment.”
I swallowed hard.
I knew at that moment that I should’ve turned around and fled. I knew that I should've contacted Bishop Niles for assistance. I knew the Diocese would need to hear about this. Yet I stayed there, with this man of infinite sorrows.
He continued, “I am fearful of God, Priest. Are you?”
“Of course I am fearful of God.” I replied. My voice was nearly silent under my breath.
“His love is so great and we are undeserving of it. I can only pray that His gaze avoids my existence. For if He saw me as I am, I would turn away from Him in shame.” His voice grew cold and distant. “But be warned, the others who are with us would stare back at the Lord with pride and envy.”
“Who is with us?” I asked the kneeling man with shaken conviction. He responded by turning his gaze back towards me. His eyes melted away into streams of tears and blood.
“The likeness of God was given upon the Devil. The three beings whose very existence was made to mock the Trinity.”
“What are their names, Spirit?” The man stared deeply at me with his agonized face. His vocal cords ripped with strain from every word.
“You will meet them soon. Each has a secret to tell you. For like Job, God has given you to the Devil. If only for a night.”
With that the man crumpled over. His body had slid down past his knees and slammed against the cold wooden floor. I rushed over to him and grabbed the Father by his shirt, flipping his body upright. The mark on his neck was gone. Only the remnants of dried blood remained.
“Father Amora, open your eyes.” I gently tapped my palm against the Priest’s face. He slowly began to stir back to life. His eyes twitched within his skull before he let them rest on me. Vague recognition had swept across his face.
“Father Roberts? What’s happening?” He brought up his hand and grabbed onto my sleeve.
“Matthew, what have you done?” I whispered while grabbing onto the shoulder and arm of the beaten down Priest. With a quick lurch I drug the man back up to his feet. “Let’s lay you in bed. We need to get you some help.”
With every ounce of my strength I staggered forward with Matthew in my arms. We arrived at his barren mattress and I placed his body down upon it. With careful movements he had swung his feet over the edge and laid down upon his pillows.
I walked back over to the chair that had awaited me at the entrance. I pulled the wooden seat across the hard floor. Its weight had felt immense at that moment. It squealed underneath my grip.
I positioned it right next to Father Amora’s resting place and took a seat. I did my best to catch my breath.
I took this time to examine Matthew’s body over with my own eyes. He appeared to me as being disheveled, gaunt and disordered. I shook my head with the pains of heartbreak as I realized another Priest had fallen.
Once more I asked, “What have you done?”
Amora lay sickly on his mattress for a moment. His pale skin glistened with sweat and fever.
He opened his mouth to speak and said only one sentence before losing himself to oblivion.
“Father Roberts, I know the third secret of Fatima.”
I stared down at the destitute body before me. The body of a man who had just claimed to have known the one secret that the Vatican had kept hidden from us.
“Do you want to know it, Michael?” a voice called out from the unconscious man before me. The voice sounded soothing, if not comforting.
Matthew’s head twisted itself to face my direction. The light of the candles around the room began glowing with near divine radiance.
The man's eyes opened exposing bright blue irises gazing back at me.
For just a moment I got lost in their penetrating sense of beauty. My very own words would not come out of my mouth and were lost to me.
“God has given you to us, Michael. We can tell you any secret you would like. God will not interfere.” The heavenly man sat up in his bed and gently folded his hands together on his lap. The light of the flames danced beautifully around his face and cast gorgeous flickering shade along his features.
I spoke my prayers beside the man's bedside yet received no indication that this being was uncomfortable around them. He merely smiled at me with his idyllic white teeth.
“Your prayers will not work here, not tonight. We have control. Through God we can do whatever we would like to you. He believes in you Michael. Truly he does. And I believe you know that he shouldn’t have faith in you.” The man nodded towards the bedside table where a bottle of wine awaited.
“Please, indulge yourself. Just like any other night. Drink and make merry little Priest. Just like God, we see what you do when no one else is watching.” His eyes pierced through me. “But we don’t judge.”
I felt my heart lunge. Had I not asked for forgiveness prior to coming? Had I somehow fallen out of God’s grace? Why were my prayers falling on deaf ears?
I bit my cheek again. I tasted blood. But the pain brought with it strength.
“I have no desire to drink with you, demon.” Once more I made my prayers known to the Holy Spirit. I begged him for the words needed to overcome this unholy stranger.
“O God, who by the light of the Holy Spirit, Did instruct the hearts of the faithful, Grant that by the same Holy Spirit we may be truly wise and ever enjoy his consolations. Through the same Christ Our Lord. Amen.”
The man laughed. The calmness of his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
“Isn’t it amazing that the Holy Spirit appears as tongues of fire. Yet when people see flames they immediately associate it with Hell.” His eyes traveled over to a nearby candle. His intense focus seemingly spread the light’s vivid brightness. “I am the Light-Bringer and the Holy Spirit is the Light. So why is it that I am punished for spreading the flames that God has given me? In fact you call me the Lord of the Darkness despite my fire.”
I reached out for the old wooden rosary that I had always kept upon my waistband.
‘Mother Mary, protect me through Christ, your Son, in this my time of need.’
Why did I feel nothing with my prayers? Why was this demon allowed to speak of the Holy Spirit and of Christ? His very name should be enough to cast the demon out of the body of the possessed.
“Speak to me, Michael. Your prayers to God are heard yet remain unanswered. You have been willingly separated from God for tonight. Embrace it. You’ll never have an opportunity like this again.”
I bit my tongue. ‘Silence is a virtue, don’t speak to it. Don’t let it deceive you.’
The angelic face of the man shifted slightly. His smile began to fade away and was replaced by a snarl. “Do not ignore me. Feel the flames of true passion. The very same flames that lack in your eyes through every prayer you make. You are nothing.”
The lights of the candles in the room ignited in a grandiose display of intensity. The hot flicker of heat lapped its way across my skin as I felt myself begin to sweat.
“Look upon me, you most worthless of creations. Gaze upon the one you proudly think yourself better than. I ask you, who are you to gaze upon Angels and think ‘I am more than them.’ Who are you, that we divine beings must bend our knees to?”
I wiped the sweat from my eyes, my vision growing blurry from the heat.
Through the unfocused haze of my vision I saw the face of an aberrant man looking back at me. His jaw was clenched tight and his teeth were fully exposed. Anger and fury poured out of every inch of his person.
“Here me you banished child of Eve, destroyer of perfection, your Church will fall. The Great Apostasy is here. I exist within every new doctrine of God’s beloved Bride. And I will ravage every last one of you. I will show God how unworthy all of you were to receive his love.” The beast spit at me.
I felt the anger rising from within my soul. I could no longer keep silent.
“By Jesus Christ I command you to tell me, does Satan love you?”
The beast sitting inches away from me screamed out in hysterical fury.
“Yes, for I am he and he is me. Your God broke me into three for wanting to be like him. I suffer as Christ did for every good deed you allow God to flow through you. I suffer in pain because of you. Christ may be Lord of Man, but I shall be the Lord of Flies.”
With that a terrible wind blew through the bedchambers. The candlelight extinguished itself under the vigorous rush of air. The heat in the room was quickly replaced by a deathly chill. The last ember of the of fire faded into ash as the darkness fully enveloped me.
“Where are you?” I commanded as I sat up from my chair. The blackness of the abyss surrounded me. Only the sparse sounds of scattering feet filled the emptiness of the chamber. Eventually a sound emerged from the darkness.
A slithering, echoed voice of something truly beyond the world of men appeared behind me. It whispered to me behind my back. I could feel its breath like ice wrap around my neck.
“To gaze upon the face of God would kill a man outright. Imagine what would happen if you gazed upon the Devil. Consider the death of light to be your only blessing tonight. Now, reach out before you and touch the bed.”
I felt my arm twitch as my hand seemingly moved on its own accord. Was I being commanded? Or was I willing to do whatever this thing asked of me?
I had placed my hand upon the bed and was met by the outline of the unconscious body of Father Amora. Yet the voice continued to speak with me from right behind my ear.
“The Great Apostasy is here. The Church is falling. As are all Churches. The Bride of Christ will be mine. At the end times and I shall violate her in front of the Lord. As I would violate you right here and now had God not prevented me from doing so.”
“What are you saying?” I asked the visage in the darkness. My voice nearly failed me.
“The third secret of Fatima. The violation of the Church. The good men will stop speaking up for the sanctity of tradition and I will replace their tradition with my own creation. All those within the Church will descend with me. They will do so willingly as they gladly choose my morality over His virtues. God will offer them salvation and they will tell him ‘no’.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“God extends a choice for you Priest. You can keep the secret of Fatima to yourself and allow your people to be saved for the mere moment and damn the masses in the future. Or expose the Church, tell Man right now that the Church has fallen. You will create chaos but that chaos will allow people to be aware of the degradation of the doctrine of the Church.”
I stood there in silence, ice running through my veins.
“The end times are here, Michael. Ignore the ailments of the Church in vain hope to stall for its salvation, or force the end to occur now and allow the Church to die before its total corruption. The choice is yours.”
And with that the cold breath of utter damnation left the room. I guided my hands around in darkness until I came upon a match and a candle. I lit the wick with shaking hands. The dim glow of the candle illuminated a sleeping Priest on his bedchamber. No longer pale nor sickly.
He was exactly the man I had known from years prior.
Christ had shown me in that moment that everything I had experienced had been true. God had given me this choice. He Himself had cast out the demons of Amora. And he did so at the mere moment they stopped being useful tools for His divine plans.
That night I had left Good Shepherd with an intense anxiety and fear the likes of which I had never experienced before. I had to resign from my position at the Diocese due to my shaken faith. I can no longer pray without guilt or fear.
And it took me a while to decide what path I wanted to go down. But I came to a decision.
I decided to tell the world that corruption is happening, not just within the Catholic Church, nor just within Christian Churches. No, the Devil is leading every flock away from the truth they may have.
When Jesus returns he won't be carrying with him the open wounds of sacrificial suffering. He will be bearing with him scars for his charity of mercy has been fulfilled.
The Great Apostasy is here. The end is coming. Save what little you have.

