A deafening roar erupted from an outside, as the last rune was cut into a symmetrical circle. The hand, which had depicted the symbols so scrupulously, so evenly without a single mistake or an involuntary tremble, was soaked in blood. As the runes had started to glow sickly red, the cavern brightened. It appeared to be a long-forgotten crypt, which had belonged to a dead civilization. The founders of the crypt lay in a similar state, soon to be forgotten too. Their bodies broken in various angles; their eyes still frozen from the unexpected turn of their journey. Watching silently and helplessly how the fluid, which held their life but moments ago, leaked steadily into that dreadful circle.
Mage’s brow twitched in anticipation, as the ceiling started to crack. Years of careful planning and preparation was about to pay off. And it all could have been lost due to a simple trifle, which had escaped his vision. One of the sacrificed people wore an amulet, which he had certainly stole from the upper vaults. The founder’s hands were still trying to reach his new-found treasure, as his body hang frozen in the air. He had to foresee it. The people his family hired to help him on this little, so supposed archeology trip, were poor and miserable. Even so, the mage had to work hard before his father’s eyes, his talents hidden and unheard of. Magic was forbidden in this realm. And if someone even sniffed a bit of it, all of his relatives would hang. To purify the realm, it is said. But he knew people indulged in it frequently. Even the higher society. He felt it. He had also felt a slight of it in the amulet, it unnerved him. It felt as if he was the one who hunted all of those who used magic, even if all of this was only to escape them. Nevertheless, he was absolute in his goal. The amulet was drained of power. Useless. It cannot intervene the ritual. Everything was set in motion perfectly.
A slight tremble started to grow in the ground. The circles of runes were glowing blazingly by now, fully submerged in boiling, wildly splashing fluid. Some of the blood particles stuck on his white, pure clothes. Curiously, the spots did not stay in one place on his cloak. They moved on their own, as if they were alive, coloring his cloak in deep red tone. From a center of the circle, a bright spark appeared, swirling mindlessly. The mage prepared his wand, transferring the energy from the now dead bodies into an azure crystal. Suddenly, with a smell rotten eggs and a loud shattering bang, two baleful horns leapt out of the still spinning spark. Finally, breathed the mage, swinging his staff in a dreadful arc of raw energy. It caught the now-forming demon ‘s head in a loop and tightened around it’s leathery throat. It roared in frightful fury. It’s ethereal tail slashing wildly, causing cracks to appear in the ground.
The demon was not yet formed fully in this dimension, and so the fractures of the cavern, which had once belonged to a long-lost civilization, deepened on their own, secretly leaking into another realm. Untended for so long, the ground could finally receive the attention it deserved. The more demon thrashed; the more fractures appeared. As the two dimensions interflowed, energy was released exponentially. The mage drained that energy greedily, transferring more and more into the wand. After waiting for so long, he could finally feel the taste of his plan ‘s first fruit. Unfortunately, he was not alone who tasted it. The amulet hung in the air now too, tranquilly imbibing a part of mage ‘s dish. Just as he had the demon ‘s essence, just as he felt the cold touch of it, the amulet exploded. For an instance, the mage looked in its direction. But that was enough. The demon used that moment to shatter the carefully-worn chains, sending them into pieces. With it, came a huge wave of focused energy being released. The cracks suddenly deepened without comprehension and mage gravely understood his mistake. The circle exploded in a calamitous blast, sending him into the air. The blast travelled around all the world and through the fractures beyond in a mere second. As his world shattered, so had his mind.
The man who had awoken in burgundy clothes could not remember much. His head hurt and he couldn’t focus very well. A huge itching scar was tangible beneath his scalp. And warrior’s urgings did not help at all. As if swinging a longsword made him a leader of the little group they had. The third person was a woman, hidden in shawls of an old cloak. A crossbow was happily hanging on her arm as they walked through the fir forest. The man was not helpless though, it appears that he possessed some inner talent to cast simple trick-spells. Even so, that did not improve the mood. The woods were dark and repulsive. As if someone else had made his claim upon the land they traversed. The party travelled quickly and silently into what seemed a randomly chosen direction. What did they not know was that all of them dreamed the same dream every single night they had spent together. The path they walked was not coincidental. The man of their dreams carefully and quietly pushed them into what seemed an unknown. Hidden in the shadows, the man planned and schemed, while the heroes marched towards their fateful attainment. The cycle continued.
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