Chrysalis

I am not, as you know, a religious man. The screeching priests and their endless droning on all matters ‘Path’ hold no attraction to me. I’ve no time for their words, elixirs or ‘ideas’.

I don’t care how many Levels I’d get.

Almost everything around us can be explained, we literally have a ‘System’ we can analyse, for goodness’ sake. Just because we can’t identify the origins of said System, doesn’t mean we need to assume some form of deity.

The Ancients, though, are different. They are real, observed, named, experienced. One can study them, if you know where to look for the historical record. They are demonstrably, observably and materially as close to divine as a being can be.

It is foolish to consider them as simply monsters, they are as far from an average monster as a ka’armodo is from a gecko. We are ants to them. It’s hardly surprising that such powerful beings would inspire worship. When you cannot run from them, and you cannot fight them, one might as well pray.

- Excerpt from the private correspondence of Illarion the heretic

Deep within the Dungeon.

Arconidem dreamed. The Demon God had slept for so long, thoughts drifting slowly in and out of oblivion, away from the material world at times, then drifting closer again.

It was such a time now. Visions of demons at war flickered rapid-fire, one after another, through the Ancient’s mind. Violence, fire and ash, over and over again, all types of demon battling against all kinds of foe. A never-ending battle of rage and chaos that wrapped around Pangera’s core.

Such a pleasant dream.

the Demon God smiled,

an instant, the mana inside the grand chamber plummeted, leaving those present gasping as their cores screamed out in pain. Deprived of the energy that gave them life, the God’s attendants writhed even as their eyes

endless torrent of energy that they pulled greedily into their cores. The pain was gone, but still they

Arconidem opened both eyes.

presence. The force of such a mighty being was

two long arms tipped with enormous claws stretching and

the feet of the throne shifted, and the entire chamber rocked. Stone dust fell from above, showering all, even the Ancient in dust. Blazing magma began to flow, released from the stone after centuries of slumber, igniting the air which filled

by half before it

who now prostrated themselves before the living throne, the Ancient grinned a slow and menacing grin and tasted

cycle approaches its

its weight, even as their hearts

my children, we will rise and

of the Ancient’s mind, trembled with elation. They were the chosen few who would fight alongside their God. As more mana poured from the centre of the Dungeon, they would climb up and impose

thread drifted into the chamber and brushed against the awakened monster’s thoughts. Like a snake, the Ancient snatched it

familiar mind, one not felt for many

I am not the first, Carriflare. What of the others, do they

of light and heat that even the Demon God could not touch

others stir, though several are already awake. Tarriflyx

[What of Yarrum?]

[Sleeping still.]