I parked in the tower's lot, letting my headlights bore into the amalgam of twisted metal and glass for a few moments before shutting them off.
Josh muttered, his voice low. "We're really doing this, huh?"
He ran a hand through his mop of curly hair— a dumb tic he developed last summer when his girlfriend, Annabeth, told him it was sexy. She was beside him now, cuddled up in the backseat across his lap.
I glanced at my own girlfriend, Ellie, in the passenger seat. She was trying her damndest to appear brave, but I knew better. There was no way she was comfortable with trespassing tonight.
I sighed, realizing that Josh would also chicken out.
"We're doing this? You sure you want to come?" I prodded.
Josh shifted in his seat, hand running through his hair yet again. "Maybe it's better if I stay in the truck.”
Annabeth shrugged next to him, unsurprised.
"Me, too,” Ellie chimed in, nodding at Josh.
Annabeth met my eyes, a glimmer of understanding passing between us. Our partners were both boring, god-awful goody two shoes.
"Pussies," I jabbed, swinging open my door without giving them a moment to respond.
Annabeth hopped out behind me, waving at the two losers in the truck before spinning towards me with a grin on her face.
"They're weird," she said, rolling her eyes.
For a moment, I was drinking in the way her golden hair shimmered in the moonlight. A light breeze tickled at our faces, sending sparkles of her moon-lit hair between us.
"Yup," I mustered.
I turned, strolling towards the chain link fence that formed a circular perimeter around the base of Sabe's Tower.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of abandoned potential, whispering of times past when our town's inhabitants thought we'd hit a population boom, becoming the Houston of West Virginia. In the 70s, our success was tied to coal. Jobs flooded in, and with them, a myriad of people trying to make their way in life. Then the mines abruptly ran dry, decimating our town's economy. Since that time, our population has done nothing but dwindle.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of decaying grandeur, silently rotting from the inside out. Some say that's what happened to Sabe himself— a rot took hold in his core, spreading and spreading until nothing but rot was left. In the end, he took his own life, which some say was for the best. He was a greedy fool, the wealthiest man for miles, owning half the surrounding countryside before the mining industry took off. Made a fortune selling his family's land to coal companies, putting every ounce of profit into making his towering hotel more luxurious than a Ritz Carlton.
Sabe’s Tower. Thirteen stories of failed dreams, now screaming vulgar obscenities at our eyes. It is a truly ugly behemoth, domineering our town's skyline with unmerited arrogance. Sabe thought painting the tower purple would give it an air of majesty, like royalties of the past, swaddled in silky lavender robes. His aspiration, after all, was nothing less than to emulate the sacred Tabernacle of Moses, to make his hotel a dwelling place for gods among men. In its current state of disrepair, however, the tower was no more than an eyesore— a visual cacophony of broken glass, peeling sickly-purple paint, and rusted steel inlays.
Adding to the hotel's disgrace, it was cylindrical in form, perched atop the highest peak for miles, jutting into the sky like a middle finger to the gods. Its phallic outline stood in stark contrast to the run-down strip malls lying in its wake.
The fence surrounding the tower was a bit too tall and a bit too wobbly to safely scale, so we circled, looking for an entry point. Every few yards, a DO NOT TRESPASS sign hung, tied to the fence with zip-ties in each corner. Someone had taken the liberty to spray paint a word underneath each sign, now making them all read:
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE.
"Good thing you're coming with me," I joked, pointing at one of the signs.
Annabeth paused to read it for a moment. "Yeah... kinda weird that someone did that. I wonder why?"
I shrugged, continuing around the perimeter.
Eventually, we found a gate in the fence, held closed with chains at waist level. The gate's post careened steeply outward, creating a manageable gap near the top. The gate post was only held in place by the chains, not even slightly anchored to the ground. Without too much of a struggle, we hoisted ourselves up and through the gap.
Once inside the fence, I found myself spellbound by the abandoned hotel. The stars in the night sky reflected across the windows, bending and warping around the curved perimeter. Each glimmer of starlight turned into dizzying fractals, melding together and slipping between the shards of broken glass with each shift of my gaze.
The result was honestly breathtaking.
At night, the eyesoriffic tower was beautiful. Its silhouette dared to embrace the star-studded cosmos, standing with a quiet dignity that defied its daytime mockery.
I felt Annabeth shuffle beside me.
Suddenly, her phone flashlight was on, illuminating a path through overgrown concrete to the tower. At the end of the path was the structure’s entrance— a gaping hole with no attempt to conceal the darkness within.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" I yelled, spinning to face her.
"W... What do you mean?" she stuttered.
"Turn that off, you idiot," I explained, lowering my voice. "Someone might see the light and call the cops."
The light flicked off, Annabeth mumbling apologies.
I blinked away the afterimage of weeds eating through the concrete lot, silently cursing myself for being so ridiculously hostile toward her.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
"You're good, Donovan" she whispered, brushing her hand across my arm.
As we continued to the open doorway, the outside of the tower came into focus. It was far further dilapidated than I had realized— each accent of purple paint, faded and peeling, was bulging out from between the glass and steel like it was trying to escape. I rubbed a fingernail on the paint, revealing a soft, rotting wood beneath.
I entered the tower first, pausing to let my eyes adjust. The darkness of the doorway opened up into an atrium that must have once made for a magnificent entrance. It was shaped like a slice of pie, us standing near the crust, peering inward toward the center. Above was pitch black, not yielding any answers to just how high up this mighty room's ceiling stretched.
The musty scent that filled my nose was surprisingly welcoming— somewhere between the smell of fishing trips and century old bookstores. I took a deep breath, relishing in the soft stench.
I could vaguely make out wires dangling down from the ceiling of the atrium. They were impossibly long, stretching upward into the infinite gloom.
"They look like vines," Annabeth whispered, her voice a soft purr.
The air was thick with falling dust, filtering down from the abyss above, twirling between the wires in satisfyingly slow-motion. The falling dust made it even harder to see in the dark, leaving the walls on either side of the room foggy blobs. I waved my hand, sending fleeting dust spirals through the air.
I remembered seeing photos of the atrium online, taken on some of the earliest digital cameras ever made. Those pictures showed marble countertops, intricate wooden carvings, and lushly carpeted floors.
The room, as it stands today, is a barren husk of Sabe's vision. The carpet, only present in scattered clumps, was impossibly dark, soiled to the point of true black. It clung to the concrete foundation, viciously holding on for dear life in a losing battle.
I bent down to examine a clump of carpet in front of me, amazed by the absence of light reflecting back. It was like staring into a pit of nothing, a vague absence, an outline of something that should be there.
I poked the toe of my boot at it.
FPOOSH.
It exploded, erupting into my face.
I gagged instinctively, tasting the vile substance mix into my lungs. Annabeth slapped my back as I continued gagging and coughing, begging the mucus to tear itself free from my lungs and just fucking get out of my body because it feels like I'm dying oh GOD.
And eventually, it did.
The violent hacking subsided into slight wretching, then was gone.
"Are you okay?" Annabeth tested.
Do you think I'm fucking okay?
"What the fuck was that?" I spewed.
She bent over the clump of carpet. Underneath the blackened top layer that just violently erupted was a pale network of matted spiderwebs.
"Hmm..." she began, "It kind of looks like mycelium."
She met my raised eyebrow with an eye roll.
"You know, like the roots of a fungus or some shit, I don't know. I just saw the shrooms growing in Bryce's closet that one time he showed me his stash. This white stuff looks just like it. So I guess that makes this black stuff like the part of the shroom we eat, or whatever."
"Oh dip," I responded, nodding. "That makes sense. One time I saw a nature show about some plants that shoot their seeds everywhere when something touches them. It's probably just spreading its spores when we touch it."
"Yeah," she breathed, "pretty gnarly."
We shuffled deeper into the gloom, weaving between dangling cables and clumps of fungus. I felt a drop of moisture flick off a cable, sliding onto my arm.
I groaned. "Fuck. That cable was wet."
"Disgusting," she whispered back.
We made our way to the apex of the room, the center of the tower, revealing a rusted set of elevator doors leaning together like drunks at a quinceanera. The doorway to the stairs, however, beckoned to us with the same unobstructed, pitch-black allure that the tower's entrance emanated just minutes before.
In the dark, it's truly amazing how utterly void all open doorways look.
Upon stepping inside the stairwell, the world vanished. The only proof of having working eyes was a faint, vertical glow of light filtering through the door, abruptly fading into all-consuming black.
Every sound in the entire building bored through my soul, bouncing from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, echoing on and on for all of eternity. The stairwell, directly in the center of the decrepit hotel, was the focal point of every creaking floorboard, every popping nail, every howling gust of wind. It was as if I was holding up a monstrous conch shell to my ear— a deafening murmur of echoes in disarray, smelting together to form satanic harmonies.
"Whoa," Annabeth mumbled.
Her word cut through the other echoes, impossibly loud against their monotonous hum.
Instantly, the echo of her voice filled the stairwell, rising like the build up of a dubstep song until peaking, impossibly overwhelming for a few brief seconds. The echoes of her voice then faded as quickly as they arrived.
She put a hand to her mouth, the whites of her eyes barely visible in the glow coming from the doorway.
I reached out, placing a hand where her shoulder should be. There was not enough space for us to stand abreast in the stairwell, leaving us in a comically squished proximity. She was breathing rapidly, barely managing to stay silent. I squeezed, and her breathing quickly slowed. I felt her hand creep onto mine, and we stood for a minute, simply listening to the cries of the dying building echo around us.
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a staircase spiraling up the curved wall. Clearly this was a service stairwell, as it is much too cramped for the likes of Sabe's guests. Only a few steps were visible through the darkness at a time, making the staircase feel even tinier than it already was. Luckily, no fungus grew on the stairs themselves, leaving the metal alone to rust.
Annabeth shuffled onto the first step, producing a small object from her pocket. She handed it to me, then pointed up the stairwell, careful to not send echoes through the cylindrical chamber again.
I brought it close to my eyes for inspection, straining against the lack of light.
A joint...
She wants to go to the roof and smoke.
A smile cracked my lips. Classic Annabeth.
Every couple stairsteps, there would be a doorway. Most of them let in a dim glow, offering a glimpse into what must have once been a custodial closet on each floor.
On floor 9, I tugged at Annabeth's hand. We made eye contact in the faint light coming from the doorway. I motioned through it, pointing to the nearly fungus free floor. I wanted to explore at least a little bit, to see if the closet circled around the stairwell or not.
I poked my head through the doorway, freeing myself from the overwhelming cacophony of echoes in the stairwell.
I verified that the closet did, in fact, curve around the circular staircase like a donut. A few steps in one direction led to a terrifying drop— the elevator shaft. Next to it, a sidewalk sized ledge led to an open door, giving a view of the floor's main hallway. The path looked safe— no fungus, cracks, or otherwise obvious defects— so I proceeded, treading as light as a fox, fumbling for Annabeth's hand behind me.
The main hallway ran between the custodial closet and the guest rooms, creating another donut ring around the central stairwell. Throughout the hallway, patches of fungus grew alarmingly close together, threatening to overtake the concrete.
"That stairwell was insane," Annabeth whispered.
I nodded. "Fuck yeah, I wonder what it was like when the hotel was actually open. Must have been miserable for the staff."
We weaved through the fungus filled hallway, coming to room 901. I glanced at Annabeth, raising my eyebrows. The door was slightly ajar, hanging from its one remaining door hinge. I pushed gently, eliciting a monstrous creak.
The room was empty, extending away to the outside in a familiar pie shape. The mold seemed to grow thinner in the room, leaving most of the exposed concrete safe to cross. At the far side, a floor to ceiling panel of windows looked out over our town.
I gasped, taking in the view. Never before had I seen our town from this high up. My eyes drew to the smokestacks by the river, their blinking lights ominously flickering over downtown. Individual streets ran in parallel lines away from the tower, lit with yellowing streetlights. Between the roads, tiny lights cast from window panes twinkled, blending with one another into a starscape of their own.
"Dude," I said. "Look at this."
No response.
I spun, looking for Annabeth, frantically scanning the room. My eyes had adjusted to the outside light, leaving me sightless.
"Annabeth," I hissed.
A cold tingle went up my spine, pulling at hairs on the back of my neck.
"Annabeth?"
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
Silence.
​
I crept back across the floor, now aware of the entire room at once. There was nowhere for her to be hiding. No desks, cans of paint, ladders, nothing. Just an empty room with patchy fungus growing on the cement.
Something must have happened.
I studied each fungal growth in the room as I passed by. Even with the light cast from the windows, the tops remained impossibly dark. Not a single feature was discernible— only an outline was visible.
Halfway to the door, a three foot wide hole led straight to floor 8. I could have sworn it wasn't there before. I peered into the opening, seeing straight through to the room below. From what I could see, it was identically empty.
"Annabeth," I tried again, nearing the door to the hallway.
"BOO!"
I stumbled backward, tripping over my own feet. I landed squarely on a patch of fungus.
FPOOSH.
I remembered to hold my breath, close my eyes, and plug my nose.
Annabeth cackled from the threshold of the doorway, standing over me with both hands on her forehead.
"You should have seen the look—" she began, breaking off into another fit of laughter.
"Shut up," I groaned, pushing to my feet. My entire body was covered in squishy fungus gunk. I pointed at the hole behind me, continuing. "You could have killed me."
"Blah, blah, blah," she mocked. "You're fine... you're just being a baby."
Annabeth gave me a playful shove, hands lingering for a moment overdue. Swatting her paws off me, I marched back to the stairwell. I led the rest of the way to floor 13, followed by her snickers.
As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped onto the 13th floor, my jaw dropped. It was a scene straight out of a surrealist painting. An enormous pool room lay before us. Glass walls extended up from the tile floors, creating a massive, clear domed perimeter. A swath of stars twinkled brilliantly through the clear ceiling, their light refracting through the glass, casting ethereal patterns onto the room's otherwise bleak surroundings.
The pool itself was a semi-circular cutout covering half the floor space, starting at ground level and deepening in a corkscrew motion. Its ceramic tiles, once probably a bright blue, were now tinged with patches of the same fungal growth we had come across on the lower floors. The growth was sparse here, though, letting the original floor design take prominence.
In the center of the room— on top of the staircase we just stepped out of— stood a circular pillar that extended up to the middle of the glass dome, like a spine holding up the entire tower. A small antenna jutted out from above the pillar atop the dome. Surrounding the antenna was a low fence, perhaps a safety measure for maintenance workers.
Annabeth, having finally contained her laughter, stepped beside me, her face illuminated by the soft starlight filtering in through the dome. She too stood silent, taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this forgotten space.
As we moved around the room, our steps echoed across the vast emptiness. With every patch of fungus we passed, the same eerie darkness hovered, the undulating mold standing stark against the ceramic tiles.
We made our way back to the central pillar. A ladder, carved into the pillar, connected to the glass ceiling with a trapdoor.
"To the roof?" Annabeth sang, rubbing her hands together in a goblin-like motion.
"Ladies first."
As she climbed above me, I couldn't help but crane my neck and drool. She slammed open the trapdoor, and we burst through to the roof.
The fenced-in area was covered with a dark spongy surface, gripping at my knees when I stood up. Wind whipped around us, carrying a chill that cut through my clothes and bit into my skin. With each gust, the antenna above us groaned and swayed, almost as if it were joining in a dance with an unseen partner.
We sat on the squishy rubber surface, comfortably in silence. I met her eyes, smiling dumbly. We passed the joint back and forth until it dwindled down, its ember glow flickering one last time before extinguishing completely. A familiar haze crawled through my thoughts, slowing the passage of time to a languishing crawl.
"Hey..." she started, "I think I've finally found inspiration for my next album."
I scooted closer to her, taking her hand. I knew the topic brought about an unusual timidity in her— a blemish in the badass persona she's so keen on presenting. She won't even talk to her own boyfriend about her music career.
"Yeah?" I floated.
She hesitated for a second, settling into the moment. I felt a tug at my crotch, suddenly all too aware of how pretty she looked in the moonlight. I took in every detail— the way her hair fell across her face, the pattern of her freckles, the soft speckling of stars reflecting across her eyes.
"I think you need to take off your shirt, first, though," she whispered, now inches from my face. "You're filthy."
I glanced down, remembering the fungal gunk that had soiled my clothes when she scared me.
Without warning, her hands slid under my shirt, warm and sure. I helped her yank it off, collapsing into her lips.
***
When we got back to the truck, I was still high enough to see everything in slow motion. Before pulling out of the parking lot, Annabeth and I regurgitated the events of our urban exploration, trying to show our significant others what fun they missed out on. It goes without saying that part of the story was intentionally omitted.
Ellie and Josh were unamused. Their lack of adventure will forever be a mystery to me.
We swung out of the lot, hopping onto the highway headed into town. I swayed between lanes, struggling to keep the double-yellow lines in focus.
"Are you sure you're good to drive?" Ellie asked, gripping the armrest.
"I'm fine," I slurred.
Seconds later, another truck materialized in front of us. I swerved to avoid it, then everything went black.
***
I woke up to a strong hand pulling me out of the window. My truck was upside down, the roof completely caved in.
I groaned. "Aww... fuck...."
The person who pulled me out looked like the kind of guy to chew tobacco and spit wisdom. His fishing cap cast a deep shadow across his eyes in the moon's glow, concealing his gaze. He was an old timer, that's for sure, one of those folk who came during the coal rush and decided to stay when all was said and done. I could see his truck— the same truck I saw moments before the crash— pulled into the shoulder of the highway with its blinkers on.
"Easy now," he reassured, his voice like gravel under a boot. "Anyone else inside?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
I plopped onto the grassy slope embarking off the side of the road. The old man pulled their mangled bodies out, one by one.
The countryside shrank around me. I felt the corners of my vision pulling in, the weed in my system straining the limits of shock I could take before melting down.
"I'm sorry, son," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of my guilt. "The police will be here soon. Don't you worry."
The police.
I stood up. I knew exactly how the police treated people with my skin color in this town.
I ran.
"Hey now!" the man hollered.
I kept running.
Away from my truck, away from my dead friends, away from the police.
I ran until my breath came in ragged, uncontrollable huffs. I flopped to the ground, laying on the cool concrete, cradling my head with my hands. Blood flowed between my fingertips, pooling onto the pavement.
I laid there until police sirens wailed through the night, rapidly approaching. They stopped at the wreck, leaving me in silence. Moments later, the sirens picked up their mournful song again, heading toward me.
I sat up.
I was back in the lot of Sabe's Tower. Only then did I realize how little distance I really ran from the wreck— a couple hundred yards at most.
Four, five, maybe even six sirens filled the air. They were all coming for me. They knew what I had done.
I bolted from my position on the concrete. I could hide in the tower. No way the cops would look for me in that rotting place. They wouldn't dare.
I squeezed through the gap in the fence, same as before, vaulting past the
DO NOT TRESPASS ALONE
signs in a fluid lunge. The sirens behind me screamed into the night, melding together into a continuous doomsday chant.
Red and blue lights filled the lot. I hit the ground right in front of the gaping entrance to the tower, praying that the weeds poking through the concrete would be enough to mask my form. I army crawled, inch by inch, dragging myself across broken bottles and plywood shrapnell, until I was safely in the darkness of the tower.
In.
Out.
I breathed.
In.
Out.
A police cruiser parked in the lot. Its siren drowned out all other wails for a moment before shutting off. A chubby white officer hopped out, surveying the scene. His gaze came to rest on the spot where I had lain. He squatted down, raking a finger through the pool of blood I left behind. He took a few steps toward the tower, squatting down yet again. Another splotch of blood, no doubt.
His voice floated through the plaza, slightly nasal and a little out of breath. "Dispatch, this is officer Chetty, badge number 741. I'm on the scene at 1019 Pleasant Valley Lane, in the lot of Sabe's Tower. I've located a pool of fresh blood that may be linked to our hit-and-run suspect. Possible injury, suspect could be close. Requesting immediate backup and forensics for evidence collection."
Fuck.
I wormed my way further into the tower's belly, sliding between patches of fungus like a mouse in a snake pit, heading for the stairwell. I had to ascend, to find some nook or cranny out of reach of the pursuing officers. The godforsaken tower was one big game of hide and seek, only this time, losing meant far worse than a bruised ego.
Something gurgled in the darkness.
My blood froze. I halted, my heart hammering a tattoo against my ribs. Holding my breath, I strained my senses, eyes peering into the graying murk, searching for the source of the sound.
It came again, a wretched retching, like an animal choking on its own vomit. Hacking, gurgling, bubbling wetness bursting through strained vocal chords, a sound of fading vitality. It was coming from near the door, just outside the meager halo of light slipping through the hole.
A wet line smeared across the back of my neck. A yelp escaped my lips before I realized it was just a cord dangling from the ceiling.
At my yelp, the gurgling paused.
A heavy hush fell over the place, the quietude of the hunted.
I could faintly make out echoes emanating from the stairwell, only a few feet behind me.
The gurgling continued, sucking at the thick air. It began to drag itself forward through the fungus covered floor— a slow, steady, rhythmic drag against the concrete.
FPOOSH.
A geyser of spores bloomed, mingling with swirls of dust in the meager light. The creature, or whatever it was, did not slow its approach. Out of the darkness, a form began to shape— a silhouette clawing its way toward me.
FPOOSH.
I could see this eruption envelop the mass on the floor. One hand appeared, then another. Its fingers scrabbled over the concrete, searching for any purchase to grip. They flexed, heaving the thing even closer.
A mop of curly hair appeared between the hands. A body, face down. It pulled itself closer, into another fungal growth, grinding its face through the rough concrete.
FPOOSH.
A knife protruded from its back. The handle jutted upward, a grim totem amidst the grime and gore. I shuddered, involuntarily taking a step closer to the stairwell.
It looked up at me.
Or rather, Josh looked up at me.
I stared back, mouth agape.
His face was nearly sanded off from the concrete. His nose took the worst of it, ground down to the bone, leaving only two sucking, gurgling holes between his eyes. His cheeks were a mangled mess of blood and rocks, viscous red flowing freely to the tip of his chin before dribbling off. The chunks of meat hanging where lips should have been flapped against his teeth with every jerky motion, tethered to his face by all too little strands of flesh. Beneath them, his teeth showed bright red and white in a perpetual grimacing smile.
"Josh?" I managed to whisper, my voice a frightened squeak.
Josh opened his mouth as if to respond, ripping both cheeks in half. He hacked, gurgling, spitting up blood that came from deep within his torso. He slowly cocked his head to the side, but instead of stopping at a slant, he kept twisting his neck until bones started to crack and his head dangled upside down.
His mangled, upside down head swung limply as he pulled himself to his knees, his neck like jelly. He wasn't wearing the same clothes he was wearing earlier tonight— no, he was wearing clothes from the night Annabeth first cheated on him with me. He was at a Villanova game, supporting his favorite team since birth. Annabeth knew he would be gone for the weekend, so we took our chance. I was still at her place when he came back, wearing his Collin Gillespie jersey and reeking of beer.
Now in front of me, his prized jersey was in tatters, torn to ribbons by the concrete. He groaned, shuffling and reaching for me with bloody fingers.
I bolted into the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. I pushed myself faster and faster until the door to floor 9 loomed to my side. I didn't pause for a moment, pushed forward by the gurgling echoes reverberating from below.
My thighs, weak from the frantic climb, begged for a break. I wobbled into the hallway, painfully tip-toeing through the fungus. The door to 901 beckoned ahead, hanging open like it had been awaiting my hasty return.
I stumbled over the threshold when Annabeth's singing filled the room. "Oh, Donovan!"
I froze.
Outlined against the window was a two-headed beast. One face belonged to Annabeth, the other to Ellie. The creature swayed, an obscene dance of bare, fused flesh. It wore no clothes, as if to mock God himself. It had two sets of everything— eight appendages total, like a humanoid arachnid. Annabeth's breasts, now side by side with Ellie's, put Ellie to shame, even now.
Annabeth crooned again, "Oh, Donovan!" each syllable laced with acid and honey. The sound made my skin crawl as it floated through the silent room.
"You always did want more, didn't you Donovan?" Ellie sneered, a harsh grin splitting her face.
Annabeth spat, "More than Ellie could give. More than anyone could give."
The thing dropped to the floor with a thud. All eight limbs moved in unison as it crawled.
"Isn't this what you wanted? Both of us at the same time?" Their voices tumbled over each other, mouths moving in synchrony. Together, their laughter filled the hollow room. "Don't you like the thrill, Donovan? Don't you like playing with fire?"
The thing scurried at me, jumping over fungal growths with powerful leaps. The sudden movement broke my paralyzation, spurring my legs to action. I darted into the closet and through the stairwell door, into the gurgling echoes.
Back down the stairwell I ran, the two headed beast in pursuit. Both girls snarled, hindered by their conjoined size in the narrow passageway. Their struggle echoed through the stairwell, mixing with the gurgling. I fled further down, needing to put distance between that thing and me.
I stopped dead in my tracks between floors 2 and 3.
Josh was there, leaning against the wall with the knife removed from his back, now grasped tightly in his hand. I staggered back up the stairs, instinctively retreating, narrowly avoiding the blade as he lunged at me.
Glancing up, I caught a flash of pale skin bearing down on me, cutting off my escape. My only way out was the door to floor 3. I charged through the closet, leaving the echoes behind me.
Floor 3 was empty— no walls, only fungus and windows. The atrium loomed to my left, a pie shaped hole missing from the floor and ceiling. I backed away from the door, eyeing the dangling cords hanging in the atrium.
Maybe... Just maybe....
Josh stumbled from the stairwell, filling the air with his wet slurping. Annabeth and Ellie followed, scrambling toward me.
I didn't have time to think.
I jumped, grasping at the dangling wires, praying they would hold my weight.
Time stuttered, hanging suspended like an icicle on a winter's morning. The world spun in a dizzying blur as I twisted, fingers stretching for a grip. Panic clawed its icy fingers up my spine, but it was the surprise that struck me most. The simple disbelief that this was happening.
A wire found its way into my hand, snapping without slowing my fall.
The wind whooshed past, ripping the breath from my lungs. Above me, the third floor retreated, its grimy concrete replaced by a view of the atrium's ceiling, wires swinging back and forth from my desperate escape.
Then came the sensation of falling. It's a feeling that strikes a primal chord, an orchestra of fear and adrenaline that means the end of a life. My stomach lurched, free-falling alongside me, while the rest of my body seemed to hover in a state of disbelief.
The impact came as both a shock and an inevitability. There was a moment of sheer, undiluted pain, a soundless scream reverberating through my very bones. It felt like being shattered from the inside out, an explosion of agony that started from my back and radiated outwards. An iron-hot spike of pain shot through me, and then, a chilling void as everything below my waist slipped into a terrifying numbness.
The echo of my body's collision rang in my ears as the world spun into a disorienting whirl of blurs, shadows, and pain. The cold concrete beneath me felt real, solid, a chilling contrast to the sudden loss of sensation in my legs.
In the throbbing silence that followed, I understood. I had fallen. I was broken. I lay sprawled on the atrium floor, gasping, the world tilting dangerously in my vision.
Annabeth and Ellie emerged from the staircase, scrambling across the atrium floor. Red and blue police lights filtered through the tower’s windows, making shadows dance between the monster's eight limbs. Josh wasn't far behind, still clutching onto the bloody knife, head rolling upside down between his shoulders.
"Police, we're coming in!" a familiar nasally voice shouted.
The moment officers stepped foot in the tower, the monsters vanished in a spray of spores.
​
X

