Bani tilted his masked head. Three unfamiliar mana signatures had appeared within his range. Demons. He could feel them scattered throughout Gorgoroth, each carrying enough mana to make their presence obvious to anything capable of sensing it. For a moment, he considered going after them. Then he remembered where he was and, more importantly, what he had encountered before reaching this temple. The hosts of Gorgoroth. Bani had no intention of meeting those things again. Once had been more than enough. "No." He turned away. "The skin-walkers will take care of them." He paused. "Probably." Bani shrugged and continued deeper into the temple. He had more important problems to deal with.
His fingers touched the faceless mask covering his face. Seven days had passed since he bonded with it, and in those seven days, Bani had learned two things. First, the mask possessed an extraordinary ability. Second, it was a terrible roommate. The ability it had granted him was called Unmake. It allowed him to unravel the shadow of an object or living thing, effectively stripping away a portion of its existence. It was an ability Bani would have loved very much if it did not consume such an absurd amount of mana. The first time he had tested it, he had used it on something as harmless as a table. A table. He had nearly emptied his mana reserves. Bani had spent hours afterward lying on the ground, questioning every decision that had led him to that moment. Never again. He would never willingly become mana-less in a city filled with profane creatures like the skin-walkers. He had already spent weeks running from them. If not for the mask's ability to conceal his presence, he would have been discovered long ago.
The mask had its price, however. After seven days of wearing it, it had begun drawing him toward the temple. At the same time, it demanded a sacrifice of living flesh each day, and with every passing day, the amount of mana it consumed increased. Bani had tried sacrificing a skin-walker first. The mask rejected it. Bani had stared at the corpse for several seconds afterward. Apparently, the mask was picky. "You could have mentioned that before I went through the trouble," he had complained. The mask, being a mask, had remained silent. For eight days he had endured the constant drain, wondering whether the thing had chosen him or whether he had simply been unlucky enough to touch it. Then, today, a demon had appeared before him. Bani considered his luck. "What a coincidence." His luck today knew no bounds.
He descended the ancient staircase, each step carrying him deeper beneath the temple. The walls were covered in strange symbols, some carved neatly into the stone while others appeared to have been scratched there by something with enormous claws. As he descended, Bani noticed another change. His clone's jovial spirit, was affecting him. The personality had always been there, but lately its influence had become stronger. Bani had begun making jokes at inappropriate moments, speaking more casually, and developing an irritating habit of finding amusement in situations that probably deserved more seriousness. He stopped halfway down the stairs. "I'm becoming annoying." He waited. "That's impressive." With a shrug, he continued.
His thoughts returned to the previous weeks. He had deceived an entire horde of skin-walkers into believing he was their king. It had been one of the strangest accomplishments of his life. He still wasn't entirely sure how he had managed it. Perhaps the mask had helped. Perhaps the skin-walkers simply had questionable judgment. Either way, Bani had survived. For weeks, he had been running from them, hiding whenever their enormous forms appeared in the distance. Their speed was terrifying, their strength absurd, and their ability to imitate living beings made them even worse. The only reason Bani had survived was because of the mask. Its concealment ability made him nearly impossible to trace. Without it, he would have been dead long ago.
The staircase finally ended. Bani stepped into a hidden chamber beneath the temple. He looked around cautiously. Something about this place felt different from the rest of Gorgoroth. Ancient. Forgotten. Important. The mask had dragged him here for a reason. Bani didn't know what that reason was yet, but he had an inkling that this temple contained the answer to his current predicament. More importantly, he needed a way out. He couldn't remain here forever while the mask slowly drained his mana. "There has to be something here," he muttered.
His luck continued to surprise him. A door stood at the end of the chamber. Bani approached it and activated his shadow sense. Darkness spread silently from his body, slipping beneath the door and through the cracks in the walls. He searched the surrounding area carefully. Nothing. No living presence. No movement. No obvious trap. Bani slowly opened the door.
Beyond it was a moderate-sized library.
Rows of ancient shelves filled the room. Books rested upon them, some covered in dust so thick that their original colors could barely be seen. Others appeared untouched, as though someone had been reading them recently. Bani's eyes brightened beneath the mask. "Now this is useful." He entered cautiously and picked up one of the books. The cover contained no title. He opened it. The writing was in a language he had never seen before. Yet somehow, he understood it. He couldn't pronounce a single word, but the meaning entered his mind naturally. Bani frowned. "That's not suspicious at all."
