Infernus, 1957
The storm over Infernus never ended.
Ash fell like black snow across a sky that glowed perpetual red, whipped by winds howling over rivers of lava. The few bodies of water shimmered crimson, heated from below by molten veins beneath the crust. The land was barren — nothing but jagged rock, flowing magma, and poisoned sea.
Leaders of the world had long deemed it uninhabitable, cursed by its endless volcanic fury and unnatural tempests.
From the east came the expedition — fifty-two souls aboard five Dominion navy ships, laden with crew, supplies, and secrets. Scientists, soldiers, priests, and the faithful of the Ordo Aurem Chaos — all answering the summons of Gaius Valerius Drusus.
They followed maps older than nations and a compass forged from rune-ore fragments that glowed brighter with every league, as if sensing home.
Gaius stood at the prow of the lead vessel, coat whipping around his tall frame, eyes fixed ahead. Below deck lay a locked chest containing The Book of Livia and Record of the Sovereign — their only hope of fulfilling the prophecy.
The sea began to recede.
What had been open water revealed cracked earth, as if the ocean itself retreated in fear. Glowing waves rose, the water vibrating with unnatural force. The ships lurched forward, dragged inland by a current that defied nature.
Then the collision.
Ships slammed into one another. Two foundered instantly, hulls torn open on emerging rock. Men screamed as they were thrown into boiling shallows. No one spoke of rescue. There was no time.
The survivors — fewer than twenty now — staggered onto the ash-choked shore and pressed on, following the glowing compass toward the half-buried structure.
They reached the site.
Gaius opened The Book of Livia.
Nothing happened at first.
Then a volcanic tremor shook the ground. A chunk of obsidian rock, dislodged from above, struck Gaius across the temple. Blood poured down his face. A drop fell onto the open page.
The runes ignited.
Cold blue fire — unnatural, ghostly — raced along the sigils. The book trembled in his hands. For the first time in known history, the Livjara tongue became readable.
Gaius laughed — a sound both triumphant and mad.
The ground split.
Blood from the dead and dying — from the wrecked ships, from wounds in the storm — flowed unnaturally across the ash, drawn into channels that hadn't existed moments before. A vast magic circle formed: concentric rings of glowing azure runes, fed by sacrifice.
In the center, debris shifted. Stone ground against stone.
The temple slowly rebuilt itself as if time within the magic circle had been rewound.
Obsidian pillars rose. Bone-white arches locked into place. An ancient cathedral of torment took shape — vaulted ceilings of fused bone, walls carved with scenes of creation and destruction. The gates stood wide open.
Gaius entered alone. The survivors followed at a distance.
They were drawn to the altar — a slab of black glass at the chamber's heart.
Gaius placed the books upon it and spoke the words he now understood.
The air tore open.
A presence flooded the chamber — vast, ancient, hungry.
Shinnok Maldrake awakened.
Statues lining the walls cracked and stirred. Shadow and flame poured into the survivors. They screamed as their bodies twisted — wings bursting from backs, scales hardening skin, eyes burning with new intelligence.
Demonic, yet still themselves.
Gaius knelt before the altar.
The god's voice filled his mind — a bargain of power for service.
Gaius accepted.
His body remained human. Filled with power he had never felt before.
When he rose, Emperor Gaius Valerius Drusus was gone.
A new being was born.
"So this is the power our fathers spoke of."
Gaius laughed in excitement.
"The power our fathers, our ancestors, have long sought is finally ours. After years of searching, we've finally attained the power of the sleeping god."
Looking at his companions, he gave his command.
A command which echoed through the temple and into the waiting minds of his new legion:
"Valeria holds the second fragment.
We begin there."
To be continued…