A demon with many heads and many faces, carrying the offerings of the world, reached out and began to present itself before them.
"What is that?" Maereth gasped.
"That is Algoth," said Ashar. "A being of the Higher Realm."
In the spiritual plane, the Higher Realm, there existed metaphysical entities capable of influencing the physical world. When an entity of rage imposed its influence, a chain of events would unfold: countless individuals would be consumed by anger and hatred, each believing their emotions to be uniquely their own. They would never realise that they were merely fragments of a greater pattern, all bound together by something beyond their understanding.
And now, the demon Algoth had manifested before them.
"Do you see now what leads these lives into misery?" Ashar said. "Some fools believe they reached this state on their own. Others are so broken that they think it is a rite of passage, to descend willingly into such ruin."
Maereth looked at the figures scattered across the desert, those slumped, sleeping, or stumbling in delirium. Then she looked back at the demon, and memories of her past returned, of ruined evenings before the morning that changed everything.
"I've seen something like this before," she said quietly. "It's going to kill us, isn't it?"
"No," said Ashar. "It won't."
The demon hissed and cackled. Haunting strings of music drifted through the air, soothing the mind. Colours shimmered and shifted wherever it turned its gaze. It was a creator of fantasies, the kind that led only to ruin.
"It cannot harm us physically," Ashar said. "It will attack us in another way."
"In what way?"
Ashar paused. The Eye of Sophia activated, and he felt a presence beside him.
"You are beginning to understand," said the Old Man of the Noctis Mountains. "You see now that there is a higher level of combat. You are almost ready for me to teach you."
Before Ashar could respond, the world shifted.
In an instant, the demon Algoth transported him into another reality.
He found himself seated in a theatre, surrounded by others. He had seen every play performed there, had carefully worked through each one as though completing a list. He never questioned their purpose, nor what they did to his mind. Life was short, he believed, and there was still so much to experience, so much to try, to taste, to feel.
No, Ashar thought. This is not who I am. I was not meant to be here, feeling content. I reject this reality.
The theatre vanished.
Now he stood in a crowded marketplace at night. Celebration filled the air. He was surrounded by friends, laughing, joking, losing themselves in the moment. Tomorrow, they would return to their ordinary lives, but it would not matter. They had each other. In their bond, all burdens could be endured. If he simply closed his eyes, he could forget all pain.
No, Ashar thought. This is not who I am. I was not meant to feel comfort. I reject this reality as well.
The scene dissolved.
He was now in a quiet bedroom before sunrise. He sat by a window, gazing outward, while a brown-haired woman sat across from him. They were exhausted, their bodies worn and corrupted by poison and excess, yet they clung to this decay with a strange sense of beauty. There were things left unsaid, things that did not need to be spoken, as they watched the sunrise together in silence, beyond joy, beyond sorrow.
"These are the days we will always remember," the woman said.
Ashar leaned back.
Who am I? he thought. This is not who I am. I was not meant to feel love. I reject all of it.
"My mind, my body, my spirit," Ashar cried, "reject you entirely, Algoth! I will walk only the path of pain, of hardship, of tears. In this way, I can never be conquered. I reject you!"
The illusion shattered.
He returned to the desert.
Beside him, Maereth was still lost in Algoth's visions. Ashar placed a hand on her shoulder and directed the Eye of Sophia toward her. She woke with a start.
"Now we are protected," he said. "Whatever happens, we will not become like the ruined souls in this place."
"The Dream Spells they sell in the forests and towns… do they come from this? From Algoth?"
"Now that you have seen him, you cannot fall to him."
They moved forward once more.
Ashar continued cutting down the addicts they encountered. And each time he did, Maereth heard a distant scream of fury, an echo from above, vibrating through the air. She remembered her uncle who had become addicted to the Dream Spells, and how a cold, hateful part of her had become so tired of him, that she felt he was better off dead than to be given yet another chance to redeem himself. And yet, to do what Ashar did, with such sweeping cruelty... she could not even fathom the relentlessness of such a person.
"Yes, you have begun to understand," the Old Man said within Ashar's mind. "But you have not killed the demon. It will return. And there are others far more powerful. Some may already have their hold on you."
Ashar pressed onward, sensing the end of the desert, and sensing that Algoth still lingered nearby, waiting for another chance.
"The Lords, the fallen, the gods, reality itself," Ashar said, "this is what I am fighting. I will destroy all of it. And if I cannot destroy it…"
He looked inward.
"Then I will bring upon it a fate so terrible…"
He paused.
"Very well, old man. You know something that I do not. From this moment on… I will be your student."
In the brief moment that Ashar rejected the demon Algoth, the very rejection managed to harm it. This made it lose control on all the surrounding addicts around them, and it left their visions and dreams. All those surrounding people had been freed from its hallucinations and comforts. And yet, now at this stage in their lives, it had taken such a hold of their lives and essences, that to live without Algoth would be to perish.
There were hundreds of addicts that been close to Ashar when he rejected Algoth. All those hundreds had been freed from Algoth, and were now dead.