He looked at the first line. August, First of His Name, forge a pact with the Void King. Bani's amusement vanished. He continued reading. Give me your life-force, and I will make you an avatar capable of withstanding your power. Bani stared at the words for several seconds. "The Void King?" He turned the page. Several pages had been deliberately removed. His fingers ran across the torn edges. Someone had wanted something in this book forgotten. Bani's curiosity sharpened. "Now this is interesting."
Far away from the cliff where the ancient temple stood, Ravik opened his eyes. He found himself lying in a field of black grass beneath a crimson sky. His sword was still beside him, and his armor remained intact. He immediately rose and looked around. "Morthan. Neris. Krail." No answer came. His expression hardened. The teleportation spell had scattered them. He had no idea where the others had landed, but the mission remained unchanged. Retrieve the Eternal Worm. Five days. Ravik picked up his sword and began moving through the strange landscape. The further he walked, the more unnatural the surroundings became. Black trees twisted toward the sky, their branches resembling skeletal hands. He followed a faint mana trail in the distance, unaware that something else was following his own.
Elsewhere, Morthan crashed through the wall of an abandoned building. He rolled across the floor before finally stopping. For several seconds, he remained still. Then he groaned and slowly stood. "I hate teleportation." His shield was still in his hand. That was good. His shoulder was still injured. That was not. Morthan stepped into the abandoned street outside. Buildings surrounded him, their windows empty and their doors hanging open. He couldn't see a single living creature, yet every instinct told him that something was watching. He tightened his grip around his shield. "Ravik!" His voice echoed through the empty street. Nothing answered. Morthan began walking, unaware that a pair of eyes were following his every movement from somewhere within the darkness.
Krail had landed somewhere much worse. He was hanging upside down from a dead tree, his cloak caught on one of its branches. He stared at the ground below him. "...I hate magic." After several minutes of struggling, he finally freed himself and crashed onto the ground. He rubbed his head and looked around. No Ravik. No Morthan. No Neris. "Of course." Krail dusted himself off and began walking. Black flames flickered around his fingers as he moved cautiously through the ruins. Unlike the others, Krail relied heavily on his instincts. Those instincts were now screaming at him.
He stopped.
Something was nearby.
Krail slowly turned his head.
Nothing.
His eyes narrowed. He activated his mana sense. For a moment, there was nothing. Then he felt it. A presence behind him. Massive. Krail immediately raised his hand and unleashed a black-fire arrow. The projectile tore through the darkness and struck something. A towering figure stepped into view.
Krail froze.
The creature stood several meters tall. Its body was unnaturally thin, yet every movement carried overwhelming strength. Its arms were too long, its legs bent at strange angles, and its movements were disturbingly fluid. Its face was almost human, but only because it had stolen one. A skin-walker.
Krail's instincts screamed.
The creature vanished.
Krail's eyes widened.
It reappeared directly before him.
He barely managed to summon a barrier.
The skin-walker struck.
The barrier shattered instantly, and Krail was thrown backward. He rolled across the ground and forced himself upright before firing a barrage of black flames. Arrows of dark fire tore through the air. Several struck the creature, but it barely slowed. Krail's expression changed from surprise to genuine fear.
"That's..." His voice trembled. "That's not normal."
The skin-walker disappeared again.
Krail turned.
Too late.
It appeared behind him.
He tried to cast another spell, but the creature seized him before he could finish. His mana flickered and collapsed under the overwhelming pressure. Krail struggled desperately, but the difference in strength was absolute. The skin-walker struck him down with brutal force. His body went limp, his remaining mana scattering into the air.
The creature released him.
Silence returned to the ruined street.
The skin-walker stood over the fallen demon for a moment before slowly turning toward the distant ruins. Then it vanished into the darkness.
Far away, Ravik continued toward the unknown. Morthan remained unaware that he was being hunted. Beneath the ancient temple, Bani turned another page of the forbidden book.
With every page he read, one thing became increasingly clear.
The history buried beneath Gorgoroth was not merely history.
It was a warning.