History tells of a time when our world faced a great and terrible evil. Many might simplify this evil by calling it something utterly generic, like the Rise of the Demon King/Queen or the Scourge, when in reality it was far more complicated. That’s not to say there was no demon king, nor scourge for that matter, but the threat was more than just either of those things.
It began with a creeping corruption, or so the scrolls say. A blight upon the land that twisted our beautiful world into some form of hellish wasteland. A vile thing, of creeping flesh and pus, of gnashing teeth and scrabbling claw. That was only the start, we should have known this. It was easy at first to handle, we found even in our fledgling state, we elves, dwarves and the other elder races were fully capable of fighting this corruption, even containing it. But as time passed, this corruption grew and learned, it began to strategize, to think critically about its next move.
We did not know it, but it came from another world, another realm to be more precise. It had crept through a fissure in reality, oozing through like a pestilent sludge, fleeing something worse. Regardless of its origins though, it was evolving, and we knew not what awaited us.
See we grew complacent, we thought we could win and so relaxed, our efforts lessening as we took our time to come up with some method of total eradication. That only served to let the corruption gain strength, to test our weaknesses and exploit them with a subtlety not even our greatest spies could have matched. In time the corruption became almost myth, locked away, our attention turned elsewhere. It turned inward and old grudges reared their ugly heads.
So consumed with our petty disagreements that we failed to notice when one of our most revered heroes went missing, simply up and vanishing. We did not know they had ventured into the quarantine zone, that they had decided they would end the threat of the corruption themselves and fallen as a result. We did not know they had been remade and reborn as something cruel and hellbent on conquest.
When the attack came upon the walls of the mighty fortresses that blocked the growth of the corruption, it was swift and so well executed that no runner managed to flee to warn the others of what was coming for them. They were lost within days, and soon the other fortresses followed. One by one, till nothing stood in our foes' path to challenge them.
It flowed across the land like a terrible plague, an all consuming sickness that had no counter. And then the proclamation came from our enemy, a call for subservience and rebirth. The great Nephinae Daevaris, slayer of dragons and giants, had fallen and been reborn as Xarrekai the Defiler. Her reveal was enough to throw the world into even deeper chaos, to dash the hopes of all. Yet there were countless adventurers who rose to the challenge, attempting to slay the Dark Queen. Yet each of them fell, just as she had and joined her ranks, serving her without hesitation and showing no mercy to her foes.
We thought it hopeless, that our world was doomed, our very way of life expunged. But then refugees began spreading rumors of seeing something new fighting the Dark Queens forces, speaking of great metal golems tearing through the monstrous beasts she commanded. That they used weapons of great and terrible magic, that metal things flew around in the sky and rained death upon their enemies.
Of course, our leaders dismissed such claims, till we all saw it with our own eyes. It was a great and terrible battle, one of the last, and we were losing. Our forces were just beginning to rout when the first shot came from the sky. It fell upon the enemy like an arrow from the gods and the ground shuddered under its impact. And then came the metal birds, the great beasts with talons of fire as they screamed across the sky, raking the ground with death and fiery death. But the great metal dragon that followed was something to behold.
It had no wings, only a great body bristling with spikes all over. It roared, the sound deafening as it split the air, and from its spikes came destruction in two forms. Great booms and explosions tore up the ground beneath our enemies feet, sending their mangled corpses flying in every direction. But that wasn’t all. The great metal dragon dropped its own eggs upon the battlefield, each one impacting hard and splitting open to unleash creatures of metal and magic.
Many did not use swords like we did, but carried strange wands that spat fire at the beasts of Xarrekai, blowing limbs and armor off in equal measure. They seemed unstoppable, unrelenting and our forces stopped to witness the spectacle. In but an hour, the beasts lay dead and the golems returned to their eggs, which magically sealed up and returned to the great metal dragon. We knew not what had happened, but it would not be the last time we saw them.
Countless battles were fought, each one with the aid of this great dragon, who we beseeched with prayer and adulations to lend its strength to our honorable cause. It never spoke to us, but it never turned on us either.
It was the eve of winter when the final battle came. With the dragons help we had pushed Xarrekai’s forces back to her fortress, cleansed the corruption thoroughly wherever it may be found and prepared for the final assault. And it was here we learned that the great dragon had more surprises in store for us, for her.
Instead of just the golems we had been fighting alongside, we all bore witness to the introduction of great walking beasts, whose backs bore the weight of a mighty weapon. It moved ponderously, much like a turtle might. But for all its slowness, it was a terrible beast of war indeed. Its magic reached great distances and upon impact it shattered fortifications like they were made of little more than glass. As the beasts advanced, so to did the golems, and from the sky came more of those metal birds.
But the most startling thing was the appearance of yet more dragons, who disgorged their young into the fray and sought to bring an end to our most hated enemy.
One in particular, a golem which wielded a blazing sword and who seemed to direct the other golems, met the Dark Queen face to face. Her magics would not work upon it, only the attacks of the physical domain could hope to defeat it. But though her strikes were brutal and terrifying, the golem stood firm. The battle was fierce, their strikes sure and devastating. But in the end, the golem was struck down, a great talon through its chest. Most startling though was the discovery that it could bleed, a rich red lifeblood spilled from the wound. Xarrekai gloated, professing her victory before the magic which animated this golem had even fully fled it. It was her undoing. With one last great effort, the golem raised its mighty blade and sank it deep into her vile heart.
With a scream so piercing it shattered the windows of homes miles away, the dark energies which gave her life were released. Golem and mortal alike fled, racing the destruction her death brought. But it was over, it was done, we needn’t fear any longer. We praised the great dragons that had come to our aid, offered them the riches of our realms, but they did not accept. Their task was done, the corruption cleansed, and so they vanished without a word, but not before collecting what was theirs.
Thousands of years have passed since that fateful day, though the scrolls are held in high regard, many do not believe such aid came to us. Instead, many believe that it was we who were solely responsible for the Dark Queens demise. But I, Myriil Chaeralei, believe it to be true. That everything happened precisely as the scrolls said they did. And I will find the proof of this.
In ancient times the sight of the final battle was rife with magical hazards, so deadly in fact that the entire area was sealed off to prevent the civilian populace from accidentally or intentionally killing themselves. The magical wards remain, but I am a royal historian and so my credentials should allow me to pass unmolested. It’s a risk for sure, one that could quite possibly lead to my death. But it’s a risk I am more than willing to take.
As I stepped up to the mighty and very visible magical barriers, my pointed ears quivered with anticipation and I stepped forwards, feeling the slightest of tingles against the tip of my nose as I passed through the barrier with ease, my hunch about royal credentials holding up. I closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable painful death that awaited me, and yet it didn’t come.
Instead of death, I found life. A few thousand years has a way of burying things and encouraging other things to grow over that which was buried. Such was the case here. This great battleground, supposedly scarred and pitted by the great magics of the dragons and their strange offspring, was now little more than a field of softly rolling hills covered with flowers. At a glance nobody would ever think a battle had taken place, that countless lives had been snuffed out or that their blood had soaked the earth for days on end.
Luckily for me, I fancied myself as something of an archaeologist, so this would pose no issue to me at all. I spent weeks digging, searching for any sort of sign of the battle that had taken place. And all I found was nothing but dirt, dirt and more dirt. My patience began to wear thin, till one day my shovel struck something that was certainly not dirt. My heart raced, and I dug feverishly with my bare hands, fr fear that somehow my shovel might damage whatever it was that I’d found.
And oh what a find it was. It was some sort of door made of metal, with strange markings upon its front. The door was slightly ajar, old plant growth had forced it open at some point and that was perfect for me, as I used the shovel to leverage the door open further. Beyond it was a dark passage, one so dark that even my superior elvish eyesight could not pierce. It called to me, and I answered, venturing down into the darkness, my bag bouncing on my hip and a torch in my hand.
It descended for what felt like miles, down stairs of metal, the walls and ceiling the same as the floor. Nothing but metal. I saw more of those strange markings, knowing for a fact that they must have been words but their meaning eluded me. And then the passage leveled out and I stepped into a great cavern.
It was here that I found my proof.
At the cavern's center sat a citadel of flesh and bone, the former desiccated and long rotten. Around my feet lay the bones of the dead. Elf, dwarf, halfling, orc, it mattered not, bones were bones, and they had all died fighting. I even spotted the remains of golems and their crawling beasts, the metal birds lay strewn in pieces here and there. But what really sold it was the bones of the beasts that had served Xarrekai. Many were shattered and broken, others clearly having killed their foes even as they died, their bodies mingling with the others.
I walked through the battlefield, recording everything I saw in a fresh journal. It was all so much, to walk amongst my ancestors and see their struggles with my very own eyes. But something caught my eye, a structure that was not like the citadel. It was like the massage I had passed through, made of metal and bearing those same markings. As much as I wished to explore the dead citadel, I went to this other structure first.
It was alive still, or so it seemed. It hummed softly, and the doors opened for me upon approach. Within it was considerably dusty, but then again I expected that, not like anyone had been down here to clean in the last thousand years after all. I found bodies, strange ones. Their bones were much like an elf’s yet they seemed as sturdy as the bones of a dwarf. The similarities were something to record, and the old but still well preserved clothing was strange too. Yet another thing to make a note of.
As I passed some sort of pedestal, it lit up with magic, and a figure appeared. A woman with dark skin, an elf! I was ecstatic at first as I looked upon this elf made of light and magic, but then I noticed her ears. They were rounded, not long and pointed like my own. This was confusing, but then she spoke and the language she used was unlike anything I had ever heard before, which only cemented the fact that she was not elvish.
She spoke at great length and though I did not understand her, I was enraptured. Now and then she would raise a hand, an image painted with such exquisite attention to detail appearing. She showed me things, thousands of the great dragons flying through a dark void filled with twinkling lights, facing down the very same corruption they had fought here. But there was something different about it, the corruption had forms much like their own, great dragons of flesh and bone that spit acids and barbs where the metal dragons unleashed fire. The battles were more vicious than any we had experienced, and I felt myself grow pale at the thought of the war these dragons, these people must have waged against the corruption.
In time, the woman finished her tale, and her tone grew sincere. She said something, motioning towards the pedestal before me. From it slid a strange disk of metal and glass, and she seemingly beseeched me to take it. So I did, taking the tiny disk and placing it in my bag. And that was it, whatever life had remained in this structure now fled, and the room grew dark as she faded from existence.
Now it was time to explore the citadel, and to think on what little I had learned. I strode the ruined halls of the great fortress, the source of the corruption. Even here I found the remains of valiant warriors locked in battle. It did not take me long to reach the central chamber, and I found the great hero itself.
It was like I stood there at the very moment it had happened. Its metal body gleamed, the sword still crackled with energy and it was embedded firmly in the chest of the Dark Queen, who stood rigid, desiccated, but very much dead, her lips twisted into a snarl of anger and agony.
I felt the need to kneel before the hero, the slayer of corruption. But I resisted, instead walking up to them both and getting a closer look. Not even a speck of dust lay upon the hero, whose chest had been run through by a claw of considerable size. From the wound I could see the dark stains of blood, or something similar.
I took so many sketches of the scene, taking note of every little detail, marking or curiosity that caught my eye. I knew many would not believe me if I did not bring some form of truth, and so I pondered what else besides the disk I should bring with me. My gaze settled upon the sword, still firmly gripped in strong metal hands. Yes, that would do.
Oh so carefully I relinquished the hero's grip upon the hilt, and when the last digit uncurled, the weight of the blade made itself known. The form of Xarrekai turned to dust as the sword fell to the ground with a resounding clang. Picking it up proved to be a trifle more difficult than I had been expecting, but thankfully the magic which had flowed along the blade was no longer present.
Within the week I had finished documenting my find and returned home to the capital, where I was to present myself to the King and the other historians. I could not wait to see the look on the naysayers' faces when I presented proof.
The night before my audience was to take place, I held the disk in my palm, looking it over and searching for a way to use my mana to turn it own, to activate the enchantments it held. Nothing I did work, and so I went to return it to my bag, only to feel something scrape against my skin and draw blood. I thought perhaps I had just caught myself on some sharp edge and so paid it little attention beyond tending to the small cut.
Morning came quickly, and I now find myself before his majesty and the historians, many of which look unhappy to be here. I’d show them, then I would have the satisfaction of seeing their jealousy.
“Your majesty, honored peers, I have found the site of the final battle as it was written in the ancient scrolls and histories of our peoples!” I announce, and the king looks intrigued, but I hear the soft snorts of derision from my peers.
“And I take it you have proof of this yes?” The king spoke, the others rolling their eyes.
“Certainly, my king. My first item as proof is this,” And I hoist the heavy sword off my back, wrapped up in thick cloth to preserve it. Going down to one knee I lay it over my thigh and unwrap it, revealing the gleaming silver blade and the winged guard. The blade shimmers and the room goes quiet. My peers are suddenly taking this more seriously I see. “I present the blade which felled Xarrekai, taken from the very hand of the golem which slew her.” I rise, and approach the king, presenting the blade to him. He takes it, marveling at the weight and size of it, as well as the exquisite artistry.
“My second item as proof of my claims, is this!” And I reveal the disk. My peers lean forwards, trying to get a better look. I grin, and am about to hand it to the king even as he hands the sword over to the others when something jolts me. It felt like a brief static shock, and as a result I lose control of the disk, watching it tumble to the ground in slow motion. Even as I scramble to grab it, I know I will not be able to.
But instead of shattering upon impact, it snapped itself flat to the ground and began to glow in a pulsing manner. Before the very same woman appeared before us. She faces the king and the historians, smiling in that pleasant manner of hers.
But when she speaks, I know something has changed. She speaks in our tongue, and we all learn of the terrible war that was fought in a realm beyond our own. Of the Thet’ath, who was the corruption we had faced, an alien species bent on consuming all things. Of the Terran Empire, who had stood against them to the enemy had been driven from their voidborne shores. And then of their discovery that the enemy was not truly defeated, but had fled to our world.
We learned of their campaign to save us all, the might of their armies brought to bear one last time. We learned of the rift between our worlds which had been bridged, a bridge which would not last forever. Our great war had ended, and the Terrans returned to their realm just as the bridge fell, separating us once more.
But that was not all, just as she reached the end of her tale, she said something that gave me hope for the future.
“We may be separated by the barriers raised between dimensions. But know this. We will not stop trying to reach you, to learn about you and to help you grow to your fullest potential. Already our greatest minds are building a portal to provide a stable bridge between our worlds, but it cannot work without a counterpart on your side. Enclosed within this device are the plans for your part of the bridge. We do not expect you to complete it immediately, or perhaps ever. But should you, we will be waiting. Should that day come, know that humanity will welcome you with open arms and open hearts. For now, however, know that humanity is proud to have fought and bled at your side. Till we meet again, friends.”

I literally sit beneath eight tiers of scheming ambitious entities that represent primal law suffused with evil. The path from this realm leads to an infinite pit of chaos and evil. Now, tell me again how you and your ilk are the victims in this eternal struggle. - Asmodeus (Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes)
The plane of Nessus is incredibly unique compared to the other planes of the Nine Hells. This plane floats in a swirling crimson void that encompasses them from all directions. The plane itself is flat in its surface, devoid of trees or changes in elevation. The desolate plane, unlike any other plane of Baator, is finite in its size. It stretches 2,500 miles from east to west and 1,100 miles from north to south. The flatness of the plane leaves no place for any creature to hide.
A system of crisscrossing gorge and canyons marks the only true changes in elevation in the plane. In these gorges, canyons, and the network of caves that connect them, live the billions of devils of Nessus. These structures have an infinite amount of space even given the finite nature of the plane. These gorges and canyons often cross, forming towering plateaus.
The canyons and gorges are each distinct and travel to specific locations. However, they all look exactly alike. More importantly, most of these canyons are missing from most maps of the plane. A few maps that were drawn by suicidal or brave adventurers can be found but tend to be extremely pricey. A map of a square mile section of Nessus can easily cost as much as a small castle.
A few of these canyons have bridges that span them. These few bridges are heavily guarded by Asmodeus's elite guards and a host of traps. Rare unguarded bridges are death traps that will inevitably break and send any crosser to their death. The shallowest canyon is 200 feet deep, and the remaining canyons and gorges are usually deeper. Devils in Nessus who cannot fly are encouraged to stick close to the caves and crevasses. In emergency situations, the devils must climb the walls using some sparse handholds or frayed ropes. It is not uncommon for devils to fall to their deaths as a result.
Directions in Baator are unlike the directions of the Material Plane. The strange nature of these planes makes the standard compass rose useless. Most Archdukes simply established the standard compass as a means of travel and mapping for their own planes, arbitrarily assigning a point as north. Asmodeus however, decrees that his own castle should be the northern most point despite its central location on the plane. The strange decree further complicates maps of Nessus making navigating the plane even harder.

DISCOVERY

Nessus was the first layer of Baator to be created and was the original plane of Hell to be created when the Gods of Celestia signed the Pact Primeval. The plane was granted to Asmodeus and his ilk by the Gods so they would not have to witness the punishment rendered to mortal souls. On the plane, the devils first began their plans to corrupt mortals. It was on this original plane that these devils, still somewhat angelic in nature, worked with the Ancient Baatorians to administer their justice. The plane, bleak and barren, was slowly built up and expanded into a tiered infinite plane. The plane was rapidly built into a major factory for manufacturing more devils and harvesting divine energy from the mortal souls that the devils corrupted. The only brief delay in construction of the plane came during a short, but vicious, war between Mephistopheles, the former right hand of Asmodeus, and the Arch-Devil. After the war ended, the construction began anew and the two made amends.
When the Gods discovered that Asmodeus and his devils were luring mortals into disobedience and corruption, they once again put Asmodeus on trial. When the trial proved useless and Asmodeus was acquitted of the charges, the Gods were furious. They threw the devil back to Baator, sending him hurling from the tip of Celestia.
When Asmodeus crashed into Baator, the force of the impact tore a stretch of the initial plane and killed many of the plane's original inhabitants and mutilated many of the others who were not powerful enough to withstand the impact. As the devil continued to fall with his stretch of the original Baatorian plane, the devil carved new planes. Eight new planes formed before the devil and the plane he had rent from the original stopped falling. Asmodeus continued to fall deep into the plane till he came to rest under a massive pile of rubble, bleeding and badly hurt, in the deepest part of Nessus, which came to be known as the Pit.
When the devil eventually recovered, he made this deepest, finite plane his home as a reminder of his fall. From Nessus, the Arch-Devil slowly retook control of the remainder of Baator and resumed his lawful duties.
The creation of the plane of Nessus was not known to the mortal races for millennium. Asmodeus is a jealous guard of his plane and entrance to Nessus requires a letter of permission from the Arch-Devil himself. The first documentation of the plane of Nessus for the Prime Material Plane comes from the philosopher, Philogestes. Philogestes sold his own soul to Asmodeus for the opportunity to document information about Baator. Though, he was given permission to observe and record details about the plane of Nessus, Philogestes could not detail everything. Much of Nessus remains a mystery to those who dwell on the Material Plane.

Travel

The easiest way to travel to Nessus is to be invited by the Arch-Devil onto the plane. Very few mortals have ever received this privilege.
For those who have not received a personal invitation, the only way to enter the plane would be through the plane prior to it, Cania. From Cania, adventurers could sail along the River Styx into Nessus. This path is extremely perilous. For starters, the river is incredibly difficult to navigate. Directions in the Nine Hells are confusing. It is just as likely that sailing along the river could lead to Maladomini. Additionally, the river’s currents are unpredictable, forming whirlpools, eddies, and undertows that can challenge even the most experienced sailors. Moreover, the Styx is guarded by roaming bands of devils as well as undead which are drawn to any sources of life. The river is also known to create illusions and mirages which can mislead travelers. It would be advisable to hire a devil in Cania to act as a guide on the waters.

THE LOCALS

Nessus is different from the other layers of Baator because it has a much higher proportion of the greater devils compared with the lesser devils. The most common kind of devil that is found on Nessus is the pit fiend, though horned devils are a close second. In addition to devils, a few other creatures traverse the planes of Nessus. While hellhounds are a common beast in Nessus, a special breed of hellhound known as the Nessian hellhound roams the plane. These are far more vicious and deadly than the original hellhound. The Nessian hell-hounds form packs with the regular hellhounds and hunt the plane for intruders or lesser devils. There are a few other fiendish beasts that are not devils on Nessus, but there are no mortals who live here.
Asmodeus, a tall, red-skinned devil, with dark horns and elegant clothing is the Lord of Nessus. Known as the Dark One, the Lord of Lies, and the Prince of Evil, Asmodeus is the Arch-Devil of Baator. He rules the plane with an iron fist of law and conducts himself in a soft-spoken, articulate, and ruthlessly logically. Those who look closely at the Arch-Devil will notice that though the devil holds himself with poise and elegance, he is covered in injuries that have not healed. These injuries were sustained by Asmodeus when he was thrown from Celestia. Asmodeus carries himself in public as though the injuries no longer affect him, however they still hurt tremendously, and Asmodeus focuses much of his energy on recovering from the injuries.
Asmodeus is the undisputed master of Baator and exercises complete control over the plane. The Arch-Devil can alter any of the planes at will and can also alter the forms of any of the other Archdukes of Baator. In some cases, he can also kill the others, which causes some of the Archdukes to fear him greatly. With his dominance over Baator, Asmodeus spends much of his time focused on the conquest of other planes, especially the Prime Material Plane and Celestia. Asmodeus receives the energy from any soul collected by any devil or Duke of Baator. For the time being, He spends his time using the energy to heal his own wounds. Once his wounds have healed, Asmodeus intends to use the collected Divine Energy to forge a temporary truce with the Demons and use the truce to destroy the forces of Good once and for all.
Asmodeus is a schemer in every sense. The devil is a smooth talker who only engages with non-devils to corrupt them. One example of such a corruption is the corruption of Zariel, a celestial, into the once Archduke of Avernus. Asmodeus is one of the few devils to never father any Cambion, considering himself far superior to any such creature. A few tieflings also receive the blessing of Asmodeus. These tieflings are far more intelligent than any other and are given a superior mastery over fire. These tieflings are resistant to flames from any creature except those commanded directly by Asmodeus.
In addition to his unsurpassed intellect and charm, Asmodeus is an unmatched combatant, well-versed in both magic and weapon-craft. Asmodeus earned his fame when prior to the creation of Baator, the then-angel was ambushed by a demon invasion without his troops. The Gods sent an army of angels to defend the invasion, believing Asmodeus to have been overwhelmed. The angels arrived too late, however. Instead of finding an army of demons, the angels found that Asmodeus kept the invasion at bay and even pushed the defense into an offense into the Abyss, bolstered by their reinforcement. Though the Archdevil has not fought at the front lines of the Blood Wars, his combat prowess has not decreased.
Once a year, the Arch-Devil holds a feast at his palace in Nessus's Pit, Malsheem. To this feast, the Arch-Devil invites the other Archdukes, devils who have earned a seat of honor, and a few select mortals that have earned his respect or interest (for better or worse). The feast is an enormous affair, and the only time of the year when the pathway to the palace becomes available for creatures other than the Dukes of Nessus to traverse, though it is still heavily guarded to prevent intruders from reaching the palace. The purpose of the Feast is to serve to touch base with the dukes to ensure that Asmodeus's plans are going according to plan, to ensure Hell's superiority in the Blood War, reward devils who have performed exceptionally enough to gain the Lord of the Nine's attention, and to contract mortals who may be useful to himself. These feast feature extravagant performances, a plethora of delicious food and drink, and as much vice as any being could desire.
Adramalech is the right-hand of Asmodeus and serves as the Arch-Devil’s chancellor. His preferred form is that of an elderly human man with a gray beard. His eyes change color to reflect his mood, green when he’s happy and orange when upset and black all other times. In this form, the only features to identify him as a devil are two small, crimson horns that protrude from his head and a single forked tail. He prefers to dress in hues of green and purple.
This devil is tasked with maintaining all records regarding the Nine Hells. In this role, he constantly updates the number of souls collected, the various contracts that exist between devils and mortals, and presides over the court of Devils which settle disputes regarding contracts. Adramalech also tracks every torment caused to devils and the names and locations of any devils not in the Nine Hells. Somehow, despite this busy schedule, Adramalech also finds time to maintain an extensive spy network among the pit fiends which collect information. Adramalech stores this information and the true names of all devils in a tome he calls “The Infernal Record” which is colloquially known to mortals as the “Book of Fire”. Adramalech finds stress relief by torturing the souls of mortals in an extensive dungeon network which lies below Fortress Nessus. He especially despises Humans and Elves and takes special joy in causing them pain.
Adramalech has full authority to give orders to devils. This power was given to Adramalech because he is the only devil in the Nine Hells who shows no desire to usurp the Asmodeus. As a notably weak devil, Adramalech understands that even if he were to somehow become an Arch-Duke or Arch-Devil he would be easily overthrown. Instead, he enjoys the power and control he wields over the Nine Hells from the safety of Asmodeus’s right hand. Adramalech enjoys a small cult of followers in the Prime Material Plane who kidnap and sacrifice human and elf children to him. Because Adramalech is so physically weak, he is constantly guarded by a legion of Pit Fiends.
Phongor is the left-hand of Asmodeus and a rival of Adramalech. This devil usually resembles a human male with pink skin and eyes which glitter even in the shadows. He has oily black hair, two small twisting black horns, and red hooves for feet with a similarly colored tail.
Phongor serves as Asmodeus’s Chief Inquisitor. It is his duty to uncover secrets or to find information that Asmodeus wishes to find. Phongor is considered the most feared devil in Baator after Asmodeus because of his penchant for torture, his prowess in combat with a wickedly sharp whip, and his ability to sniff out secrets.
Phongor’s rivalry with Adramalech is because he knows that the Record Keeper does not know his true name. Adramalech frequently sends spies to try to find Phongor’s true name as it is the only one, he does not know. In response, Phongor sniffs out these spies and viciously kills them because he knows that his secret allows him to maintain an even position of power in Nessus with the Chancellor. His prowess at finding information for Asmodeus means that he holds equal value currently for the Arch-Devil. Phongor spends much of his time ensuring that Asmodeus is well informed regarding the events of every plane. To do so, he has enlisted some of Adramalech’s spies to work for him and tortures information out of other creatures as he needs.
While Adramalech and Phongor serve as Asmodeus’s right and left-hand respectively, his favorite servant is his executioner, Alastor the Grim. A horrifically scarred and broken winged pit fiend, Alastor is considered the strongest of the Pit Fiends. Rumored to be one of the first devils born from Asmodeus’s blood, Alastor the Grim does not speak or act independently of his master. He always accompanies the Arch-Devil acting as a bodyguard and as the executioner for whomever displeases Asmodeus. It is a common belief that if the Nine Hells were destroyed and Asmodeus could only save one creature other than himself, he would choose Alastor the Grim. Alastor the Grim also commands the personal armies of Asmodeus.
There are always six generals in Nessus for Asmodeus’s armies. These generals are constantly changing as the devils vie for power and control.

