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.

slumbering, the Demon God smiled, then drew a

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

beneath them, an endless torrent of energy that they pulled greedily

Arconidem opened both eyes.

of such a mighty being was intolerable, even to

arms tipped with enormous claws stretching and

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

it stabilised again seconds

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

cycle approaches

its weight, even as their hearts

Soon, my children, we will rise and taste that sweet chaos

by 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 domain

monster’s thoughts. Like a snake, the Ancient snatched it up, examined it, then wove a new thread

a familiar mind, one not felt for

I am not the first, Carriflare. What of the

other Ancient was a blast of light and heat that even the Demon

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

[What of Yarrum?]

[Sleeping still.]