The real world ....
Demon realm..
Castle of Irenaeus
The castle rose out of the fog like dredged from a nightmare,its towers jagged and broken,their silhouettes clawing at the colourless sky. The stone was dark with age, streaked with black where rain had bled down from the battlements. Moss clung to the walls, and the great iron gates sagged on their hinges scarred with deep rust that looked almost like dried blood.
It seemed abandoned at first..... until you realised the silence was not emptiness but attention. The narrow windows stared down like lidless eyes, unblinking, following every step toward the entrance. The air grew still as you crossed the threshold, and the world beyond the gates faded as though the castle had closed its mouth around you.
Inside,the floor were cold and slick, each step echoing too far, bouncing back in strange, delaying patterns.
Torches sputtered along the damp walls, their flames burning low, as though unwilling to reveal too much. In the corners, the shadows were thick enough to hide shapes or make them.
Every door you passed looked the same, yet each one carried the same quiet weight, the same suggestion: that it would not be you deciding whether it opened or stayed shut.
And somewhere, far above, there was a slow deliberate creak, as if the castle was adjusting itself..... settling its gaze.
The Great Hall....
A calvernous space stretching far too long for the number of people it could hold. A space that consumes sound. Your footsteps arrived late at your own ears,as though something unseen walked behind you, slightly out of step. The vaulted ceiling is swallowed in shadow, and the torches mounted along the walls flicker as if disturbed by a breeze that cannot be felt.
Banners hang limp, their symbols unrecognizable to a mere demon, though some swear the shapes shift when glanced at from the corner of the eye.
At the far end, two massive doors,carved with distorted faces,leads deeper.
Of one of these doors,came forth a servant.
Dressed in a plain black robe, bald head,huge eye sockets,pale lips.
Seeing not a soul, he rushed to the centre of the hall, raising the scroll up high with his trembling hands he said in a croaked voice;
" M..My Lord" he voice echoed. " Y... You have a..a.. message from t..the fourth prince"
" My brother,Xander?"
A cold voice asked. One that pierced through his ears.
" Yes, My Lord" the messenger replied quickly.
" You dare to stand before me? Do you have a death wish that I may fulfill it?"
The messenger glanced around with his huge eyes. Those eyes filled with dread.
He knelt with his knees shivering.
Unable to find the right words to utter.
One wrong word would take his life.
" For... Forgive me,Lord. I was just assigned to work here and haven't learnt the rules yet"
" You haven't mastered the rules, yet they sent you to deliver a message to me."
The messenger went pale.
One wrong word...
One.. wrong word..
And his life would be taken.
" I only ask that you spare me, Lord. I assure you that it will never repeat itself "
" Very well,then"
The messenger didn't realise when the scroll vanished from his hands.
" A VIVATRA has been born in the underworld?"
The voice was heard again. And this time, there was a hint of excitement.
" The underworld's greatest nightmare has arrived. We have to find the VIVATRA before they do."
The Underworld...
Lydaeus Forest
The forest stood like a wall of black teeth.
It's trees twisted together into a barrier against the sky. No sound passed it's edges _ not bird, not insect,not wind. The forest had grown upon graves and corpses, every tree was rooted in bones, every leaf fed on the breath of the dead. Those who stepped beneath its canopy spoke of voices that pressed close against their ears, promising in tones both sweet and cruel that the forest was hungry and it would not let them go.
The trees lean forward as though eavesdropping, their trunks gnarled into grotesque shapes. The air cool,damp and thick with the smell of moss. A constant sense of being watched. Shadows twitch at the edges of sight,yet one would turn and see nothing.
Deeper in, a pale mist coils across the ground, rising to the knees,then to the waist.
The trees grow closer,their roots twisted up like skeletal hands. The paths split and rejoin in impossible ways; no matter how carefully you mark your route, the forest shifts. Voices grow clearer here, calling from behind, or from ahead. Sometimes,the mist thickens into the shapes of people.... familiar faces beckoning you forward...into the hollow ground.
Here, the ground softens underfoot, sinking like damp flesh. Pools of dark water reflect shapes that are not your own. Tree trunks are hollow here, gaping wide like mouths, and from them seep sounds - children crying,the muttering of prayers. The deeper you listen, the more you hear your own thoughts repeated back in twisted tones.
The spirits beginning to feed on your darkest memories drawing you closer into...
The inner circle, where light cannot exist, even torches burn low, their flames choking as though smothered by unseen hands. The mist rises to the chest,and within it figures move freely now, long-limbed, human shaped,but always out of reach.
Their whispers become screams, their words striking directly into the mind. Every rustle, every groan of the trees is sharp, deliberate and stalking.
At the forest's core lies a clearing where nothing grows. The earth here is black and cracked, split into deep pits that exhale cold air. The mist rises fully, obscuring all but a circle of ground at the center - worn smooth as if by countless feet pacing. Here, the spirits no longer whisper, they speak clear and commanding. Their voices rise in unison, promising power,relief or reunion - anything to make the living kneel. Those who do.... are never seen again. The forest keeps those who reach the heart. The lucky are swallowed quickly; the unlucky walk back out, carrying the spirits with them.
But she stayed and was neither lucky or unlucky.
In an old wooden hut that she saw.
With a lighted candle that never melted.
A hut she decided to call her own.
Her home.
And there she sat at the entrance,in an old walking chair, her baby she cradled in her arms.
A child that was forbidden to be born in the world.
He refused the breast milk,but looked more healthier than her.
He never cried. His face remained plain.
Emotionless!
She couldn't tell if he was hungry or not.
And his eyes...they were pitch black.
It scared her.
She couldn't remember how she got here.
But remembered the voices that called her to this very place,the dark figures...
They told her that she was safe here.
That her child would be safe here.
That she wouldn't have to run.
That they would protect her.
Hence, they took possession of her body.
Yet,she lost not her sanity.
Or Did she?