A black fog blanketed the Underworld, providing the perfect cover for evil to lurk, an impenetrable curtain of eternal night. Throughout history, the world above had seen many changes. But for ages untold, the fog had remained untouched, undisturbed and unsearched. This ancient and undying guardian was a barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead.
Silently, a tall determined figure cut through the haze across the desolate landscape. He came alone, and yet…he wasn’t really alone. There was the fog. There had always been the fog. Nothing escaped its touch in this place.
In spite of the bone-chilling blackness, the wanderer continued across the ashen floor, undeterred by the evil of the place. His hooded, black cloak billowed behind him as he moved with a swift, uncanny sense of direction. Black on black, his motions blended with the space around him. Were it not for a hint of light emanating from the stone atop his gnarled walking staff, the darkness would have been complete. As it was, the faint glow was more than enough. He knew his way. His path was set.
The emptiness appeared to guide him, full of dark magic and untold secrets. Out of the abyss of darkness, a single jagged white stone emerged, jutting up from the parched ground like a crooked, decaying tooth. There was a mark on its surface, a gruesome double §, the mark of the Shadow. The traveler approached the stone without fear.
He wasn’t being followed, but he glanced over his shoulder a time or two before continuing further. When his attention returned to the stone, he stooped low and touched the mark with something barely recognizable as a hand—a mass of scar tissue, gnarled, boney and dead. Almost immediately, a soft wind began to blow. The traveler backed away in anticipation of what was to come.
The first movement was subtle, as sand and small bits of rock began moving away from the stone on all sides. Layer by layer the sand peeled back, dropping to expose more of the stone buried beneath the surface. The supernatural excavation quickened until a long trench was formed by the unseen force. Giant mounds of ash rose on two sides of the stone in a sort of reverse landslide. When the last of the ground swells stopped and the movement had settled, the visitor looked over the completed structure that had been revealed beneath the ground.
Before him stood a monolithic structure in the shape of a serpentine head. The mouth was gaping wide open. Remaining bits of sand and dirt toppled down from the face of the statue like miniature waterfalls, cascading from the gaping mouth and fangs like venom. Beyond the jaws, a pair of giant doors sealed the statue’s throat, daring those who entered to be swallowed whole. Unafraid, he started his approach down the trench toward the underground entrance.
Here, amidst the deepest blackness, hidden from all living things, the most secret of Shadow strongholds remained as it had for ages—known by name as Death’s Den, and rightly so, for nothing living had ever passed through its gates and survived. The Den was home to only the darkest of spirits and the souls of the damned. Here the very spirit of Sceleris, the first of the Fallen, resided.
The traveler stopped at the entrance and knelt in acknowledgement of an ancient phrase etched over the doorway. He had no need to read it; he knew it well.
BOW THE KNEE TO ENTER YEWHERE THE LIVING CANNOT BE
With a slow and mighty groan the massive doors cracked open, granting entrance at last. As Death’s doors opened, a green aura gloomed out from the statue’s throat, highlighting the traveler’s face beneath its black hood.
He appeared to be sixteen at most, a boy with light blond hair, which dangled in his face from time to time. He had a rugged look of youthful adventure and mischievousness about him. If you passed him on a city street, you might think he had his whole life before him…but this was no ordinary boy. In fact, he was no boy at all.
As he marched into the gaping mouth of the stone serpent, his features shifted to that of his true nature. His skin shriveled and darkened against his boney skull, and his black eyes disappeared entirely, leaving gaping holes where they once had been. He reached up and pulled a white skull mask down over his face.
He was a feared warrior, a mighty leader among the Shadow. His eyes were as black as midnight and his heart was darker still. He had been known by many names over the years but the title of Venator suited him best, a title bestowed on him by none other than Sceleris himself. He was the embodiment of sin, the hunter of souls and the right-hand man to Sceleris alone. At least, that is how he thought of himself.
His mission was to work on behalf of his spirit-lord in order to stop the Codebearers’ rise to power. Unfortunately, his job had become more difficult of late. He had been charged with the task of harvesting the soul of a boy, targeted by his master as a threat. He had performed this simple job on countless souls before, but this one refused to cooperate. Despite his best efforts to mislead him, something would always manage to save the boy at the last possible moment. It was exasperating to say the least.
A new strategy was needed, which was likely the purpose of his being called here. Any number of goblins, dispirits, deceivers, gorewings and foul creatures were at Venator’s disposal. But today he came alone. It was a rare honor for any Shadow warrior to be called into Sceleris’ presence and he wished to share it with no one. This meeting was for him and him alone.
The doors slammed shut behind him, sealing off the world of the living for good. Venator didn’t look back; he marched forward, descending down the Dragon’s Throat—a long arched hallway lit only by a distant light somewhere in the belly of the fortress. The eerie green light that spilled up was accompanied by a warm breeze and the echoed sound of a million tortured souls far below.
Eventually, the hall opened to a large cavernous chamber with a luminous green lake. A series of stepping stones bridged the gap between his side of the room and the island throne in the center of the space, where Sceleris waited. Sceleris, a giant ghostly serpent, wrapped himself around the arms and legs of the chiseled throne. The spirit-bound form of Sceleris watched Venator with expectant eyes. Venator froze in place at the sight. Even after all these years, being in the presence of his master was a frightening ordeal.
“Come closssser,” the serpent hissed.
