An Unwavering Craftsman

Damien thrashed around, struggling uselessly against his bonds of shadow, his screams choked by lack of air. His movements weakened, then ceased completely as the hungering monster sucked him dry, leaving his body dessicated, with not a single drop of blood remaining in his veins. His mind blanked as his body perished once more.

And then, with nothing left to drain, the monster paused its greedy suction, and the accurately named [Eternal Flesh] was briefly left uncontested. Damien's body bulked back up, his grey flesh turning a healthier pink. His eyes fluttered open as life returned.

Life that the monster swiftly devoured.

How many cycles had it been? How long had he been trapped on the border between life and death, unable to truly experience either? The constant use was levelling [Eternal Flesh], but that simply increased the time he could survive the monster's attention and cut the time he spent in the peaceful grip of unconsciousness. More time to experience the pain, and less time to rest.

It was a state that leant itself more to despair than anger. "Is this my punishment for Thale?" he thought, in a brief moment of lucidity. "Or is it for my arrogance?"

But the monster's hunger was not fathomless. There had been a time, long ago, when it had been truly full, bloated to the point of being unable to feed further, and with its discovery of a similar meal, it was so again. But it had learnt. It rested, satiated, but Damien's bonds remained strong. He continued to choke, breathing the decay of the formless monster instead of air, but with [Eternal Flesh] filling in for oxygen, he clung to consciousness.

"Why did it stop? No, it doesn't matter. This is my chance," he thought desperately, well aware that with the increasing level of [Eternal Flesh], and with it his increasing lucidity and awareness of his prison, further torture would shatter his mind. But by what means could he escape? His bonds were unbreakable, and the monster was built perfectly to counter him. As a mindless beast, what sin was there for [Divine Punishment] to latch onto? Without form, what was there for [Bloodwave] to devour or pierce? Without air, how could he command with [Whispers of the Void]?

There was only one move he could make. A move of pure desperation. The final option, chosen only because no other options were available, and because any fate was better than remaining trapped. Damien used [Gate], targeting himself, uncaring of where it led. And then, in a flash of white, he was elsewhere.

The mists were no more. No longer trapped in darkness, the bright sky hung overhead, a warm light shining down upon him. In his relief at his freedom, he didn't even care that the sky was an alien blue, or that the light came from a burning disk that seemed to hover unsupported in the air. Nor did he pay attention to the odd pressure, the feeling that the sky itself was staring down at him with amusement. He simply lay back on the grass, closed his eyes and rested, breathing deeply of the clean air.

Alas, his peace lasted only a few minutes before [Foresight] helpfully informed him that continuing his inaction would lead to something biting out his liver.

He opened his eyes to spot a pack of wolf-like monsters surrounding him, creeping closer in silence. One saw him looking and began a low growl, which spread around the group. They stopped moving, pawing at the soil with green claws, black tongues licking at impractical fangs. Not discouraged by being caught, but seemingly looking forward to their sport. "Try to run," they seemed to say. "Let us chase."

"Ǵ̵͖ô̴͜ ̷̮͂a̸̬̕w̷̹͐a̵͚̐y̷͉͝," demanded Damien.

The wolves turned and fled.

He lay for a few moments more before sighing. "Can't lay here forever. I need to get going. Where to, though? I still have no idea how [Gate] works. If I cast it again, will I end up back on the Isle of Mist? Going there the first time was a bloody stupid idea, and I don't fancy a repeat."

He cast an experimental [Gate], not at himself, but a few feet in front of him. It hung in the air, glowing an opaque red. Nothing came out of it, so he stuck a hand in and waved it around a bit. When nothing bit it off, he poked his head in.

Half a second later, he withdrew it.

"Well, that was disturbing," he muttered, cancelling his skill and trying not to think too hard about the vast cavern, carved from flesh, eyes set within walls, ground and ceiling alike, all turning to stare at him. An eerie light shone from somewhere deeper within, but Damien found himself with no desire to investigate. "Pretty sure that wasn't anywhere on the bowl."

The next attempt resulted in a pitch black portal, and his probing hand came back swollen and with painful frostbite. A thin sheen of frost gathered on it as he watched, before [Eternal Flesh] stepped in and repaired the damage.

On the third attempt, something gripped his hand and pulled. Hard. Acting with impressive speed, Damien used [Bloodwave] to slice off his arm. It vanished into the murky brown portal, from which some rather disturbing slurping and crunching emanated.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he combined [Bloodwave] and [Itinerant Eyes] to send through a probe. It had a brief glimpse of a forest, the trees dead, thick, green vines wrapped around them. The same vines snaked across the forest floor, beautiful purple flowers as large as an adult blossoming wherever the vines intersected.