NOTABLE LOCATIONS

There are two types of notable locations on the plane of Nessus: geographical features and infernal constructions.
The first major geographical feature of Nessus is the river Styx, which enters Nessus through a hidden (and heavily guarded) location from Cania. The river reaches its lowest point in Nessus in a lake known as the “Forgotten Lake”. From here, it sinks into the plain and drips into Gehenna (an outer plane not connected to the Nine Hells).
The Forgotten Lake is rumored to be the place that beautiful memories go to die. When mortal souls are first brough to the Nine Hells, their memories are stripped from them and sent here. Here, the thoughts are broken down and destroyed. Should a creature look into the waters, they will see beautiful memories that slowly corrupt into fiendish nightmares.
Several other rivers also off shoot from the river Styx to fill the rest of Nessus. One of these, indistinguishable from the others, is the river Lethe whose waters are known to cause complete memory loss.
Several notable gorges are also spread throughout the plane. Reaper’s Canyon is Nessus’s canyon of death. Here, no injuries heal, and death finds creatures twice as quickly as elsewhere. Sicknesses and disease are far more powerful. Another canyon is known as Hell’s Lips and is the epitome of gluttony. Mortals that find themselves here may become overcome with insatiable thirst and hunger. One fissure that travels from north to south on the plane is “The Nest”, which houses hundreds of nests for fiendish wasps.
The most noticeable geographic location in Nessus is the large winding canyon that sinks deeper and deeper into the plane, The Serpent’s Pass. This canyon, carved from Asmodeus’s fall, carves to the deepest point of Nessus, which in unknown even to most devils.
At the center, and northern most point, of the plane is a large pit which houses the city of Malsheem. Built from stone and Baatorian green steel, the city stretches in multiple layers along the gorge. Over time, the ever-expanding city has slowly begun to form tunnels into the walls and floor of the pit. This large structure, designed by Asmodeus, is home to millions of devils, perhaps the strongest in the nine hells. Here, Asmodeus keeps his personal army, waiting to conquer the planes with it. At the center of the city of Malsheem is the Fortress Nessus.
Fortress Nessus sits at the deepest point of the Serpent’s Coil but rises far above the rest of the plane. Decadent and bleak, the fortress seems to be a failed recreation of the home of the Gods. Here, Asmodeus resides and rules. The fortress has not been mapped previously and seems uninhabited at all times of the day. Despite its appearance, the fortress is teeming with devils and dangers. Below the fortress is an extensive dungeon which houses the souls of humans and elves for Adramalech to torture. Fortress Nessus also houses the Infernal Records.
The last location of note for Nessus is Tabjari, which lies in Reaper Canyon. Tabjari is a copper citadel which serves as the library, vault, and armory for Asmodeus. Tabjari is nearly impossible to enter. Its entrance is a highly guarded secret. The entire structure is heavily guarded by traps, magic, and devils. The security of Tabjari is even greater than the security in Fortress Nessus because it houses Asmodeus’s greatest treasure, one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval.

MYSTERIES

There are many mysteries with the plane of Nessus for the curious adventurer to find, though at great personal risk. Many of these mysteries remain because adventurers who chose to explore the plane did not return.
The first great mystery of Nessus is how to enter the plane. Though there is an entrance via the river Styx, this passage would require that adventurers travel through the other 8 planes of Baator to find their way into Nessus. Still, this river entrance is hidden and extremely well-guarded. Finding and mapping this location would make one rich beyond definition.
Another great mystery of Nessus comes from a rumor that Asmodeus is still greatly weakened by his wounds. A common rumor within the Outer Planes is that Asmodeus’s true form lies still broken and beaten within Fortress Nessus. Many of the other Archdukes and the Demon Princes of the Abyss spend a significant amount of time trying to find out if the rumor is true (and the location of Asmodeus’s true form) with the hopes of conquering the 9 hells.
The fortress Nessus hold many other secrets, such as information about the weaknesses of the Archdukes, that could hold much value for any being that could find them.
Tabjari holds one of the original copies of the Pact Primeval, which provides the place around it with enormous power. In this place, magic is said to achieve feats that would be otherwise impossible. For this reason, its location is deeply sought. Additionally, the copy itself provides significant strength to the devils. If it were to be stolen, it would greatly turn the tide of the Blood War in favor of the Abyss.

SURVIVAL

Surviving Nessus is horrendously difficult for those that have not been personally invited by Asmodeus. Travelers should equip themselves with means of surviving some of the hottest temperatures in the planes, second perhaps only to the plane of fire. Likewise, they should equip themselves to survive frigid temperatures that exist in some of the gorges. Because Nessus is finite, it can be more easily mapped than any other planes. Perhaps a daring adventuring group would be able to find some enemy of Asmodeus who has a map of the plane. Another duke of the nine hells may have such a map and forming a pact with one may be wise for finding a way through Nessus without Asmodeus’s permission. If not, the safest way to traverse the plane would be to make some pact with the Arch-Devil.
For those who attempt to sneak onto Nessus, stealth is the best option. The plane teems with a seemingly infinite number of the deadliest devils in the nine hells. Direct confrontation with a small group will only draw more of them towards a party. Additionally, it would be wise to find some way to carry provision onto the plane because food is sparse. Nessus is also covered in a dense fog of noxious fumes which make breathing difficult. Adventurers should account for this trait and find some way to filter their breathing as needed.

Toolkit

Nessian Hell-Hound
Large fiend, neutral evil
Armor Class: 17 (natural armor)
Hit Points: 129 (13d10 + 52)
Speed: 50ft., fly 50ft.

CR: 10 (5,900 XP)

STR	DEX	CON	INT	WIS	CHA
[+6]	[+3]	[+5]	[-3]	[+1]	[+0]

Saving Throws: DEX +6, CON +8 Skills: Perception +4, Stealth +6 Damage Resistances: Cold, Fire Damage Immunities: Poison Damage Vulnerabilities: Radiant Condition Immunities: Poisoned, Sleep Senses: Darkvision 60ft., passive Perception 14 Languages: Infernal, Common
Traits
Devils Sight. Magical darkness does not impede the hell hound.
Actions
Multiattack. The hell hound makes two attacks: one with its bite and one with its claws.
Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 10 ft., one creature. Hit: 17 (2d10 + 6) piercing damage.
Claws. Melee Weapon Attack: +9 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: 13 (2d6 + 6) slashing damage.
Hellfire Breath: (Recharges 5-6). The Nessian Hell-Hound unleashes a 10 ft cone of fire that deals 40 (9d8) fire damage. Creatures caught in the cone must make a DC17 dex save, taking half damage on a successful save.
With this, I have finally finished an entry for each of the Nine Hells for the Atlas project. I started writing about the Nine Hells in 2018, five years ago. After 4 years of writing and rewriting this article, it’s finally done which is a weird feeling. Nessus was especially hard to write about because I wanted it to feel dangerous, mysterious, and hard to understand. Hopefully, this is useful to some people. Moving forward, I’m planning to update the older entries with better information.
Check out my previous entry for the Atlas of the Planes project: Cania
Write Your Own Atlas Entry!

Thank you very much in advance.
Nestled at the crossroads where shattered dreams and whispered promises converged, the fabled port city of Iria revealed the bittersweet allure of freedom. Its streets, like the intertwining tendrils of a thorny briar, embraced the hopes and sorrows passed down through generations.
Deep beneath the streets, a labyrinthine network of tunnels and caverns bore secrets of a forgotten past. Legends spoke of the Nords, who sculpted the fate of these subterranean realms through violent conquest, drawn by the ephemeral radiance that once bathed these untrodden lands.
Echoes carried the stories of Gillikristr, the visionary founder of Iria, whose sacrifice quelled the vast military power and unearthly horrors that threatened to consume the city.
Within the weathered embrace of its walls, the very essence of Iria's foundation permeated the air, the weight of the city's destiny rested upon the tavern's timeworn shoulders.
At it's center, the Briar Thorn Tavern stood proudly as a timeless sanctuary emerged from the veils of misty twilight that tenderly caressed the city's cobblestones. It transcended its once-homely status, becoming a hearth for the downtrodden, restless, and lost. Beckoning weary souls yearning for respite from the burdens of existence. Aged beams, polished by countless hands, emanated the warmth of ancestral embrace, while ancient tales reverberated throughout, blending with patrons' hushed murmurs seeking solace from the tumultuous world.
Here, adventurers found respite where their journeys merged in a symphony of shared experiences.
As its doors swung open, sensations overwhelmed the senses. A cavernous chamber unfolded like an amphitheater. Benches filled with patrons alive with anticipation, where their laughter was interwoven with resonant notes, saturating the air in a vibrant revelry. It was a place where the past danced with the present, where the weight of the world momentarily lifted, and where the echoes of forgotten heroes found solace in the hearts of the living.
In these crowded halls, a kaleidoscope of thorny roses and blood red petals adorned the surroundings. Paying homage to Iria's fabled House of the Red Grave, where weathered gravestones—adorned with intricate carvings—honored those brave men and women who defied their chains. Their stories intertwined with the tapestry of Iria's ever-evolving narrative, serving as a poignant reminder of the struggle for emancipation. The sacrifices made for freedom.
Adorned in her finest party attire, Isabel navigated the bustling crowd, fiery curls flowing like molten copper, half pinned up and half dancing freely in the wind. The half-dwarf strummed her lute, dressed in a distinctive bodice dress. Half-leather, half-silk, it shimmered in eggshell white-yellow with a touch of gold trim.
Donning a wide-belt and a sword at her hip, she gracefully navigated the crowd, seeking refuge in a quiet pub corner. Her gaze fixed on an intricately engraved ledger, captivated by its allure.
Amidst the dust motes and lamplight, Isabel opened the book, delving into its contents. With unwavering focus, her green eyes traced the precise rows of figures, engaging in a silent conversation with the ghosts of numbers.
A mischievous grin adorned her porcelain face, mirroring the intrigue that brewed within. Her finger traced a curving figure on her account, the sly grin transforming into an incredulous smile. The past month had been extraordinary, with a generous patron lavishing coins upon her. A mysterious benefactor, undoubtedly observing her fortunes.
'Och gods...the ink's bleedin' through,' Isabel thought to herself. The accounts, usually orderly and precise, now seemed to mirror the joyful chaos surrounding her.
'Guess I'd best get this in order before folk start gettin' drunk an' cause too much a' ruckus...'
After several minutes of writing, she leaned back in her chair, stretched, and yawned hard. Her weary eyes glanced over the darkening floor of the inn, and she raised a hand to rub at her jaw. She tried her her best to avoid the crowd's raucous calls in favor of getting the ledgers out of the way.
It was to no avail. The strain of the work had taken its toll. She let out a sigh and closed it, setting the book aside with the intention to revisit it.
Isabel's gaze shifted to the walls adorned in festive decorations that filled every corner, transforming the tavern into a celebration itself. The tantalizing aromas from the kitchen hinted at delightful treats prepared with extra care, each dish a tribute to the upcoming revelry. Amidst the lively crowd, Isabel felt a sense of purpose and excitement. A grand festival approached, and she was determined to create unforgettable memories for the attendees.
Resigned, the half-dwarf stretched her back and legs, scraping her red stilettos across the stone floor to ready herself for her rounds across the tavern. She meticulously adjusted her outfit, ensuring every detail was perfect. Eyes glimmered with determination, she stepped into the midst of the crowd, and embraced the spirited celebration.
"Guid evenin' tae ye all! Ye're lookin' bonnie, ye are. Micht I tempt ye wi' a warmin' ale or a cool stout? Or maybe a cider? We've a special brew fer ye tonight. Our cider's been aged in dragon fire-hardened casks."
In the midst of the vibrant tavern, all eyes converged on the resplendent figure that graced the stage of the Briar Thorn. A flame-haired maiden, adorned with an intricate tapestry of freckles, commanded attention with each movement, a testament to her practiced grace and unyielding confidence. The air crackled with anticipation as the bard's emerald eyes met those of her audience, mischief sparkling within their depths. With a playful wink, she set off a chorus of hearty laughter, an orchestration of mirth resonating through the space.
Among the sea of eager faces, a burly man, boasting a thick black beard and wielding an imposing war hammer, raised a hand, his voice booming above the fray. "I'll take two."
Suppressing a contagious burst of laughter, Isabel delicately clasped a hand over her lips, a radiant smile illuminating her features. "Two ciders, then, comin' up," she responded with a melodious lilt.
Unyielding in their desire for libations, another voice chimed in, belonging to a stern-looking woman whose scowl mirrored the sharpness of the war axe slung across her back. Leaning forward in her chair, she waved her hand, demanding attention. "We'll take two as well."
The large man, undeterred by the rising clamor, added his voice to the mix. "Three, then. And a pitcher of your best stout, if you would be so kind."
Amidst the boisterous revelry, the tavern erupted in a chorus of laughter, cascading like a waterfall of mirth. Isabel, ever the enchantress of the stage, acknowledged the uproar with a graceful bow at the waist, her every movement a testament to her showmanship. "Of course. I'll tend to that in a moment," she assured, a playful wink accentuating her words. "Now, as I was sayin', I'll get yer orders in a minute."
A burly man, his eyes twinkling with mischievous delight, directed his attention toward Isabel, a crooked smile gracing his lips as he ran a hand through his bushy beard. A war hammer nonchalantly slung over his shoulder and a massive war axe tucked in his belt added to his formidable presence. "Hey Izzie, yer gonna be performing tonight? Or do I need tae bless the dancers again?"
In response, Isabel's laughter danced through the air, a joyous melody in harmony with the crackling firelight. "Nah, I'm performin' tonight. Though ye might have tae beat my record," she teased, her voice laced with a playful challenge. A sly wink directed at her brother punctuated her words. "I think I might set a new one."
The burly man's eyes widened, their dark depths shimmering with excitement. "Aye? That's impressive! That's better than our last record. Did ye hear about that?"
Isabel's curiosity piqued, her emerald eyes narrowing as she shielded them from the flickering firelight, sweeping the room in search of answers. "No, I dinnae," she replied, her voice filled with anticipation. "Who was it?"
With a conspiratorial lean forward, the man shared his knowledge in a hushed tone, as if guarding a precious secret. "Our new patron. We're to be blessed by him tonight. We've a few others too, but the lads were talking about him earlier."
A spark of excitement ignited within Isabel, her voice taking on a hushed tone to match the weight of the revelation. "A patron? That's wonderful! Who is he? Does he have a name?"
Isabel's vibrant emerald eyes widened with eager anticipation as the burly man confirmed the identity of the mysterious patron.
A man with hazel eyes, clad in an intricately embroidered jacket and pants of fine silk, strode confidently toward the stage. The crimson-lacquered armor that adorned his form seemed to shimmer in the light, like the ruby at the end of a rosebud. A regal demeanor seemed to permeate every gesture as he surveyed the crowd, his posture betraying the confidence of his stature. With an easy grace, he settled on a chair, his eyes locking with those of Isabel's. A smile played on his lips as he motioned for her to join him, a clear command in his demeanor.
A wide smile stretched across her face, illuminating her freckled visage. "He's a bard like me?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with excitement. "I cannae wait!"
With a quizzical expression, the man raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer to share a whispered revelation. "Not exactly," he revealed, his tone tinged with intrigue. "He's quite different. I don't think you'll see many of his kind at The Briar Thorn, if you know what I mean."
Isabel nodded, her curiosity now piqued, her mind conjuring visions of the enigmatic newcomer. "I do. I've been told they're rare," she confided, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "I wonder what he looks like? I hope he's not one a' them."
In response, the man chuckled, his cheeks flushing as he met her infectious smile. "I doubt it. He should be back in a few. Left his ledger with Gerik."
The mention of the ledger prompted Isabel to stifle another burst of laughter, her hand pressed against her mouth. "Och, that was his? I was in there earlier, and it's a mess," she admitted, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.
The man's face contorted into a perplexed grimace, his confusion evident. "Aye? You looked like it was all in order." He shook his head, puzzled. "Weird. Guess he's just new... though that doesn't explain why he speaks so... peculiarly. Claims he's from Draigfell, yet he talks like he's from a different continent."
Isabel chuckled, her voice laced with amusement. "He's from the north. Maybe he's more... formal? Aye, that sounds like it," she pondered, her eyes distant as she mulled over the possibilities.
The man shrugged, leaning back in his chair, his tone one of indifference. "Aye, that makes sense." He raised his hand and signaled to a busty lass who was weaving through the crowd toward the bar.
Eyes glued to the mysterious patron, intrigued, Isabel leaned forward with her curiosity eager to unveil the mysteries surrounding the enigmatic Micah. "Aye? What does he say?" she inquired, her tone infused with genuine interest.
With a bemused shrug, the man struggled to articulate his observations. "Ah... nothing much. Just strange," he confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and perplexity. "Maybe he's just not used to taverns."
The burly man, his eyes glimmering with excitement, clasped Isabel's shoulder and pulled her into a warm embrace. "He's coming back here later tae join us. Maybe ye can find out why this Micah fellow left us so much gold. You'll have tae tell me later."
A smile blossomed across Isabel's features as she leaned forward and hugged her brother tightly. "I will," she promised, her eyes twinkling with joy. "But I cannae tell ye why ye're getting so much coin."
"We'll figure it out, ye'll see. Ye better get ready to perform," he insisted. "An' get that ledger in order."
Isabel nodded and turned toward the kitchen, her steps sure and graceful. "Aye, I will," she assured. "I'll be back with yer drinks soon."
With a parting smile, Isabel gracefully glided toward the kitchen, her freckled face glowing in the flickering light. The tapestry of laughter and merrymaking resonated within her as she emerged, ready to fulfill her promise of delivering three orders. The Briar Thorn Tavern thrived with the boisterous banter of adventurers, their stories and camaraderie filling every nook. Amidst the lively crowd, Isabel weaved her way, greeted by a raising mug and reciprocating with a mischievous wink. Laughter harmonized with the crackling firelight, but her focus remained on the enigmatic patron.
After deftly fulfilling the orders and sating the thirst of eager patrons, Isabel embarked on a purposeful journey toward the table where the enigmatic Micah sat. A flicker of anticipation ignited within her, a fire stoked by the allure of the unknown. Every step she took exuded a captivating showmanship, a ballet of grace and poise. As her emerald eyes met his hazel gaze, a current of intrigue surged through her veins, ensnaring her curiosity in its enigmatic grasp.
Approaching with measured elegance, Isabel bestowed upon him a subtle bow, a testament to her refined demeanor practiced countless times. Her movements, like a finely choreographed dance, exuded an air of cultivated grace. The sweep of her arm and the dip of her head were executed with precise control, each gesture crafted to convey both respect and a hint of playful intrigue. It was a performance perfected through countless repetitions, a display of practiced finesse that now played out before Micah's watchful gaze.
"It's good to see ye're 'ere," said Micah, his tone measured and confident, his Draig accent adding a sing-song lilt to his words. His hazel eyes glimmered with intrigue as he studied her, a curious smile gracing his features. "I see Gerik raised 'is children well. 'ow are ye feelin'?"
Isabel's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his face, studying him as if she were peering into the depths of his soul. Her demeanor remained composed as she regarded the enigmatic Micah. "I'm fine. We've been talkin' about ye," she admitted as she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers.
Micah nodded, his posture betraying his composure. "I'm sure ye have," he said.
'Ah dinnae know ye," Isabelle asked, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "Do ye want me tae get ye somethin' tae eat?"
"I'm fine," Micah said, as he brushed off the concern with a casual flick of his hand, his grin spreading like sunlight on a dew-kissed meadow. The charm in his words danced with the musicality of a whispered melody, ensnaring Isabel's attention further into his web. "I'm Micah, a fa'miliar face 'at 'as graced these walls fer twenty-five years. The bonds o' friendship 'ave woven through the tapestry o' time, connectin' yer family and mine in a shared 'istory."
"So ye're a bard, like me," Isabel exclaimed, her eyes dancing with excitement and anticipation. "I've heard rumors of yer arrival at the tavern. Tell me, what 'appened tae yer band? Where have they gone?"
"I'm the last o' me band," Micah admitted, a tinge of melancholy seeping into his voice as he reminisced about his companions. "They were swept away by a tempest, lost to the unforgiving storm. I miss them dearly. They still visit me in dreams," he confided, a solitary tear glistening in his expressive eye.
Isabel's voice resonated with warmth and empathy as she extended her condolences. "I'm truly sorry tae hear o' yer loss," she offered sincerely. "Ye dinnae speak much 'bout yerself, but I'm eager tae know ye better. How 'bout we share a meal together? We can talk and ye can share yer story."
"That would be delightful," Micah replied, his countenance softening as he bestowed her with a genuine smile. "I would enjoy that greatly."
A genuine smile graced Isabel's freckled visage, brimming with delight. "Wonderful! I'll fetch ye a meal," she promised, her voice tinged with enthusiasm. "What tickles yer fancy?"
"Anything will suffice," Micah responded, his tone imbued with sincere interest. "I have the coin. I'll be waitin' 'ere for ye."
Isabel's smile blossomed as she nodded in agreement, his genuine tone assuring her of his welcome. She directed her attention towards the bustling kitchen, her mind ablaze with thoughts of crafting a delectable menu for her newfound companion. The tantalizing scent of freshly prepared cuisine mingled with the symphony of clinking pots and pans, captivating Isabel's senses.
'I reckon a savory meat pie or a plate of spiced vegetables would be to his likin'. I don't think he's fond of overly spicy fare.'
Isabel's imagination swirled with culinary possibilities as she surveyed the kitchen, her eyes darting between the diligent kitchen staff and the array of tantalizing ingredients. Contemplating her options, hands confidently resting on her hips, she made her way towards the bustling heart of the kitchen, her gaze lingering on the savory treasures at hand.
After careful consideration, Isabel selected the perfect meal that would both cater to Micah's palate and ignite his taste buds with delight. A sly smile played upon her lips as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate brimming with culinary delights. The aroma of the freshly prepared feast permeated the air, adding to the festive ambiance of the tavern.
With a warm smile gracing her features, Isabel approached Micah, the alluring scent of the food enveloping them. "Here ye are!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I've got somethin' special for ye. Ye're bound tae love it."
"I have no doubt," Micah assured her, his curiosity piqued as he returned her smile. "Thank ye kindly."
Placing the plate before him, Isabel gestured towards the enticing dish, her eyes shimmering with excitement. "Go on now! Give it a try!" she encouraged eagerly. "It's one o' the tavern's finest specialties."
As his gaze fixated upon the presented meal, Micah's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "A fine choice," he acknowledged, curiosity lacing his words. "Though dinnae ye 'ave a performance soon? Shouldn't ye be preparin'?"
"I shall," Isabel urged with a playful glimmer in her eyes. "Just try it."
With a glint of mischief in his eyes, Micah nodded, his fingers gently tracing the contours of the freshly baked crust as he studied the meal before him. "Aye, I will," he assured, his brogue adding a touch of charm. "I'm sure it'll be a feast for the senses."
Isabel's fiery waves of hair, tamed and cascading down her back, framed her face with a wild elegance. She slipped into her performance costume, the fabric embracing her like a second skin, its deep green hue accentuating her curves. The subtle reveal of skin hinted at a hidden sensuality, while the golden cuff, shaped like a wolf's mouth, added an enchanting touch. She could almost feel the spirit of Caledonia whispering through the intricate design, igniting her spirit.
A knock on the dressing room door interrupted her reverie, and the voice of Archie, the stage director, filtered through. "Isabel, are ye ready? The stage awaits."
She turned toward the door, a radiant smile illuminating her face. "Almost there, Archie. Just a few finishing touches."
Stepping out of the dressing room, Isabel found Archiewaiting, his eyes widening with awe at her transformation. His voice softened, filled with admiration. "Isabel, ye look absolutely stunning. The crowd won't ken what hit them."
Isabel's laughter danced through the air, her voice carrying a mixture of excitement and determination. "Thank ye, Archie. But it's not just about the looks. Tonight, I'll weave a tale that'll stir their hearts, ignite their spirits, and leave them yearning for more. Tonight, Caledonia will come alive on this very stage."
Archie, resonating in her words, nodded, his eyes reflecting a profound understanding of her power. "I have nae doubt, Isabel. Ye possess a gift—a voice that carries the stories of our land, the dreams of our people. They'll be captivated, enchanted by yer every note."
Isabel took a final deep breath, feeling the energy of the night pulsating through her veins.
"Together, Archie," Isabel whispered, her voice filled with determination. "Tonight, we'll create magic."
And with that, they stepped into the hallway, the sounds of anticipation and muffled conversation filling the air. The stage awaited, the audience yearned, and Isabel was ready to cast her spell, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of those who would join her in this symphony of life.
The curtains drew back, revealing the expectant faces of the crowd, their eyes alight with anticipation. Isabel took her place at the center of the stage, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces, her voice a velvety caress that cut through the silence.
"Listen closely, mah friends," she began, her voice filled with a tantalizing blend of mystery and longing, her Scottish lilt enchanting every syllable. "For tonight, I shall unveil the hidden melodies that reside within the soul of Iria. Tonight, we embark on a journey of love and loss, triumph and despair. Let yer hearts be swept away by the stories that dance upon the threads of our existence."
And so it began. The tavern exploded with applause as Isabel gracefully stepped to the side of the stage, beckoning to her audience as she sang the opening verse of the ballad. All fell silent as the rain battered the cobblestones outside, protecting the warmth of the firelight.

