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.

still slumbering, the Demon God

of the energy that gave them life, the God’s attendants

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

Arconidem opened both eyes.

The force of such a mighty being was intolerable, even to those who had experienced

two long arms tipped with enormous claws stretching and

dust fell from above, showering all, even the Ancient in dust.

density dropping by half before it stabilised again seconds later. As each moment passed, Arconidem appeared more present,

attendants who now prostrated themselves before the living throne,

cycle approaches

the attendants and pressed them to the floor. They trembled under its weight, even as their hearts soared. To

be prepared. Soon, my children, we will rise and

the power 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 Arconidem’s will. Before then, the

snake, the Ancient

thoughts, a familiar mind, one not felt

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

light and

greet you, Arconidem. The time draws near, the others stir, though several are already awake.

[What of Yarrum?]

[Sleeping still.]