Venator’s confidence waned. There was something in his master’s voice, something he didn’t like. He crossed the stones, stopping only briefly to take note of the millions of souls who now haunted the waters of the lake below. Day and night, the tormented screams of lost souls could be heard rising from the surface of the water, serving as a fearsome reminder of the power Sceleris held over those who dwelled in the Veil. They were so easy to manipulate, so willing to follow the Shadow’s whispers, even to the very gate of death itself. And make no mistake, the ending was always the same.
The futility of their resistance to serving the Shadow was proven in the finality of their inevitable plunge into the eternal prison below. No matter how good they pretended to be in life, all of them ended up here—every last one. Well, nearly every last one; there was an exception—one glaring exception. It was clearly a mistake, and one Venator hoped to correct himself.
Upon reaching the island throne, Venator bowed low before his master.
“Arissssse, Venator, we have much to dissscusss about Hunter Brown.”
“Yes, of course, Master,” Venator said, stumbling over his next words with uncertainty. “I…I have failed you, I know. It’s just that the boy…well…his belief is stronger than I had expected. He still has not let go of Hope; he won’t let her die. Even now she lives.”
“His beliefsss do not concern me,” Sceleris hissed. “It issss more than that. You sssseem to have underesssstimated his place in the greater sssscheme. Time is running short, and you have not done what I have asssked. I have no time for gamesss.”
“He has become harder to sway, my lord. Ever since that cursed Aviad destroyed the Bloodstone, the bond between us has all but vanished.”
Even the mere mention of the word “Bloodstone” caused Venator’s burned hand to twitch. The power of the united halves had ruined him, melting his arm like butter and leaving a permanent scar where once his fingers had moved. The loss would have been worth it if the boy had died; at least then the Bloodstone would be theirs. But he had been tricked, and had killed the Author’s son in place of the boy. He tried to clinch his fist, but it didn’t clinch anymore.
“This isss precisssely why I have assigned the boy to another,” Sceleris explained, “sssssomeone I believe to be more capable of handling thissss matter.” As he said it, a stream of inky black fluid wound its way out from behind Sceleris’ throne. The ooze gathered together in a pool on the rocky floor, where the black blob of a figure rose out of it. The featureless silhouette of the shape-shifting Shadow was as black as night and as large as an ox.
“I…I don’t understand, Master. I assure you I can handle the boy myself,” Venator found himself pleading. Suddenly, he no longer wished he had come alone. The conversation was starting to take an unexpected turn.
“It isss too late for that,” said Sceleris. “A new plan is already in motion. The boy issss no longer your problem.”
Venator’s confusion quickly turned to anger. How could Sceleris move forward with another plan behind his back? Despite his recent failure, Venator had been flawless in his service to the serpent. He could think of no one more loyal and trustworthy than himself. The faceless blob in front of him certainly didn’t deserve the honor of such a task. He was far too unpredictable…too volatile to be trusted.
“I hesitate to remind you, Master,” Venator attempted, “but this…this thing has failed before. How can you bring it back? How can you trust one of them?”
“Tonomissss has ssserved hisss purpossse. He will finish thissss, I have no doubt. He will find the Eye; he will ressstore the Bloodssssstone and once it is accomplished, I will erasssse Hope myself. The Author’s sssstory hasss come to its end. A new sssstory will begin…mine.”
Blazing red eyes appeared in the space where the black form’s head could have been. Venator saw this and he shuddered. They were Sceleris’ eyes, burning with the very fire that burned in his soul. How Tonomis had come to rise again was beyond Venator’s knowing, but one thing was clear: this thing now held the serpent’s power and his confidence. If Venator wanted any part in bringing about the end and earning an eternal place of honor with his master, he had to find a way back into the plan. After all he had gone through to see Hunter Brown stopped, he couldn’t just stand here and let another take his place in the eleventh hour. He had to think of something, and quickly.
“Please, Master, allow me to help. After all, I have insight about the boy that could be helpful. I have a lifetime of experience that could prove invaluable to us all. The bond we once shared may be broken but I still know him better than any other.”
“Don’t worry, Venator. I have not forgotten you,” Sceleris said. “I am sssure you will be useful. Assss you have ssssaid, I do not intend to leave all of your knowledge behind. There issss a role for you in my plan as well.”
This was good news to Venator. A broad smile of relief crossed his face and he breathed easier for the first time since the conversation had begun.
“Thank you, Master,” Venator said, bowing in humble reverence. His plea had worked; he was still needed. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“No…you won’t,” Sceleris replied, his eyes burning even brighter than before. The eyes in the black blob glowed hotter as well. Without a word passing between them, the inky creature dissolved into a pool on the floor and moved quickly toward Venator. Venator noticed the movement in time to step back from the pool before it could touch him. All at once it became clear…he wasn’t needed at all.
Venator tried to run away from the thing, but the bridge of stones that had once allowed him to cross the green lake of souls had lowered beneath the surface. He was trapped on the island with nowhere to go.
“Master? Please,” Venator begged, falling to his knees once more, “don’t do this.”
Sceleris said nothing as the black ink pooled itself around Venator completely, inching inward toward him. The first edge of it touched the hem of his robe and then his feet, bonding with his skin and spreading up and over his entire body in a heartbeat. With a final scream, Venator was buried in the blackness and he was no more. The ink fell back into a pool and rose again into the shape of the featureless figure, which stepped back toward Sceleris’ throne, leaving Venator’s white skull mask alone on the floor. The knowledge that was once Venator’s now belonged to Tonomis.
“I am…ready,” Tonomis said in a low voice.
“I know,” Sceleris said. “This time, we will not fail.”
“No, we won’t,” Tonomis said with the confidence of one who had already seen what was to come. “I have been there, and I know how the story…ends.”