One of the vines grabbed hold of his bloody orb, snapping around like a whip, and dragged it to a flower. The petals closed up, and his sight went dark.

Damien closed the portal, waiting for [Eternal Flesh] to repair his arm. The visible speed at which it was growing back was somewhat concerning, implying he'd been at the mercy of the fog monster for longer than he thought. He'd visited the island to level, but that hadn't been quite the method he'd intended.

Also, it was a shame it didn't regenerate his clothes.

He felt the sense of amusement bearing down upon him from the sky intensify, but looking up, there was nothing there. Was the alien blue alive? Some sort of giant creature? If a cavern could have walls of flesh, why not the world?

And then he froze as something in the sky... no, behind the sky, moved.

"T̴̨̒h̸͉̀ḁ̸́t̵͎͝ ̴͈̂w̸̘̕h̸̬̒i̴̠͊c̴͜͝h̴̘́ ̷̡͐w̵͆ͅa̵̘̎s̶͎̕ ̷̖͌s̵̻͘t̶̤̋o̶͉͌l̴̘̈́ê̴͚n̶̨̈́ ̴̺̓w̸̢̄i̵̹͛t̸̛̳h̵͇͂ ̴̥̑b̶͎̃ẽ̵̝ ̷̪̉r̶̘̎ē̷̱t̶͈̀u̷͔̅r̸̳͋n̵̝̿e̶̬̒d̴̗͐.̶͚̃ ̶͉̃R̴͝ͅe̵̱͌t̴͖͝r̶̩͐ì̶̯e̷̩̅v̷̙͝e̸͙̅d̸̤̾.̸̞̅ ̷̢͘Ṛ̸͑e̸̫͘ṣ̵̆t̷̖͌o̶̻͒ȓ̸͚ȇ̴̬d̶̥̍.̵̬̄ ̵͈̃T̶̹̈́h̵̨͒ȁ̵̲t̷̅͜ ̸͈̐w̷̱͝h̷͖̐ì̵̹c̶̯̉h̵͚̀ ̵̗́s̵͕̎e̷̖͂a̶̬̐l̴͙̄e̵͈͆ḏ̸͠ ̷̯͘i̵̻͒ṯ̴̽ ̷̛̖s̶̟̏h̶̼̿a̵̺̐l̷̘̽l̵̘̐ ̸̼̉b̵̡̈́e̴͇̿ ̷̛̗b̶̮͘ŗ̶̅o̷͙͂k̵̞͌ẹ̸͛n̴̻̾.̶͝ͅ ̶̮̀S̷͈̕ĥ̵̠a̸̡͆ṱ̶̀t̴͊ͅë̶̟́r̶̘̓é̷̡d̶̜͒.̷̲̔ ̸̹͌Č̷̖r̷͑͜ù̴̞s̸̝̅h̸̗͠e̷͙̅d̶̀ͅ.̷͚͌ ̷͘ͅǪ̴͋n̶͔̾ḛ̶͘ ̴͇̓ȏ̵̭f̷̯̽ ̶͚͊t̶̛̪h̸̡͒ẹ̵͗ ̴̘̓f̸͍̍ọ̸̇ṵ̸͝ȓ̷ͅ ̶̠̅l̴̜̎o̴̤͠c̵̘̑ḳ̶̈s̵͙̎ ̷̳̂t̸̝͒à̸̻k̶͙̅e̵̮͌ņ̸̋,̶̻̉ ̶͖͆i̴͕̾t̶̖͋s̵͍̈́ ̶͙͑t̸̘̍ḧ̶̟́ỉ̴̼ę̷͂f̶͇́ ̵̭́ṡ̸̪l̸̳̀a̸̭͆i̴̱̅ņ̵͒.̸͎͘ ̴̲̍Ḳ̴͘i̵̧̅ḽ̶͆l̵̀ͅe̴͉͗d̷̞̐.̶͍̍ ̶͎̃Ȇ̴͕n̵͕̿d̸̙̃ẻ̵̼d̷̳̑.̷̠̊ ̴̈ͅT̸̙͋h̷̞͒r̶̮͗ḛ̸̿ë̴̖́ ̴͍̚r̷̩̈ĕ̴͖m̸̳͆a̵͇̿i̴͝ͅn̵̤͒ ̸̱͠t̷͉̽ȯ̴̦ ̶̘̔b̴̢̂e̸͓͠ ̸̱̚o̴͙͂p̴̟̈́ẻ̸̜n̶̖̔ẽ̷̝d̴̙̋.̵̦̚ ̵̞́Ḟ̶̗r̷̙̋e̵̢̔e̷̻͗d̵̝̃.̶̟̍ ̵͕̕Ù̷̝ņ̷̓b̷̩̾a̸̮͂r̴̨̀r̴̹͊e̷̝̓d̴̻̂.̷̡͊"