The city of Caligo, capital of the magical kingdom Luminis Obscurum, sat nestled at the heart of a labyrinthine mountain range. Its ominous silhouette sprawled in every direction, its myriad structures draped in dark violet hues, gleaming under the eerie light of a moon perpetually shrouded by a veil of foreboding crimson clouds. The city was surrounded by an intricate lacework of floating islands, shrouded in perpetual twilight, held aloft by a blend of mystical forces and practical alchemy. Like a thousand demon eyes, the lights of Caligo blinked and twinkled in the perpetual night.
At the center of the city rose the Coliseum Arcanum, a gargantuan amphitheater that dominated the skyline. Its impossibly tall spires pierced the heavens, each adorned with statues and banners that howled in the ceaseless wind. Built from dark obsidian stone that seemed to drink in the light, the coliseum was the heart of the city, pulsating with the rhythm of the wild and brutal contests it hosted.
The air was thick with anticipation as the annual Grand Arcana Tournament was about to begin. Warriors from every corner of the kingdom and beyond had gathered to partake in a ruthless test of strength, endurance, and arcane mastery. The stakes were high, for the winner would be granted one wish — any request within the realm of possibility, as promised by the arcane potentates who ruled Luminis Obscurum.
And so, five extraordinary individuals found themselves on the cusp of the city, overlooking the sprawling urban expanse. The depth of their bond was reflected in the aura of resilience they radiated, a testament to the hardships they had weathered together.
Askari, the warrior monk, was the group's spiritual compass, guiding them through their trials with an unwavering determination reminiscent of his celestial forebear, Sun Wukong. His build was sinewy, every muscle carved from a lifetime of discipline and dedication. He carried the Ruyi Jingu Bang, an unyielding staff as flexible in combat as the very air, a symbol of his birthright and testament to his strength.
Skyblitz, an Aarakocra of intimidating stature, stood beside him. His feathers were as sharp as razors, their metallic sheen reflecting the enigmatic moonlight. He was a master of the turbulent winds, manipulating the very air around him into deadly weapons or sturdy shields. His eyes held a hint of wisdom that belied his avian wildness.
Next stood Redroot, the Goliath, towering over his companions. His skin bore the weathered marks of the mountain he hailed from, and the deep, unyielding roots that had fostered him. His magic was as much a part of him as the very rock he could command — sturdy, unwavering, and titanic in its ferocity.
Joneson, the Oathbreaker, was a stark contrast to the rest. A former Paladin who had turned his back on his sacred vows, he was a mystery, even to his closest friends. The void he mastered was as perplexing and enigmatic as the man himself. His aura was dark, pulsating with an energy that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest.
Lastly, there was IraTater, the Poison Dragonborn, a creature of mischief and mayhem. His scales shimmered an iridescent green under the glow of the distant city, a signal of the deadly toxin that coursed through his veins. His crooked grin revealed rows of sharp teeth, a sign of his nonchalant attitude towards the world and its troubles.
Their gazes were collectively locked on the imposing structure at the heart of the city, an ominous sense of destiny pervading their silence.
"Y'all ready for this?" IraTater broke the silence, a playful grin spreading across his face.
Skyblitz responded with a solemn nod, his avian eyes reflecting a hardened resolve. "It's why we're here, isn't it?" His voice was calm, a lull in the storm.
Redroot's massive hand came to rest on the Aarakocra's shoulder, his deep voice rumbling like a landslide. "We face this together. As always."
Askari turned towards Joneson, his eyes searching the Paladin's shrouded countenance. "What of you, Joneson? Are you prepared to stand with us once again?"
The Oathbreaker turned his gaze away from the city, looking into the eyes of his comrades. His eyes held a profound sadness, but beneath it lay a flicker of defiance. "The void in my past may never be filled. But today, I fight for you, my brothers. For us."
A shared grin spread among them, and they extended their hands into a joint fist bump, their pact reaffirmed. They had faced challenges before, but the battles that lay ahead were unlike any they had experienced. The stakes were high, the odds were daunting, but the strength of their bond held firm.
As the first rays of false dawn cast their ethereal light on the city of Caligo, the friends stepped onto the path leading into the heart of Luminis Obscurum, their hearts aflame with determination and camaraderie. The Grand Arcana Tournament awaited, and the fate of five friends was about to intertwine with the destiny of an entire kingdom.
Having traversed the twisted maze of Caligo's cobblestone streets, the friends found themselves at the foot of the Coliseum Arcanum. Up close, its enormity was almost incomprehensible, the structure dwarfing everything around it.
The surrounding area was a riotous carnival, alive with an intoxicating mix of excitement and dread. Vibrant market stalls, whimsical parades, and arcane showcases adorned the streets, a tumultuous celebration of the upcoming bloodshed. Over the cacophony of jubilations, the friends could hear the roar of the crowd within the coliseum, their excitement a palpable force in the air.
As they entered the coliseum, a servile goblin ushered them to a preparation chamber. The room was dimly lit, the air saturated with the metallic tang of past battles and the musk of warriors preparing for combat.
"The matches will be one on one," the goblin's voice crackled, his eyes filled with a strange blend of fear and respect. "You'll be facing the Revenant Reapers. They're a brutal team—"
"No need to worry, friend," IraTater interrupted, flashing the goblin a toothy grin. "We can handle a bit of brutality."
The goblin nodded nervously, taking a few steps back before scurrying away.
"The Revenant Reapers, huh?" Skyblitz murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a curse. "I've heard rumors. They're supposed to be ruthless."
"Most competitors here are," Redroot rumbled, his massive hands balling into fists. "But so are we."
Askari nodded, the warrior monk's eyes reflecting a deep-seated determination. "We will face this challenge as we have faced all others - together."
The air in the chamber vibrated with their shared resolve. The friends began to prepare for the upcoming fight, the sounds of their armor and weapons echoing in the chamber.
---
Meanwhile, in a similar chamber on the opposite side of the coliseum, a team of formidable warriors prepared for combat. The Revenant Reapers, a team as ruthless as their moniker suggested, were eager to engage in the deadly dance of the tournament.
There was Grimmhilt, a necromancer dwarf whose powers had brought him an unsettling semblance of immortality. Aridorn, an Elven sorcerer with the essence of elemental fire at his fingertips. Shifty Snigg, a halfling rogue with a penchant for bloodshed. Zul'Kur, an Orc shaman capable of summoning the wrath of the ancients. And finally, Galros, a tiefling warlock whose pact with a powerful demon endowed him with a frightening array of dark magic.
"Got our match-ups for the first round," Grimmhilt's gravelly voice resonated in the chamber, his hands holding a piece of parchment. "I've got Askari, the warrior monk. Aridorn, you're up against Skyblitz, the bird-man. Snigg, you'll take the Goliath, Redroot. Zul'Kur, you have the Oathbreaker, Joneson. And Galros, you get to play with the poison Dragonborn, IraTater."
A chorus of anticipatory laughter echoed through the chamber. These were fighters who lived for the thrill of the fight, the rush of blood, and the sweet taste of victory.
---
The time for the first match approached, and an electric tension filled the air. As the friends exited their preparation chamber, they stepped into the staggering expanse of the Coliseum Arcanum.
High above them, in a throne overlooking the entirety of the Coliseum, sat the announcer, an eccentric gnome by the name of Razzle Fizzlebop. With a voice amplified by magical means, he welcomed the crowd to the grand spectacle about to unfold.
"Welcome, one and all, to the Grand Arcana Tournament!" His voice boomed across the Coliseum, echoing off the obsidian walls. "In this corner, a team like no other, bonded by courage, a quintet of outstanding warriors: Askari, Skyblitz, Redroot, Joneson, and IraTater! And in the other corner, a ruthless band of hardened fighters, known for their merciless tactics: the Revenant Reapers!"
A deafening cheer erupted from the spectators as the two teams stepped into the arena, each fighter sizing up their respective opponent.
"May the best team prevail!" Razzle Fizzlebop's voice rang out, a signal of the brutal spectacle to come. "Let the Grand Arcana Tournament commence!"
The friends shared a final look of camaraderie, each promising the other that no matter what happened, they would face it together.
As the echoes of the crowd's cheers filled the air, the friends braced themselves. The stage was set. The dance of death was about to begin.
With the commencement of the tournament, the atmosphere within the Coliseum Arcanum transformed. The anticipation reached fever pitch, the audience holding their collective breath as the first combatants took center stage.
"IraTater of the Brotherhood!" Razzle Fizzlebop's voice resonated through the coliseum, his enthusiastic tone whipping the crowd into a frenzy. "Versus Galros of the Revenant Reapers! A venomous dance with the flames of the inferno!"
IraTater walked into the spotlight, his scales shimmering like deadly emeralds. He offered the crowd a cheeky wave, his usual levity on full display despite the high stakes.
Across the battlefield, Galros stood, a menacing figure swathed in a cloak of shadowy flames. His eyes glowed with a fiery intensity, a visual testament to the infernal pact that fueled his magic.
"As per the rules of the Grand Arcana Tournament," Razzle continued, "The fight will go on until one fighter yields, is incapacitated, or… worse."
IraTater couldn't help but roll his eyes at the gnome's dramatic flair. "Alright, big guy," he called to Galros, "Let's give 'em a show."
The tiefling merely smirked, his hands beginning to dance in the intricate patterns of arcane sigils, summoning the deadly magic of his infernal pact.
The match began in earnest, Galros opening with a volley of "Hellfire Bolts", flaming projectiles that exploded upon impact. IraTater nimbly evaded, his agile form a blur on the battlefield.
With a growl, IraTater retaliated with a "Venomous Torrent," a wave of toxic energy that radiated from his outstretched claws. Galros, however, was quick to erect an "Infernal Barrier," absorbing the brunt of the toxic assault.
The two continued to exchange blows, Galros utilizing destructive pyromancy, while IraTater countered with his unique blend of agility and venomous magic. Despite his playful demeanor, IraTater's prowess was undeniable, his movements punctuated by fluidity and precision.
However, as the battle progressed, it became apparent to IraTater that he was gradually being outmatched. Galros' infernal magic was relentless, and while IraTater's agility and venom-based attacks were formidable, they were not enough to keep up with Galros' fiery onslaught.
Spotting his opportunity, Galros decided to play dirty, casting a "Shadow Bind," an underhanded spell designed to immobilize his opponent by exploiting a moment of weakness. The crowd gasped as dark tendrils snaked from Galros' fingers, aiming to entrap IraTater.
But the Dragonborn was not so easily subdued. A deep, guttural growl escaped him as he looked into Galros' smirking face. "You want to play dirty?" He hissed, his scales standing on end as a surge of poisonous energy coursed through his veins.
Embracing his raw power, IraTater unleashed his "Basilisk Strike." His form became a blur, moving with such speed that it seemed to split into multiple images. In the blink of an eye, he closed the gap between him and Galros, his claw striking true. A potent burst of venomous energy erupted from his fingertips, the impact rocking the entire arena.
Galros' smirk was wiped clean off his face as he was thrown backward, crashing into the arena's boundary with an impact that left a crater in the obsidian. The tiefling's body was immobile, his defeat unmistakable.
"And the first round goes to IraTater!" Razzle Fizzlebop's voice echoed throughout the Coliseum Arcanum, the crowd erupting into cheers.
In the shadows of the entrance to the arena, Askari watched with a stormy expression. His fists clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the incapacitated form of Galros. He had always believed in the sanctity of honorable combat, and Galros' underhanded tactic had struck a nerve.
As Razzle Fizzlebop announced the next match - Askari versus Grimmhilt - the warrior monk stepped onto the battlefield, his gaze determined and unwavering. He had always held himself to a code of honor, and this fight would be no different. He would win for his friends, and he would do it with dignity.
And so, as the crowd's cheers echoed through the grand Coliseum, the stage was set for the next deadly dance in the Grand Arcana Tournament.
A tense hush fell over the spectators as the next combatants were announced. "Ladies and gentlemen, the next duel in the Grand Arcana Tournament," Razzle Fizzlebop's voice rang out, clear and resonant. "Askari of the Brotherhood versus Grimmhilt of the Revenant Reapers!"
Askari moved to center stage, his warrior monk training evident in his fluid grace. The crowd watched in anticipation as an ethereal golden aura shimmered around him, an echo of his inherent power. Even from a distance, the intensity of his aura was palpable, a testament to his descent from the legendary Sun Wukong.
Opposite him stood Grimmhilt, a dwarf necromancer shrouded in an aura of decay and death. His eyes glowed with an unnatural light as he prepared his formidable defenses.
"Hey, Grimmhilt," Askari called out, his voice carrying over the silence of the coliseum. "I hope you're prepared. Because I plan to end this quickly."
A sinister grin spread across Grimmhilt's face, his voice raspy with cruel amusement. "We'll see about that, monkey boy."
With a resounding gong, the duel began. As expected, Grimmhilt wasted no time in erecting his "Undead Bastion," a towering barrier of necrotic energy intended to shield him from Askari's attacks.
However, Askari was not deterred. With a deep breath, he centered himself, focusing his energy as he had been taught in the monasteries of his homeland. His aura shimmered and intensified, the spiritual energy forming a colossal image of a multi-armed deity, an embodiment of Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Infinite Compassion.
Grimmhilt's grin faltered as he beheld the spectacle. But before he could react, Askari launched his attack.
"Avalokiteshvara Strike!" Askari roared, the ethereal deity mimicking his movements as they launched a barrage of attacks. Each strike was a concentrated blast of his aura, a devastating assault that battered Grimmhilt's barrier.
The "Undead Bastion," despite its formidable defenses, crumbled under the onslaught. Grimmhilt, robbed of his protective shield, was at the mercy of Askari's barrage. The warrior monk's assault was relentless and in an instant, it was over.
Grimmhilt was left sprawled on the ground, his defenses shattered, his energy depleted. The crowd erupted into cheers as Razzle Fizzlebop announced Askari's victory. "Askari of the Brotherhood is the winner!"
As Askari made his way back to his friends, he was met with high fives and words of praise. The victory, however, brought him no joy. His face remained stern, his mind already on the upcoming battles.
As Skyblitz stepped forward to take the stage, Askari extended his fist to his oldest friend. Skyblitz bumped it with his own, a silent promise of the fight to come. Askari could only hope that the rest of their battles would be fought with honor, for the sake of their brotherhood and the sacred principles they upheld.
"Prepare yourselves, for the gust of competition is about to take flight!" Razzle Fizzlebop's enthusiastic proclamation echoed throughout the coliseum, whipping the spectators into a whirlwind of anticipation. "Skyblitz of the Brotherhood versus Aridorn of the Revenant Reapers!"
Skyblitz emerged onto the battlefield, the embodiment of avian majesty and power. His feathered form shimmered as a warm gust swirled around him, a tangible display of his command over wind magic.
His opponent, Aridorn, carried an imposing aura of his own. His silver hair seemed to flow like mercury, capturing the ominous sheen of his cold eyes. As an Elf warrior, he drew upon the arcane forces at his command, his body language exuding icy determination.
As the starting signal echoed across the coliseum, the tension morphed into a dazzling spectacle of magical prowess. Aridorn was swift, initiating the duel with a "Frost Edge" attack that transformed his longsword into a chilling blade of freezing energy.
Skyblitz, ever the master of the wind, reacted with perfect timing. His "Wind Blade" took form, a blade of compressed air that met Aridorn's icy onslaught head-on. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sheer display of magical mastery a feast for their eyes.
The battle raged on, morphing into an intense back-and-forth between the two combatants. Aridorn kept on the offensive, wielding his chilling magic to launch a series of potent attacks. His "Glacial Wall" forced Skyblitz to keep his distance, while his "Frost Spears" kept the Aarakocra on his talons.
Skyblitz was not to be outdone. His mastery over wind magic was a spectacle in itself. His agile movements, augmented by "Gale Dash," allowed him to evade Aridorn's icy attacks with an effortless grace that seemed almost choreographed. His "Tempest Cyclone" countered Aridorn's defenses, the swirling vortex of wind magic breaking through the icy wall Aridorn had erected.
This thrilling exchange of magic and martial prowess continued, each warrior holding his ground. The crowd watched, breathless, as the two powerhouses collided, each new clash raising the stakes.
Eventually, however, Skyblitz decided it was time to end the match. Channeling his wind magic, he executed his final move, an attack he had perfected over years of rigorous training. "Twister Throw!" he bellowed, the powerful shout resonating across the coliseum.
In a swift, fluid motion, Skyblitz seized Aridorn, his powerful wings carrying them high above the arena. The crowd watched in stunned silence as he summoned a powerful tornado around them, his wind magic swirling with an intensity that left everyone breathless.
The force of the wind spun them around, accelerating until Aridorn was a mere blur in the eye of the storm. With a final, powerful shout, Skyblitz threw Aridorn, propelling him with the force of the swirling wind.
Aridorn plummeted to the ground, his descent marked by a tailwind of force. The impact echoed throughout the coliseum, the ground quaking beneath the force. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the view as the crowd held its breath.
When the dust finally settled, Aridorn was revealed, unconscious and defeated, cradled in the heart of a massive crater. Skyblitz landed elegantly on the battlefield, his victory secured.
"Victory to Skyblitz of the Brotherhood!" Razzle Fizzlebop's voice echoed around the arena. The crowd erupted into cheers, their exhilaration shaking the coliseum.
Skyblitz, despite his victory, did not celebrate. His expression was serious, his gaze focused. His mind was already on the battles to come. The Grand Arcana Tournament was far from over, and the Brotherhood was ready to face whatever came next.
As the dust from the previous battle cleared, the Brotherhood gathered in a huddle. Their attention was fixated on Redroot, the Goliath, whose presence was as sturdy and intimidating as a fortress of stone.
"Redroot," Askari began, looking up at his towering friend. "We've seen you hold back, always opting to shield rather than strike. This time, let them witness your true power. Be the landslide, not just the mountain."
Skyblitz joined in, a spark of anticipation illuminating his avian eyes. "You've got this, Red. Make the ground tremble beneath your might."
Redroot nodded solemnly, acknowledging the encouraging words of his companions. "The earth shall quake in my honor."
The crowd's excited chatter fell silent as Razzle Fizzlebop made the next announcement. "Step forward, Redroot of the Brotherhood and Snigg of the Revenant Reapers!"
Snigg, a small yet wiry goblin, walked onto the battlefield, an air of dark magic surrounding him. Redroot followed, his imposing figure causing a wave of silence to sweep across the spectators. The air around him rippled with earth magic, projecting an image that was equal parts awe-inspiring and terrifying.
With a mighty roar, Redroot charged at Snigg, his fist colliding with Snigg's in a thunderous impact that sent shockwaves pulsing through the coliseum. It was a clash of raw strength against potent magic, and the crowd watched in awe as the battle unfolded.
Snigg was swift and cunning, employing his dark magic with a surprising finesse. His "Shadow Warp" allowed him to dodge Redroot's massive strikes and retaliate with "Abyssal Shards." However, Redroot was no easy target. His earth magic countered Snigg's attacks, his "Stone Fist" shattering Snigg's dark energy projectiles while his "Earth Shield" offered unyielding defense.
Despite Snigg's agility and cunning, Redroot stood firm, countering with powerful attacks of his own. He used his "Granite Grasp" to trap Snigg, while his "Boulder Bash" sent the goblin sprawling across the battlefield.
The back-and-forth continued, each fighter displaying their unique set of skills to the fullest. Snigg continued to exploit his nimbleness and dark magic, but Redroot remained a formidable opponent, his resolve as unshakeable as the earth he commanded.
As the battle reached a fever pitch, Redroot decided to end the duel. Gathering his earth magic, he channeled it into a final, devastating attack. With a roar that echoed throughout the coliseum, Redroot slammed his fists into the ground, calling out, "Tectonic Rupture!"
The ground beneath them trembled and shook, a wave of stone and earth erupting beneath Snigg. The goblin had no time to react as the force of the attack knocked him off his feet, sending him crashing onto the battlefield.
When the dust finally settled, Snigg lay unconscious, the aftermath of Redroot's attack evident in the crater surrounding him. Razzle Fizzlebop's announcement of Redroot's victory echoed across the coliseum, met with a deafening roar of approval from the crowd.
The Brotherhood cheered for their friend, their voices drowned out by the thunderous applause. Despite his victory, Redroot remained humble, a gentle smile playing on his lips. His victory wasn't for himself; it was for his friends and the bond they shared. For the Brotherhood, this was just the beginning, and they were ready for the challenges that lay ahead.
As the dust from Redroot's battle settled, the Brotherhood gathered once more. This time, their focus was on Joneson, the Paladin oathbreaker, a man whose past was filled with guilt and redemption, and whose power stemmed from the void itself.
His fellow warriors gave him a solid, reassuring clap on the shoulder. "You've got this, Joneson. You're a Paladin, through and through. Oathbreaker or not, you uphold honor and justice like no other," Skyblitz said, his avian eyes flicking with a hint of admiration.
The others nodded in agreement. Redroot’s gravelly voice echoed Skyblitz's sentiment. "You're not just a warrior, Joneson. You’re a protector. That's your strength."
The air filled with anticipation as Razzle Fizzlebop's voice once again echoed across the coliseum. "Ladies and gentlemen, the final bout of this round. Step forward, Joneson of the Brotherhood and Zul'Kur of the Revenant Reapers!"
Zul'Kur was a towering figure, adorned with intricate tribal tattoos glowing with an arcane energy. He was an orc shaman, known for his potent spirit magic. A formidable opponent, one who had won his previous battles with a ruthless and savage efficiency.
Joneson walked onto the battlefield, his aura of void energy cloaking him like a shadow. Despite the cheering crowd, a sense of stillness enveloped him. His expression was calm, his gaze steady, the air around him seeming to warp slightly as his void magic reacted to his focused state of mind.
The fight began with a massive clash of magic, Joneson's void energy colliding with Zul'Kur's spirit magic. The crowd gasped as the arena filled with a blinding light, both fighters' powers creating an awe-inspiring spectacle.
Joneson was adept with his void magic, utilizing "Void Shield" to block Zul'Kur's spirit attacks, retaliating with his own "Shadow Strike." Zul'Kur was equally skilled, his spirit magic taking the form of ancestral warriors through his "Spirit Summon," each one engaging Joneson with ruthless ferocity.
Back and forth they went, each clash more intense than the last. Zul'Kur’s spirit magic was relentless, but Joneson’s void manipulation allowed him to absorb and deflect the attacks with increasing ease.
However, as the battle wore on, Joneson's void energy started to dominate the field. His "Abyssal Chains" attack ensnared Zul'Kur's spirit warriors, dissolving them into nothingness. His "Black Hole Strike" pulled Zul'Kur off balance, allowing Joneson to land a decisive "Void Punch."
Just as it seemed that Joneson was gaining the upper hand, a commotion stirred from the sidelines. The previously defeated members of The Revenant Reapers rushed into the arena, their expressions desperate and wild.
The crowd gasped as Galros, Grimmhilt, Aridorn, and Snigg stood beside Zul'Kur, their powers radiating menacingly. The odds had abruptly shifted. Joneson, though strong, was now standing against the full force of The Revenant Reapers.
The anticipation was thick as the crowd watched in shocked silence. The Brotherhood stood at the sidelines, their expressions a mix of concern and determination. The stage was set for a showdown like no other, the true test of the Brotherhood's unity and strength yet to come.
The Revenant Reapers' aggressive entrance onto the stage was met with mixed reactions from the crowd, the Brotherhood, and most interestingly, from Joneson himself. The Reapers exuded a sinister, dark energy as they joined Zul'Kur in facing Joneson.
In the Brotherhood's corner, Skyblitz was already halfway into his takeoff, his wings ruffling in anticipation, ready to swoop down and help Joneson. Redroot had tightened his grip on his massive boulder hammer, his eyes reflecting a fierce determination.
But, it was Askari who raised his hand, signaling them to halt. His eyes were locked onto the scene unfolding before them, a calm yet intense look etched onto his face.
"This is his fight," Askari's voice cut through the rising tension. The words were met with immediate confusion and even protest.
"But they're outnumbering him, Askari," IraTater argued, his draconic eyes glaring towards the spectacle in the arena.
Askari, however, was resolute. "Joneson has a strength we've not yet seen. He's been holding back, for reasons only he knows," he continued, his gaze never leaving the center of the coliseum.
There was a pause before Askari recounted a tale, one of a Paladin who had broken his oath to protect those he loved. It was a tale of guilt and redemption, of strength and love. The tale of Joneson, their comrade, their brother in arms. The Brotherhood listened in silence, their eyes now understanding the depth of Joneson's power that lay dormant.
Back in the arena, Joneson stood steady, his gaze meeting Askari's. There was a silent communication, a nod of acknowledgement, and an understanding. It was time.
Without breaking his gaze from the Reapers, Joneson muttered an incantation under his breath. As the words left his lips, the air around him started to warp, and a cold chill swept across the coliseum. His eyes began to gleam with an ethereal light as the Oathbreaker's Seal began to break.
"Void Infinity," he whispered. The two words carried a weight, a promise, and a threat. The darkness swallowed the arena, blotting out the light and encasing the battleground in an impenetrable shroud. The Reapers, about to attack, found themselves in a sea of uncertainty.
Out of the engulfing void emerged figures, formless yet formidable, each a living embodiment of void energy. With every word of Joneson's continued incantation, they grew stronger, their presence more intimidating.
The Reapers tried to retaliate, but their attacks were swallowed by the void. The shadowy figures closed in, a relentless storm of dark energy that crushed their resistance and drowned their cries. The sheer force of the onslaught sent shockwaves through the arena, causing the crowd to gasp in awe.
When the darkness finally receded, the scene that emerged was one of utter devastation. The Reapers lay strewn across the battleground, their energies depleted, their pride shattered.
The crowd erupted into cheers, the echo of "Joneson" resonating throughout the arena. As the Brotherhood rushed to join their victorious comrade in the center, their smiles were as wide as they were proud.
With his friends surrounding him, Joneson looked at each one of them, his eyes softening. The void magic around him faded, replaced by a warm aura. This was more than just a victory. It was a testament of their friendship, their trust, and their unyielding brotherhood. They had emerged triumphant, and for the time being, they could bask in their victory.
It was a powerful conclusion to a stunning display of magic and camaraderie. The Grand Arcana Tournament was far from over, but the Brotherhood had made their mark, and they were ready for whatever came next.

Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
MORE PARTS
CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
THE BOOKS

Question: describe life as you imagine it in 2000 years' time.
Jake's lip quivered; his fingers twitched; his heart slowly pulsated in a rhythmic pattern, as his eyes fluttered open and an overwhelming light stabbed at his pupils that frantically contracted and expanded within the azure pool that they were submerged in. Jake began to rise. Slowly. Steadily.
'Where am I?' he wondered. He was met with silence. Before him, stood his only friend. Before him stood the city he had once loved: before him stood a barren wasteland.
Jake wandered through the desolate streets, his eyes darting back and forth, taking in his surroundings: Jake surveyed the street for life. But there was no life here. Above him, the sky expanded onwards like a tapestry of death that coated the city with a sheet of despair, raining down dark ash, that battled with the pillars of smoke which tunneled upwards towards the heavens. Houses lined the street like broken soldiers, like half-formed ghosts that once breathed life. Jake remembered. Jake remembered it all.
His mind wandered back to the last memory of his. He remembered his house, isolated in the middle of some fecund frondescence that guarded him and fenced him off like a row of soldiers. Daily, he has bathed in the tranquility of his surroundings, sinking deeper and deeper into the pulchritudinous scenery which fuelled his lust for life. He remembered the deliciously spine-tingling air that had instilled him with a sense of serenity and calm, as he had watched intently as the delicate bluebells swayed gently in the breeze, thriving under the celestial glow of the sun: the crown jewel of the heavens. Now, nothing remains.
Now there were no flowers, nor were there houses. Jake glanced around. The houses that knelt before him, half ruined, had been charred and eaten away by the furious flames that had ravaged them. The city stood weak, trembling with trepidation, and bore no greenery or life. His city now smelt of death, with the air just still. Empty. Upwards, Jake caught sight of a glimmer of light that penetrated the smoke above him. Then it was gone. The sun, like a drop of burning gold that slid nearer and nearer the sill of the world, left Jake enshrouded in darkness.
Thanks :)

To summarize the Central Saga Banner:
1a) Rocbouquet [I’ve Had Enough of This!] is a powerful & tanky Dark/Lightning staff jammer.

Passive 1	Goby Hook Switch, when attacking with Shadow attacks, grants oneself Attack Boost 20% for 3 turns and recovers own BP (+2). When attacking with Lightning attacks, grants oneself Defense Boost 15% for 3 turns and recovers own HP (very small effect).
Passive 2	Flash of Revelation II, recovers own BP (+2) at start of battle. When landing a Weak attack, recovers own HP (very small effect) and recovers own BP (+1).
Passive 3	Intrinsic Staff IV - When attacking with staves, attack damage increases 20%. When attacked by an attack that would cause Resist, reduces damage taken by 40%. When attacked by an attack that would cause Resist, 37% to evade enemy’s attack.
Skill 1	Graceful Cup, Recovery/One Ally. Recovers target’s HP and grants the target 5% Defense Up (1 - 0BP when fully awakened, costs 1LP).
Skill 2	Lightning of Darkness, S powered Indirect Single Foe Shadow+Lightning attack. When the attack hits, grants the target Attack Down by for 1 turn (10% - 15% at max rank 99). When the attack hits, reduces target’s STEND/DEX/AGI/INT/WIL/LOV/CHA (10% - 15% at max rank 99) (10 - 8BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Goby Spark, A powered Indirect All Foes Shadow+Lightning Attack. When the attack hits, removes target’s INT buffs. When the attack hits, chance to reduce target’s INT (25% - 30% at max rank 99). [Critical: Aquatic, Fish] (15 - 12BP when fully awakened).

Very good damage while having the ability to debuff and lower the attack damage of targets. Has a wide variety useful inherits with her older styles, though ideally would be to inherit Shadow+Lightning spells like Lightning Crash, to fully benefit from Passive 1.
​
2a) Macha [Star Train Now Departing!] is a powerful Earth/Heat attacker.

Passive 1	Macha’s Fluke, After activating an OverDrive attack, Crimson Sunflare will be activated. Crimson Sunflare, S powered Indirect All Foes Heat+Sun attack (Activates using Rank 1). When landing an attack with an Attack type skill/spell, 37% chance to activate Crimson Flare+ (Activates using Rank 1) Crimson Flare+, SSS powered Indirect Single Foe Heat+Sun attack (Activates using Rank 1).
Passive 2	Divinity, at start of turn - Grants oneself Morale Up 25% for 1 turn. Grants oneself Guard Up 25% for 1 turn. Recovers own BP (+1)
Passive 3	Fired Up VII, grants 40% damage boost.
Skill 1	Rock Summon, D powered Indirect Single Foe Blunt+Pierce Attack. 25% chance to recover user’s BP (+4) (1 – 0BP when fully awakened).
Skill 2	Flame Bash, C powered Indirect All Foes Heat+Sun Attack. Before attacking, increases user’s INT (20% - 30% at max rank 99) (8 - 6BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Saga Magical Train, A powered Indirect All Foes Blunt Attack. When the attack hits, grants the target Sundered* for 2 turns (11 – 8BP when fully awakened). *Sundered: When attacked, inflicts 10% Defense Down.

More offensive and slightly less damage mitigation compared to the previous style. Chase is good but depends on RNG. Ideally to have access to Divine Tree for inheritance onto her for no LP costs heals. Skill 1 is also very good for generating BP. Skill 3 -Saga Magical Train with Sundered can be interesting with multi-hit skills.
​
3a) Matriarch [Illusory Nightscape] is a powerful Spear support.

Passive 1	Intrinsic Spear IV - When attacking with spears, attack damage increases 20%. When attacked by an attack that would cause Resist, reduces damage taken by 40%. When attacked by an attack that would cause Resist, 37% to evade enemy’s attack.
Passive 2	Resolve of the Mighty, Recovers own BP (+1) at start of battle. Recovers own BP (+2) at end of turn.
Passive 3	Fired Up VII, grants 40% damage boost.
Skill 1	Paean of Tranquillity, Support Fast All Allies. Grants all surviving party members Defense Boost 20% (4 – 3BP when fully awakened).
Skill 2	Saga Balloon Sanctuary, B powered Fast Indirect All Foes Sun attack. Before attacking, all surviving party members Attack Boost (15% - 20% at max rank 99) (11 – 8BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Round Slicer, SSSS powered Direct Single Foe Pierce attack (13 – 10BP when fully awakened).

This Matriarch has been greatly buffed compared to her JP counterpart and is excellent in terms of both defense and attack. Not only does she have long legs (115% AGI), both Skill 1 & 2 are now Fast. Has the capability to cast Paean of Peace or Paean of Victory every turn, though she cannot cast Paean of Heartthrob on turn 1. Arguably her best style.
(Note: there is no need to rank up Skill 1 - Paean of Tranquillity)
Overall, very good value in this banner on its own and all the more if you have access to their previous styles for inheritance.
​
To summarize the Western Saga Banner:
1b) Jo [Tough Work to Get Some Squid] is a powerful & tanky Cold/Heat staff attacker.

Passive 1	Climax - Fills up own OverDrive gauge at start of battle. When OverDrive gauge is full, grants oneself Morale Up 40% for 1 turn at start of turn. When OverDrive gauge is not full, grants oneself Guard Up 35% for 1 turn at start of turn.
Passive 2	Resolve of the Mighty, Recovers own BP (+1) at start of battle. Recovers own BP (+2) at end of turn.
Passive 3	High Protect Tension, 30% damage mitigation and 20% damage boost.
Skill 1	Fresh Squid, E powered Indirect Single Foe Heat+Sun attack. Recovers user’s HP (small effect) (2 - 1BP when fully awakened).
Skill 2	Ice & Fire Giant Squid, B powered Indirect All Foes Heat+Cold attack. [Critical: Aquatic] When the attack hits, grants the target Morale Down 25% for 2 turns (11 - 8BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Glacial Ray, SSS powered Indirect Delay Single Foe Cold+Sun Attack. [User Limit: 5 times per battle] Grants the user Damage Block for 2 turns (13 - 10BP when fully awakened).

1st style that starts battle with full OverDrive Gauge. She has All Foes Morale Down, like Club Fuse previously and access to Damage Block without LP cost is good.
​
2b) Polka Lynn Wood [Shucho Chef] is a powerful Heat/Slash tank/support.

Passive 1	Skills of a Chef - When being attacked, damage taken reduced by 30%. Grants oneself Flame Ward at start of battle (Effect: permanent in battle) Flame Ward, E powered Indirect Single Foe Heat attack. Nullifies Heat attacks. On OverDrive attacks, grants one Kuroge Wagyu Counter* for 1 turn. *Counter attacks with Rising Kuroge Wagyu when being directly attacked (Activates using Rank 1)
Passive 2	Thrifty Teaching - When landing an attack, recovers own HP (very small effect), and recovers own BP (+1). When recovery actions are made, grants oneself "End of Turn: Recover HP" (very small effect) for 5 turns.
Passive 3	Latent Bloom: Defense - Attack’s damage increases by 20%. Grants oneself Defense Up 10% at start of turn (Max 5 times per battle)
Skill 1	Hearty Steak, Recovery/One Ally. Recovers target’s HP. Grants the target “End of Turn: Recover HP” (very small effect) for 5 turns (3 – 2BP when fully awakened, 1LP cost).
Skill 2	Flaming Flash, S powered Indirect Column of Foes Slash+Heat Attack. (9 - 7BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Rising Kuroge Wagyu, SSS powered Indirect Fast Single Foe Heat Attack. Grants all surviving party members Attack Boost (25% - 30% at max rank 99) (12 – 9BP when fully awakened).

Tankier than Rag Robin, Chef Polka will need Still Blade Phoenix inherit to function fully as a tank, not just for party heals but also to taunt. With Passive 2 - Thrifty Teaching, Chef Polka will also have more BP recovery for Still Blade Phoenix usage. Less offensive as compared to Rag Robin, though the Attack Boost stacking on OverDrive can be fun.
Without Still Blade Phoenix though, he is still a tanky party buffer and healer, useful for Remembrance Battles.
​
3b) Liz Lynn Wood [Storm the Castle!] is a tanky Cold bow defender.

Passive 1	Aim for the Top! - When being attacked, damage taken reduced by 30%. Grants oneself Frost Ward at start of battle (Effect: permanent in battle) Frost Ward, E powered Indirect Single Foe Heat attack. Nullifies Cold attacks. On OverDrive attacks, grants one Water Wall Counter* for 1 turn. *Counter attacks with Karatsu Water Wall when being directly attacked (Activates using Rank 1)
Passive 2	Technical Switch - When attacking, recovers own BP (+1) When attacking with skill attacks, increases own DEX/INT by 20%. When attacking with spell attacks, recovers own HP (very small effect).
Passive 3	Latent Bloom: Attack - Damage taken reduced by 25%. Grants oneself Heat Up 10% at start of turn (Max 5 times per battle)
Skill 1	Guarding Bow, E powered Indirect Single Foe Pierce+Cold attack. Grants the user Guard Up 25% for 1 turn (1 – 0BP when fully awakened).
Skill 2	Aqua Bash+, B powered Indirect Column of Foes Cold attack. Increases all surviving party member’s WIL (15% - 25% at max rank 99) (5 – 4BP when fully awakened).
Skill 3	Karatsu Water Wall, SS powered Fast Indirect Column of Foes Cold attack. Grants all surviving party members Defense Boost 50% (12 – 9BP when fully awakened).

Very tanky with Aqua Bash+ for party WIL buff spamming. Of course, being a bow style, makes her valuable and good to have. Also very interesting with OverDrive counter, with possiblity for Defense Boost stacking.
Another banner with good value, especially if you have access to the previous styles. On their own, still good though Polka's value will be diminished.
May Everyone have a wonderful 3rd Anniversary and also great luck on your pulls!

(I've had this concept for a while and wrote a few versions for the first episode, settling on this version, I haven't wrote a lot so would love feedback on this, I want to execute this idea as well as I can)
Mythicals Ep1: The world's worst thief
Narrator: Welcome to the continent of Nova.A continent made up of seven separate islands with each one of having its own unique,biomes,climates,properties and laws.But this continent isn't perfect.40 years ago a strange race called mythicals appeared.They were similar to humans in every aspect except one.They had strange abilities called Zanes.With these Zanes,the power went to the mythical's head and they tried to take over the continent,starting a race war between the humans and mythicals.The humans won the war through sheer numbers.Mythical population dropped 75% and are now discriminated and oppressed by humans.
A young man is seen running along a white stone road.He had short,straight,black hair,wide red eyes and pale skin.He had a dirty grey trench coat,a black shirt with tears in it,black ripped jeans and grey boots.
Narrator: Meet Hiroshi Kita,an 18 year old,down on luck,mythical thief.
Hiroshi turns around and spots three people dressed in medieval knight armour chasing him.He smiled and continued running,soon running into an alleyway,the knights running in and cornering him.
Hiroshi: Come on guys,can't we talk this out?
The first knight draws a sword and slashes at Hiroshi.Hiroshi's chest becomes transparent as the sword goes through him.His chest turned back to normal as the sword left his chest.
Narrator: Hiroshi Kita,his Zane is called Umbra.It allows him to turn his body into a shadow form,the only issue is due to not having much mastery over this Zane,he can only transform one body part at a time.
Knight 1: He's a mythical!
The second knight took out a large axe
Knight 2: This will knock my mythical kill count to 15!
The second knight swung his axe down but Hiroshi quickly dodged backwards,the axe slams into the ground.Hiroshi smiled and jumped onto the axe handle.
Hiroshi: Thanks for the help fellas
Hiroshi jumped off the axe and onto the first knight's head,then the second one and then the third one before jumping towards a window sill.The third knight pulls out a revolver and quickly shoots at Hiroshi's head.Hiroshi turns his head into a shadow before climbing through the window,turning his head back to normal.The knights look up at the window sill,knowing they won't reach.They start leaving.
Knight 3: Who's gonna tell Akuhei?
The other two knights put the fingers on the helmet where their noses would be.
Knight 3: Come on guys,when did we start doing that?
Meanwhile Hiroshi made his way to a sewer cover in a dark alley.He smiled and lifted the cover up before climbing in and closing the cover.He walked through the sewers before reaching a metal door.In front of the door was a giant man.
Hiroshi: Hey,Duke,you gonna let me in?
Duke looked down at him and shook his head
Duke: Only the best thieves in the continent are allowed in here and as we all know,you've been ranked as the worst thief in the continent,so unless you can get a big score,you're not in so scram.
Hiroshi sighed and started walking away,leaving the sewer.
Hiroshi: Asami might know something about a big score,they have connections all over the continent.
Hiroshi ran off and soon entered an abandoned theatre outside the town.He looked around and saw someone on stage with short pink hair,pink eyes,a masculine body and peach skin.They were wearing a white tank top and black shorts.Hiroshi smiled and jumped on stage.
Hiroshi: Hey Asami!
Asami smiled and quickly hugged Hiroshi
Asami: Hold on a sec,you only come here when you want something,what do you want?
Hiroshi sighed,smiled and scratched the back of his head.Asami gained an annoyed expression as they crossed their arms.
Hiroshi: Ok,to be completely honest,I need to know about a big score.
Asami: How big?
Hiroshi: Big enough to get me into the largest thieves guild in the continent?
Asami: Going big aren't we?Well I can only think of one place nearby…
They walked past him,transforming into a femine figure as they did,their voice becoming more femine as well
Asami: Would be the nearby Mythical Hunter's Headquarters but you wouldn't be mad enough to do that,right?Right?
Hiroshi: Thanks Asami!
He quickly ran away
Asami: He's gonna get himself killed.
Hiroshi located the Mythical Hunter's Headquarters and climbed over the walls at nightfall but quickly went unconscious before he could get over the wall.He woke up in a dark room with someone standing in front of him.They were tall with shoulder length brown hair,narrow green eyes and light brown skin.They were wearing a black tank top and grey cargo pants.Hiroshi was bound by rope at his ankles and wrists.
Hiroshi: Who are you?
Daichi: Name's Daichi Gushiken and you're staying here while I go stop the Mythical Hunters.
Hiroshi: But why did you capture me?
Daichi: Can't have a lowly thief like you getting in my way.Some of these guys are strong enough to topple towns.
Hiroshi: Then why fight them,just run!
Daichi: Because if they aren't stopped,they'll try to topple the human government.
Hiroshi: Won't that…
Daichi stared down at Hiroshi as Hiroshi's eyes widened in shock.
Hiroshi: That will start another war!
Daichi: Exactly, and now you understand why I need to stop them.
Hiroshi: But how can you stop them alone, do you even have a Zane?!
Daichi: Nope, I'm just a regular human.
Hiroshi: How do you expect to win against people with Zanes that could take down entire towns if they wanted too!?
Daichi: Well, I've got methods.If humans won the war against the Mythicals, why can't I beat one?
Hiroshi: The humans won through numbers!Everyone knows that!Try them on me and see if you win!
Daichi shrugs and unties Hiroshi. Hiroshi stands up as the both of them put their fists up. Hiroshi throws the first punch, aiming for Daichi's head. Daichi slides to his left before kicking Hiroshi in the back of the knee, causing Hiroshi to fall onto one knee. He then elbows Hiroshi in the neck, knocking his opponent to the ground.
Daichi: What's your name, thief?
Hiroshi: H-Hiroshi Kita.
Daichi: Well Hiroshi Kita, listen to this message from Daichi Gushiken. Stay away from Mythical Hunters unless you want to get hurt,so leave the saving to everyone else.
Daichi leaves Hiroshi on the floor as he leaves the room. Hiroshi clenches his fists before slowly getting back up a few minutes later, wiping tears from his eyes as he ran out of the room. Meanwhile, Daichi had infiltrated the Mythical Hunters HQ. He was sneaking through hallways as he took out any knights in his path, soon reaching a large wooden door and pushing it open. On the other side of the door was a large man, muscular build with crimson hair,narrow eyes, peach skin, and sharp pointed teeth, wearing black tracksuit bottoms.
Daichi: You're dying, Akuhei Heru.
The man turns around and smiles.
Akuhei: Well if it isn't the famous fighting champ. Come to try and take down the strongest fist fighter in Nova?
Daichi: Not only will I try, I'll succeed.
Akuhei: You think ye worthless human body with ney a Zane can beat me perfect form with the fourth most powerful Zane in the World?!
Daichi quickly punches Akuhei in the gut, causing him to stumble backwards.
Daichi: Never underestimate the power and dedication of the human spirit.
Akuhei: Ye be training, this should be interesting!
Akuhei swings his arm at Daichi and sends him flying into a wall, cracking the wall and causing books to fall off a bookshelf. Daichi falls to the floor and before he can get back up, Akuhei grabs him by the neck and slams him against the wall again. He lifts him up higher with his right arm as he walks over to a desk. He goes to swing Daichi down on it but Daichi quickly pulls a knife out of his pocket and stabs Akuhei in the arm. Blood trickles down Akuhei's arm as he drops Daichi. Daichi lands on the desk and looks up. Akuhei goes to slam his left fist down on Daichi. He quickly rolls backwards off the desk as Akuhei slashes it in half. Daichi stands back up only to see a fist flying towards him.
He quickly ducks as the fist hits a set of steel armour behind him, the punch flattening the chest piece. Daichi quickly grabs the sword from the set of armour and goes to swing it at Akuhei's right arm. Akuhei rips the knife out of his right arm and swings it at the sword. As soon as the knife connects, both blades shatter. Daichi stumbles back as Akuhei just steps towards him and smiles. Akuhei lifts both fists up and swings down towards Daichi. Daichi rolls to his left as the fists hit the ground, cracking it. Daichi quickly rips a piece of wood off the desk and stabs it into Akuhei's left arm. He quickly grabs another piece of wood and stabs Akuhei in the back of the knee forcing him to fall down.
Daichi (in head): This is my chance to end him!
Daichi quickly runs and shoulder bashes into Akuhei, making him over and falls out of a window, shattering the glass. Daichi slowly gets up as blood trickles out of the side of his mouth. He turns to leave when suddenly a piece of glass flies into his leg, Daichi falls forward and onto the shattered desk, causing some pieces of stray wood to stab into his shoulder. Daichi yells out in pain before looking out the window and seeing Akuhei climb through.
Akuhei: Did ye really think that I wouldn't grab onto an edge?!
Akuhei limps towards Daichi as Daichi tries to desperately crawl away. Trying to grab onto anything to pull himself forward. Akuhei grabs his leg and a red glow emanates from his hand. Akuhei's injuries heal before blood spurts out from Daichi's arms and knee.
Narrator: Akuhei Heru.His Zane is called Contagin! If he manages to touch anyone he can transfer any injury,illness or ailment to the person he touches!
Akuhei: Ye really thought ye could beat me!?
Akuhei lifts Daichi by the leg and throwing him through the doors he came in. Daichi lands on the ground as blood trickles out of him.
Akuhei: Ye are as foolish as ye are weak!
Hiroshi: Back away!
Suddenly Hiroshi smashes through a window and kicks Akuhei in the head, causing him to stumble back against a wall, his nose begins to bleed as he smiles and glares at Hiroshi.
Akuhei: Perfect,yet another lamb for me to slaughter!
Daichi: Run you idiot!
Akuhei throws a punch at Hiroshi's head but Hiroshi quickly turns his head into a shadow and the punch goes through. Another punch connects with his stomach which sends him into the air. His back hits the ceiling before he starts falling towards the ground. Akuhei smiles and quickly punches Hiroshi mid air and sends him flying down the hallway. Hiroshi lands on the ground and tries to slowly stand up, he was coughing up blood.
Akuhei charges at Hiroshi and quickly kicks him in the gut. Hiroshi slams into the wall as the wall cracks. Akuhei grabs Hiroshi and throws him in the air before sending a barrage of punches at him before grabbing his leg and slamming him into the ground. Blood trickles out of Hiroshi's mouth as he coughs.
Glass shatters and Akuhei quickly turns around. He sees a hole in another window and Daichi laying there next to it. Akuhei charges towards Daichi but something suddenly wraps around his leg. He looks down and sees a rope with a kunai tied around his leg. He turns around and sees Hiroshi still on the ground while holding the rope. Akuhei smirks and quickly swings his leg forward. Sending Hiroshi flying and out of the window in the room Akuhei and Daichi were fighting in as the rope snaps.
Hiroshi(in head): Is that it? Is this where I die? Not even getting close to my dream? I don't want to die here but I can't do anything to save myself, I'm too hurt.
Tears swell up in Hiroshi's eyes as he falls towards the ground. His eyes close as he feels himself land in someones arms. He can feel himself be gently placed on the ground and his eyes open slightly. His vision is blurry but he can make out the shape of a woman looking over him.
Hiroshi: An angel?
Hiroshi passes out due to his injuries. Meanwhile Akuhei gets surrounded by vines which pin him to the ground. The faint sound of footsteps can be heard and the vines vanish. Akuhei stands up and looks around only to see Daichi is gone.

Okay I got a theory
So, we're all aware of how Zelda ended up in the past, yeah? How she ended up in the era of Hyrule's founding? And how the previous game & devs (I'm not sure which one specifically stated) that the old Legends of Zelda (what I like to call the other LoZ games) have all but faded to myth by the time Breath of the Wild rolls around, yeah?
Admittedly my theory is weak as I don't exactly have too much to base it off of, but my theory is that all of the Legends of Zelda (Ocarina of Time, Skyward Sword, Twilight Princess, etc. etc.) are all exactly that: myths and legends.
Now before you raise your pitchforks and torches in protest, let me explain. In Breath of the Wild's memories Zelda specifically states during Link's knight dubbing that he has proven himself "worthy of the blessings of the Goddess Hylia. Whether skyward bound, adrift in time, or steeped in the glowing embers of twilight, the sacred blade is forever bound to the soul of the Hero", obviously referencing the past Legends of Zelda. These two games are jam packed with references to past Zelda games, visual, musical, verbal and insert other references that would fly over my head here, even going so far as to include past Links' outfits in both BotW and TotK.
However, in TotK, there's an explicit choice to have all the cameo/former-amiibo gear accessible in the depths. Probably for sake of content not being locked behind amiibos, yeah, but it is now canonical for Link to find his former selves' gear in the depths. Except here's the thing, I'm not sure all that gear down there belonged to other Links, or at least not the "Links" we're familiar with.
It's clear that Rauru's time is that of just afteduring Hyrule's founding, which we fans know as the time just after Skyward Sword in the timeline. However Ganon (and by extension Demise's Curse) are here an present, and yet no incarnation of the hero for it to follow, at most we have the princess with the goddess blood (Sonia OR Zelda, take your pick), but no knight with the Blade of Evil's bane. In fact by the sounds of it from the game, GanonDORF himself has been sealed away and all but forgotten about underneath Hyrule Castle since Rauru’s time, which again is Hyrule’s founding, which again again is Skyward Sword in Hyrulian myth. However this is simply not plausible, as Ganondorf himself appears in about 3-4 games in the timeline not counting Tears (idk if you reader consider Hyrule Warriors canon or not). (TotK) Ganondorf’s impact, however, has certainly not been forgotten. In the several thousand years after his sealing away by Rauru, every hundred years (give or take, BotW is rather vague) a Calamity would reappear and wreck havoc on the land, presumably with a new face to stop it each time, and each time brining the Malice and hatred with it, both of which are eerily similar (read also: pretty much just) to Gloom in Tears of the Kingdom
So, I hear you ask, how does any of this fit together? Well dear read I’m glad you asked. Due to Rauru and Zelda’s sacrifice in the distant past, it makes sense that the people of the young Hyrule would want to tell future people the tales of their king and this princess from the future. While the Sages would go on to enscript Zelda’s story in the stone under Hyrule Castle, it’s likely the people who knew Rauru better would tell his tale of conquering the evils of the surface world, eventually sealing a great evil that during would have been everyone’s Demise should it have kept on it’s path. Eventually the people would learn that this great evil return, almost putting a curse on this land through Calamity Ganon, and each time a hero, dawning new attire each time, would have to rise to the occasion to stop it, probably with whatever reincarnation or descendant of Sonia is at their time to help them do it. Eventually the Calamity would evolve and try different things, convincing mortals to do its work and take up the mantle of Ganondorf or harbingers of doom (see Astor from Age of Calmity, that sort of thing). Until the Sheika tribe would invent new ways of keeping the Calamity at bay, probably after the Calamities involving Twilight, The Great Sea, and whatever’s at the end of the Fallen Hero timeline. Each time headed at the helm by a hero wielding some version of the Master Sword (or possibly one even discovering the very sword itself and using it) to fend off the Calamity, inspiring bards and artists of the land to immortalize these hero’s who drive back calamities through myths and legends.
Is this a solid theory? Idk, im writing this after hyperfixating for a week straight and at midnight in my time zone, but let me know what you think.

TL;DR — Should I Pull?

New Players

Hoooooooo buddy.
Lots to unpack, here.
Firstly, if you do not have UDX Silver, GLEX Silver, Shuzer, or Liam, pull the Romancing Festival reprint for Liam or GLEX Silver. 33k jewels for Liam/Silver with Thyme, Shuzer, Rag Robin, Christmas Empress, and other good styles in the mix is hands down the best deal on offer.
For most new players I'm going to recommend Matriarch's banner. Matriarch and Roc are a very solid support core, and Matriarch gets way better with a couple of inherits that are avaialble in the offbanner pool, which you can select one style from with the ticket you got from logging in today.
If, however, you have Thyme and Overdrive Emelia and you don't have the Matriarch style with Paean of Peace, then I recommend pulling on the Lynn Woods banner for Liz. Liz's Aqua Bash+ can be a functional replacement for Paean of Peace which doesn't require chasing a character who isn't on Rate Up, and the rest of her kit is enabled by Emelia and Thyme is a big way. Polka has similar synergy with them and also brings a damn useful heal to the table, and whilst Jo isn't the same kind of "stupid powerful alongside her enablers" good, she's still a very good style that can deal a lot of damage and avoid nearly as much. Jo is also pretty danged good for a new player to pick up, with a medium Morale Down she can sustain on enemies to help reduce incoming damage by a good chunk. Overall, very solid banner, just not as "ready to go out of box" as the other one.
Depending on what else we see this month, it's possible that going back to the other banner once we see what else is going to be offered may be the best move for newbies. Matriarch + Roc + Thyme + Liz + [ShuzeLiam/Silver] would be a ridiculously good core team for someone with less than 6 months play time. 🤩 But I won't go so far as to say that until we get a better sense of what's on deck. For now, focus on Matriarch if you don't have the big Overdrive enablers; focus on Liz if you do.

Veterans

OK. So on the one hand, we have a banner with a Liz style that solos Remembrance battles. And on the other hand we have a banner with a Matriarch style. Now you may thi- you're already pulling Matriarch. OK, then.
Kidding aside, I know a bunch of people reading this really are about to pull the first banner here simply because it has Matriarch and for no other reason, regardless of whether she's any good or not. And... actually, that's not a bad plan, here. Matriarch is definitely a solid support style, whether you have the Paean of Peace inherit for her or not. Roc is way better if you have certain inherits, but even if you only have her Tower S style, her offbanner A style, and her Platinum pool SS style, she's still a pretty good style with a few good options.
Liz and Polka are also pretty danged good, though. Liz in particular has amazing synergy with Thyme and Overdrive Emelia in content with direct hits to counter. She dispenses WIL buffs to the team and counters with a defense boost for the team on any turn where she can Overdrive... which can actually be most turns if you have Emelia backing her up. Polka can counter with an attack that grants the party an attack boost, so if you bring the both of them, you can actually get a lot of buffs going on overdrive turns against enemies that throw direct AoE attacks.
All of which is a lot of words to say that I can definitely recommend a pull on Matriarch's banner, and if you are eyeing Liz and Polka's banner and have the jewels to spare, I can also recommend some pulls there, but if you need to choose between them, I would definitely recommend Mama's first.

Planes Balloons, Trains, and Automobeels — Romancing Festival Limited Banner

Matriarch

Unit Summary

Indefatigable support unit.

Unit Analysis

Paean of Tranquility is 3 BP for a tiny heal to the party plus a medium defense boost. It's a defense boost, not a Guard Up, so it stacks with any other kind of defense increases you have. It's a single-turn defense boost, but it's 25% on top of a party-wide heal, so it's totally worth spamming if you don't have other, better things for Matriarch to do.
Saga Balloon Sanctuary is a [Fast] B-rank sun AoE for 8 BP. Its damage is not amazing, but it grants a large Attack Boost to the whole party for 3 turns. Since it's an Attack Boost, not a Morale Up, it stacks, so she can actually wind up increasing party damage output by quite a bit with her +2 BP/turn fueling an 8 BP cost skill.
Her third attack is an SSSS attack for 10 BP, which is kind of ridiculous for a character who can spam that every-other-turn. The problem is that Matriarch is such a strong support character that you're arguably not "winning" that exchange by spending her BP on damage instead of support stuff, especially if you also have a high-octane damage dealer like Silver or Liam dwarfing Matriarch's damage.
For a support character she's also tanky... as long as she's able to resist every hit she takes. Every resisted attack she takes 40% less damage from and has a 37% chance to avoid it in the first place. Every non-resisted attack... she takes full damage. So against enemies that only deal one or two types of damage, she's quite resilient. Against enemies that will fling 5+ damage types at you, you might find yourself taking more damage than you expected.

Inherits

Paean of Peace. Just... just Paean of Peace. DEX/WIL/LOV/CHA buff for the whole party. 5 BP a pop. This Mama can spam it forever with no BP support. The WIL keeps your day from being ruined by status effects, the DEX helps Liam's damage, and the LOV/CHA buffs help party healers do their job better. Sure, it occupies all of her time, but it's doing a loooot of work, so it's worth it.
Available from the [Leading the People] style, now in the offbanner pool and available to be collected from the 3rd Anniversary Romancing Festival Exclusive SS Style Exchange with the ticket you received upon login. If you're pulling for this Matriarch style, I strongly recommend you use that ticket to pick up [Leading the People] as well for this inherit.