"Oh," replied Damien, very quickly opening a fourth portal as it finally dawned on him that this was the world he saw with [Mindscape]. That the monster in [Mindscape] was not only real, but his patron. Even the cavern of flesh seemed more appealing than this world, in which the Other apparently served as a second moon. Having not heard from it since the first day, he'd assumed it wasn't going to directly interfere, and was planning to leave him to his own devices, but maybe that didn't apply when it was literally right there.

The fourth portal—this one a pleasant green—came out in Greenrim. The location was obvious, given the proximity to a source light and the rest of the bowl easily visible from the grassy plain in which the portal had appeared. Damien jumped through before it could change its mind and shift somewhere else.

The nearby source-light shone down, the climate far warmer and brighter than Thale, even if the light itself wasn't as blinding as whatever foreign world he'd just visited. The world from which the bowl had been stolen, presumably, if Grant had been telling the truth.

And if the Other had been telling the truth... His gaze passed over the Thief's Wastes, where one of four was missing, stolen by a dragon. The dragon. The oldest and strongest. An ancient creature, very much like the one he'd recently slain...

"That was Brenhin-Tân?!" exclaimed Damien out loud, boggling at the fact not so much that they'd faced it, but that they'd won.

And the Other had stated that the source lights were what kept the bowl sealed away from the 'real' world. Having seen the 'real' world, Damien wasn't particularly enthused to return.

"It didn't tell me to destroy the lights, but it seemed pretty certain the stolen world would be returned," he muttered to himself, looking around in the hopes of spotting signs of life while he used [Bloodwave] to replace his disintegrated clothing. "Whatever. I'm not going out of my way to break them. I'm going to stick to my original plan of revenge. I just need a more sensible way to level than the Isle of Mist. First things first, though; let's find myself a priest who can cast [Mindscape]."

He looked down at his blood-red, shimmering liquid outfit, fashioned into the shape of a tunic, but it wasn't going to be fooling anyone. If someone knew what to look out for, he'd be instantly recognisable.

"No, first; another set of replacement clothes. Second a priest."

Valerie Spiratine flew through the skies, held in the grip of anger. Her Goddess no longer spoke to her in her dreams. She'd visited one of Murill's temples, only to be told her Goddess was missing. She'd visited the temple, in Jurelli, but even the blessed oracle had said the same thing. Valerie had seen the broken statue with her own eyes, and yet she hadn't believed it.

Her Goddess was immortal. She was omniscient and omnipotent. It was impossible for her to have gone missing. If she was no longer speaking to her followers, it must be by choice.

The logic of Valerie—a person long since broken by Murill, raised to be utterly dependent upon her—insisted that if Murill no longer spoke, her followers must have angered her somehow. Any other option, any suggestion that something had happened outside of Murill's control, was utterly unthinkable.

So, what could have happened to anger her Goddess?

While in Jurelli, she'd heard rumours of Thale, and true fear had seeped into her heart. Fear she hadn't known since her raid on the Isle of Mists. Fear that the blame lay with her.

She'd immediately flown back, her panic speeding her flight. And so she'd seen the ruins of Thale. The proof of her failing, for the priests of Illumis and Kakkerxat had made no secret of who had done this. They spoke of a powerful demon summoner, who had sacrificed his humanity for power. One who must die at any cost.

A summoner by the name of Damien. The very one Valerie had been sent to kill.

She had been given a direct mission from her Goddess, yet she had failed, and an entire town had been destroyed as a result. No wonder Murill was angry. How had he faked his death? How had he survived her flames? Such questions dragged at her as she purged the town of demons, as despair threatened to overcome her. She'd seen his grin as she'd stabbed him. It had been obvious he was plotting something; it was why she'd incinerated the body afterwards. Why hadn't she been more careful?

But there was yet hope. She didn't know where Damien was now, but the priests of Illumis and Kakkerxat had spoken of a crusade. Of leading a global force to end the threat before it grew further. It was a chance for redemption. To restore her honour in the eyes of her Goddess. For Murill to once again grace her dreams with her voice. And so Valerie flew back towards Jurelli, anger speeding her flight, but that thin strand of hope the only thing keeping her in the air.

This time, Damien would die. That much she swore.