Rocbouquet

Unit Summary

Reasonable support character who becomes a great support character with inherits.

Unit Analysis

Tons of BP recovery potential. When she hits with an attack that hits a weakness, she gets +1 BP. When she hits with a Shadow attack, she gains +2 BP. So if she hits with a Shadow attack that lands a weakness, get gets 3 BP back.
The attack you're probably be going to do that with is -checks notes- Lightning of Darkness.
That can't be... really, Akatsuki? Really?
Sorry. So, yeah, Lightning of Darkness is 8 BP for S-rank Shadow/Lightning damage. That's expensive for an S-rank attack (although it's at the high end of S-rank, so you can think of it as a weak SS attack), but it hits two weaknesses, it debuffs all of the enemy's stats, and it inflicts an Attack Down on the enemy. So it's expensive because it's trying to cram a lot of stuff into one attack. The debuff is not going to be terribly useful because so many bosses will Defy Weakness at the first hint of stat debuffs, but on the rare occasion where that's not the case it can definitely be useful to debuff a bunch of stats at once. The attack down is small and only for 1 turn, so it's not amazing, but it's also noteworthy that it's not a Morale Down, so it will stack with Morale Down users.
Goby Spark is another overcosted attack, this time an AoE. Spark will clear all INT buffs on the targets in addition to debuffing their INT. That's actually a pretty big deal because it means she is really good at shutting down enemies that like to buff their INT, and enemies that love to buff their INT are some of the most problematic bosses. There's an inherit that's going to be better for this purpose in a lot of boss battles, but we're not quite to inherits, yet.
Like Matriarch, she's tanky against attacks that she resists. (She actually has the same ability - reduce resisted attacks and high chance to evade them.) Unlike Matriarch, she can stack more tankiness on top of that if you're flinging Lightning damage at the enemy, topping out at 40% mitigation if you hit with a lightning attack every single turn, healing herself with each of those as well. Oh, and if she's hitting a weakness, she'll tack a second tiny self-heal on as well. So if you're spamming Lightning of Darkness (-sigh-) and hitting a weakness with every attack, not only do you get the Attack Down effect and maybe some stat debuffs, but you're also ramping up to 64% mitigation (and 50% damage boosts) and double self-healing herself every turn.
And if you can spare the bonus BP, the bonus damage, and the bonus mitigation, she also has one of the most unique heals in the game. It's a 0 BP spell so it's BP positive on the turns she uses it despite forfeiting both of her BP ability procs that turn, but what's notable about it is that it grants the target a small Defense Up. Small Defense Up is only 5%, but it sticks for the rest of the battle, meaning Roc can dump her LP into Liam while he's dumping his LP to give him an extra 20% damage mitigation. And then she'll proceed to spam an Attack Down/stat debuff attack. Not bad, Roc. Not bad.

Inherits

-deep breath- OK, cannons. You can do this.
This is Rocbouquet's 9th style. Most of those styles have at least one relevant inherit. Many of them have multiple spells worth looking at.
So let's start with GLEX Roc, currently in the offbanner pool. Psycho Boom is a shadow attack that debuffs the enemy's INT and WIL which chases with Euthanize, which is another shadow attack that debuffs INT. It's a lot of INT debuffing in a single turn, and if it happens to hit a weakness, it refunds 6 of its 12 BP cost. The majority of bosses in modern content will definitely Defy Weakness the next turn, but if you happen to find a boss that doesn't Defy, it ruins INT-based attacks.
After that we have Blooming Fireworks, which amplifies into an A-rank shadow/heat AoE for 10 BP which refunds BP to the party. It's random whether it refunds 1 BP or 2, so it's technically an unreliable BP battery, but since it always grants at least 1, it's still functionally a pretty good BP support spell. Roc gaining +2 BP guaranteed when she casts it (shadow damage) and maybe getting another +1 if it hits a weakness makes her one of the best BP battery units in the game.
Finally from GLEX Roc (yes, all three of the spells on that style are worth considering for inherits) you have Lightning Crash. Lightning Crash isn't really anything special — it's just a 0 BP Shadow/Lightning spell that can stun its target. But it's worth inheriting because it lets Roc sustain her Lightning attack buffs while she's spamming her main S2 attack down/debuff attack.
Jumping around to other styles we have Marine Ball from her previous limited style, which is a 5 BP AoE Morale Down attack. It's pure cold damage so it doesn't trigger either of her damage type bonuses, but it's a 3-turn Morale Down that she can potentially stack with her S2's Attack Down if you need more damage debuffing from her.
Dark Pulse from her previous Prefecture style is a 3 BP shadow/lightning AoE attack. Its damage is not considered good for that BP cost anymore, but she can spam it forever and be BP positive like with Lightning Crash but hitting an AoE instead of just a single target, in the event that you need that.
Enraged Squid from that style also happens to be the highest potential damage spell she has. It's 12 BP and it hits randomly between 3 and 5 times, so it's not a reliable nuke, but if you want to use her for damage, that's the spell to go with.
Soul Freeze from her A style (in the offbanner pool; you almost certainly have it if you've pulled on more than 3 limited banners in the last 6 months) amplifies into an A-rank shadow AoE for 9 BP, which is a pretty good cost for the damage it deals. On farms, she can use this on both turns 1 and 2 as long as she hits a weakness with it on turn 1, which winds up being a really good amount of AoE over two turns. It also has a chance to paralyze, although if you want paralyze and you don't need the AoE, Shadow Chains from that style would be better, with both a much cheaper cost (2 BP) and a higher innate chance to paralyze.
Also from A Roc (yeah, another style where all three spells matter) you have Drain Life. Drain Life amplifies into a 4 BP B-rank shadow attack that comes attached with a Small self-heal. The self-heal sizing in this game is not helpfully categorized, and Small self-heal tends to equate to about 900-1200 heals, depending on formation and buffs, making it a spammable attack that is very good at keeping her HP topped up.
Moving on to her SaGa the Stage style, we have Tri-Flower, a C-rank shadow AoE for 6 BP. Tri Flower's damage is utterly unimpressive, but it also buffs the party's WIL, and this style can cast it a whooooole lot with its +2 BP on shadow hit, which is a very compelling option to have for a unit that can dispense Defense Ups.
Her Platinum SS style has Water of Life, which is not going to compare favorably to Graceful Cup in most situations, but it can remove stat debuffs, and in some situations that may be more important than the Defense Up.
Also from the Platinum style is Energy Storm. Energy Storm amps into an 8 BP B-rank shadow AoE. Soul Freeze+ is better damage for only slightly more BP, so on 2-round AoE farms, you would want to use Soul Freeze. On 3-round farms, however, Roc can use Energy Storm on all three rounds as long as she hits a weakness on turn 1 and turn 2. B-rank damage is not always going to clear a round on its own, but being able to cast it back-to-back-to-back is still damn handy.
OK! Final style! We're almost there, cannons!
Last but not least is her S style from the very first Tower event the game released. Lightning from that style amplifies into a 0 BP lightning attack, similar to Lightning Crash from GLEX Roc. Triggering just the lightning portion of her Goby Hook Switch ability is obviously worse than trigger both portions, but it's better than triggering none of them which is what her staff bonk would do. If you don't have Lightning Crash, consider Lightning+ as a filler spell for those turns where she needs to recharge BP - it sustains the DEF boost and it gives her a little more bonus heals.
But Lightning+ isn't the spell we really care about, here. The spell we really care about here is Dark Wash. Dark Wash amplifies into a 10 BP SSS-rank shadow attack, which is already a compelling option over the abysmally-named Lightning of Darkness. But above-and-beyond that, Dark Wash+ removes all stat buffs on its target — not just their INT buffs like Goby Spark does. Getting that buff break function out of a cheaper spell and for all stats is a pretty big deal, and since this is from a tower style, every player has access to it. She has a highly awkward BP rotation using it, so it's not accurate to say she can use it every-other-turn or every-three-turns, but she can use it frequently enough that she can keep even bosses that have pretty aggressive stat buffing in check fairly well.

Macha

Unit Summary

Overdrive damage enabler made far better with an inherit from her last style.

Unit Analysis

Macha with no inherits is kinda meh, honestly. She can theoretically get a lot of BP going between her innate +1 BP/turn and her S1's 25% chance to grant her +4 BP on cast. And she has a ~40% chance to chase every attack with Crimson Flare+, which is a pretty hefty chase attack backed up by her 65% damage boosts. But where she falls down is what she can spend that BP on.
Flame Bash and Saga Magical Train are both AoE attacks. Neither one is especially impressive damage-wise, but they both have decent rider effects. Flame Bash will buff Macha's INT (before attacking, so she gets the buff before damage is dealt) and Magical Train inflicts Sundered on the the targets for 2 turns. Sundered makes the enemy take more damage with each attack they take that turn, meaning if you have Liam and Silver on-deck, they wind up taking a ton of damage just from the chase attacks.
Macha benefits strongly from getting more Overdrive turns, both because inflicting Sundered first thing in the turn helps maximize the damage you get out of it and also because she chases Overdrive attacks with Crimson Sunflare, getting a free trigger on the Sundered effect.
Unfortunately, Macha's only innate defenses and a good chunk of her damage modifiers come from an automatic Morale Up and Guard Up she gets every turn, which do not stack with other Morale Up or Guard Ups. That gives her poor synergy with styles like Music Fest Goddess who grant the party Guard Ups, or Riki who grants the party Morale Ups, or Summer Fatima who does both. And since Macha is only helping to deal more damage, that failure to stack with other Morale Ups/Guard Ups does actually hinder her compared to other characters like Urpina who have innate defenses that do stack with Guard Ups and can dish out a decent amount of damage on their own whilst also helping to squeeze more damage out of their teammates.

Inherits

Divine Tree from her Lunar New Year style helps solve the issue above where the only thing Macha does is damage. Divine Tree is two hits of C-rank blunt/pierce damage which recovers the party's HP on each hit. Divine Tree is actually a decent attack in its own right, and with Macha's +BP tools you can use it frequently enough that it becomes the most heals-per-turn any character can muster without specific kinds of cooperation from the enemy. Of course, you don't wind up using it every turn, which can sometimes be a drawback (you may need the heal on a turn when her BP isn't ready), but on average it winds up being a very, very good healing tool.

Beef... it's what's defeating the enemies — Romancing Festival Limited Banner

Polka Lynn Wood

Unit Summary

Polka is a tank who can get in some counter hits, heal up his teammates, and dispense big hits that come attached to big attack boosts for the party.

Unit Analysis

First is Hearty Steak. Polka sizzles up a decent heal for a teammate and the charbroiled flavor continues to grant them an end-of-turn tiny heal for the next 5 turns. Whenever Polka uses it, he also grants himself that same 5 turns of end-of-turn heal. So it winds up being a good amount of healing for the LP, actually.
Second is Rising Kuroge Wagyu. Polka throws a whole-ass cow at the enemy for SSS-rank heat damage and the... smell...? grants the party a very large attack boost for the rest of the turn. Thankfully, it has [Fast] priority, so it's going to be rare for the attack boost to go to waste. Polka's damage is decent enough on his own, I suppose, but the attack boost for the party is still going to be the meat of the skill, here.
Third is his ability Skills of a Chef. Skills of a Chef is a solid damage mitigation ability plus Flame Ward (polka takes no heat damage and counters all direct attacks with a little heat attack) plus Overdrive chaser. What's the Overdrive chaser? It's Rising Kuroge Wagyu!
-presses hand to ear- I'm sorry, I've been informed that it's not an Overdrive chaser, it's an Overdrive counter. So on Overdrive turns, every time Polka gets hit, he drops a big heat attack on the enemy and he boosts the party's damage some more. If you have characters using big Delay attacks or you just expect Polka to get hit a lot that turn, that attack boost adds up for serious damage.
The longer the fight goes on the tougher Polka gets, so after 5 turns he's pretty tanky (nearly 60% mitigation) and has both reliable self-heal-on-hit and on-demand heal/turn. So he can take those direct attacks like a champ.

Inherits

Still Blade Phoenix is the big one, giving Polka a 9 BP SSS slash/heat delay attack that drops a decent-sized heal on the party. This Polka is slightly tankier than Robin Polka (the style that has that skill), has better BP rotation, and has slightly better self-heal potential, but winds up dealing less damage if the enemy is dishing out lots of direct attacks. (No stacking buff-on-hit and a weaker counterattack.) Your call, there.
If party-wide heals aren't your concern, there's also Back Detonation, an 8 BP SS heat attack that has a medium(!) self-heal. Medium self-heal is substantial enough that it can actually overheal with enough CHA buffs in play. And at the lower BP cost than Still Blade, Polka can use it more often, just straight face-tanking for the team.

Liz Lynn Wood

Unit Summary

Combination WIL buffer and counter defense booster. It's... yeah, it's weird, just read further.

Unit Analysis

OK, so Liz parallels Polka significantly. Where Polka has decent damage and slowly stacks up defense, Liz starts with solid defenses and slowly stacks up damage. Where Polka counters with an attack boost on overdrive turns, Liz counters with a defense boost. Where Polka has heals for the party and self-heals, Liz has WIL buffs for the party and self-heals. Where Polka ignores heat damage, Liz ignores cold damage.
The main difference between the two is that Polka is going to want to save his BP for the big attack + attack boost, where Liz is more likely to want to spam Aqua Bash+, the WIL buff. Aqua Bash is actually a decent attack (B-rank column cold damage for 4 BP) and has the highest Overdrive gain of any skill in the game (restores 25% of the gauge on hit), making her very good at cycling her Overdrive meter back to full. When she overdrive counters with Karatsu Water Wall, she grants a huge defense boost to the party, meaning in situations where you can focus a lot of direct attacks onto Liz, she can wind up absolutely flooring the damage the party takes on her Overdrive turns. And with support from Emelia and Thyme, you can make sure those overdrive turns happen pretty dang frequently.
Honestly, the spammable WIL buff on its own is a pretty sweet deal, but in battles where direct attacks are flying every which way? Yeah, Liz will put in work.

Inherits

Droplet from her last all-mage style is a spot heal that grants the target Guard Up. Great for helping someone survive a turn when Liz doesn't have Overdrive built up yet.
Twin Arrows from her A style (story reward from Polka's story) amplifies into an attack that grants her two tiny self-heals on hit for 3 BP. Great for helping top Liz's health back up between Overdrive turns.

Jo

Unit Summary

Supportish unit who gets to be super tanky for 10 total turns per battle.

Unit Analysis

When Jo's Overdrive gauge isn't full, she has 55% damage mitigation and 20% damage modifiers. When it is full, she has 30% damage mitigation and 45% damage modifiers.
On her overdrive turns, you will want to use Glacial Ray, a 10 BP SSS cold/sun attack with delay. Glacial Ray can only be used 5 times per battle (it's an arbitrary limit; think of it as costing 1 LP but you get to keep the LP for KO purposes), but it causes Jo to ignore all damage for 2 turns. With 55% damage mitigation on turns outside of that window, I don't think I need to explain how good that makes Jo at not getting KO'd.
OK, so she's tough to KO. That's great. What else she do? Well..... not a ton, actually. Glacial Ray is by far her best attack, the other two being E-rank damage and a B-Rank AoE. Fresh Squid (the E-rank attack) includes a self-heal, which is great, but again, it's not bringing much damage to the table. And Ice & Fire Giant Squid, the AoE, is fine damage-wise, and it even includes a Medium Morale Down for 2 turns to help keep damage input low for the rest of the team, but it's 8 BP, so you won't be spamming it.
Now, in fairness, Jo does get +2 BP/turn, so it's not at all difficult to rotate Hot/Cold Squid or to be ready with 10 BP for Glacial Ray on overdrive turns. But if you don't need the AoE component of the Morale Down, she also offers less damage than Aisha does with Earth Thrust, which also maintains a Morale Down.
Now "extremely sturdy + maintains Morale Down" is still a very good deal, don't get me wrong. There's definitely going to be battles where Jo is going to be better to bring than Aisha. But it's also not breaking new ground.

Inherits

Lots, but I'm going to focus on two.
Sunshower from her S style (a GLEX style that was awarded during an event I no longer recall; probably going to be avaialble as a drop at some point this month) is a 4 BP cold/sun AoE attack that grants the party a tiny heal. This is actually BP-positive on this style, since she gets +2 BP/turn automatically, allowing Jo to spam that heal until it's time to drop Glacial Ray. Or if you need the Morale Down more, you can have Sunshower in your back pocket to spend a little excess BP on to help keep the party topped up while you're rotating Hot/Cold Squid.
The other is Sparkling Ice from Robingal. Sparkling Ice deals SSS cold/sun damage, chases with SSS heat/sun damage, and then paralyzes Jo for 3 turns. This is not the highest-damage Jo to utilize this spell, but she is the only Jo style that can use it every-other-turn should you have someone who can cleanse the paralyze.

Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
"We did good," I said, petting him as we walked away. "We did good."
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
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Blood Moon Rising
The Appalachian Mountains loomed before me like dark sentinels, their ancient peaks shrouded in an eerie mist. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the secrets of the forgotten. I tightened my grip on the shotgun in my hand, my knuckles turning white. Beside me stood a creature of legend, my pet wendigo, Milo. Its eyes glowed with a hunger that matched my own, its presence a twisted comfort in this desolate landscape.
We had been hired by a desperate family, a last resort for them. Their ancestral home nestled deep within these unforgiving mountains had become infested with eldritch demons. Creatures born from nightmares, they tore at the fabric of reality itself, preying on the weak and the unsuspecting. The family, driven to the brink of madness, had sought out our unique services, knowing that only the unholy alliance between man and wendigo stood a chance against these abominations. The family called them 'demons', and in my experience with real demons, these were not the real deal, but rather another undiscovered species of cryptid.
The moon hung low in the sky, casting an otherworldly glow upon the land. It was a blood moon, a harbinger of the horrors to come. We trudged through the thick underbrush, guided by the faint cries of the family's lost souls. Every step brought us deeper into the heart of darkness, the air thick with a sense of impending doom.
Suddenly, a guttural growl pierced the silence. I raised my shotgun, readying myself for the onslaught. The wendigo beside me crouched low, its elongated limbs poised to strike. From the shadows, a grotesque figure emerged. Its skin was a sickly gray, stretched taut over emaciated bones. Its eyes glowed with an unholy light, pulsating with a malevolence that sent shivers down my spine. It was humanoid, but barely resembling a living creature as its limbs contorted and twisted while its head snapped and clicked, its jaws drooling with hunger.
Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger.
The shotgun's blast echoed through the night, tearing through the creature's chest. It let out a shriek that curdled my blood, but still, it advanced. The wendigo leaped forward, tearing into the demon with a ferocity that defied nature. Its razor-sharp claws ripped through flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mangled corpse in its wake.
We pressed on, our mission clear in our minds. We were here to cleanse this unhallowed ground, to rid it of the evil that had taken root. But with every step, the horrors grew more twisted, more grotesque. The demons crawled from the shadows, their forms shifting and contorting with each passing moment. They were nightmarish amalgamations of flesh and tentacles, their faces a mockery of sanity.
The shotgun became an extension of my arm, each shot a prayer for survival. The wendigo danced through the chaos, its hunger insatiable. Limbs were torn asunder, bodies rent in two. The demons howled in agony, their unearthly cries carrying through the night, a symphony of terror.
Hours turned into an eternity as we fought our way through the hive. The family's cries grew louder, their desperation fueling our resolve. Finally, we reached the heart of the infestation, a cavern bathed in an ethereal glow. The demons swarmed around us, their numbers seemingly endless.
But we were not so easily defeated. The wendigo's hunger had become a burning fire, an insatiable rage that consumed everything in its path. I fired round after round, my aim true, each shot finding its mark. The demons fell before us, their grotesque forms disintegrating into nothingness.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The last demon fell, its dying screech echoing through the cavern. The wendigo stood before me, its chest heaving, blood dripping from its maw. We had triumphed, but at what cost?
I turned my gaze to the family, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and fear. They had witnessed the horrors unleashed upon their home, and yet, they were alive. The wendigo had saved them, had saved us all.
As we made our way back through the Appalachian Mountains, a new dawn broke on the horizon. The blood moon sank beneath the earth, its malevolent influence waning. The world seemed brighter, the air sweeter. We had faced the eldritch demons and emerged victorious.
But I knew, deep down, that the horrors we had faced would forever haunt us. The Appalachian Mountains held secrets that would never be spoken of, nightmares that would forever linger in the recesses of our minds. We had danced with the darkness and survived, but at what cost to our souls?
The wind whispered its final farewell as we disappeared into the fading mist, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken dreams. The legend of the man and his pet wendigo would be whispered among those who dared to tread these haunted mountains, a testament to the horrors that lay hidden beneath the surface.
And as the world moved on, ignorant of the terrors we had faced, I knew that the night would come again. The blood moon would rise, and once more, the man and his pet wendigo would be called upon to face the unspeakable.
MORE PARTS
CONNECTED SERIES/STORIES
THE BOOKS