Herald of death

"It seems… out of place," Ethan comments as his eyes scan the armored figures. They stand like sentinels, spears held to the side, with no demon in sight. Their armors bear the decorations and engravings of the Abyss Watchers.

The man follows Ethan's gaze. "I've never seen armor like these."

'The Abyssal Keep looked older than a few centuries, but its existence might not have been common knowledge,' Ethan thinks. His hunt for Caelum overshadowed his quest to ease Maelor's regrets. This could be an opportunity to learn more about the Etherlight Crucible. He climbs the short flight of stairs and pushes open the gates. 'With some luck, the crucible might have been used here.'

A waft of rancid air escapes through the doors, filling Ethan's nose with the dry, choking scent of dust. They reveal a large circular room. Identical gates lie at each of its unexplored cardinal directions, and an altar sits in the center – a wide disc made of a darker stone than the rest.

The eyes of statues embedded into the walls, like the carved decoration of regal coffins, light up with flames, illuminating the room. Each of these eight figures seems to stare at Ethan.

"They always freak me out," the man comments. His gaze sweeps the statues as he waits for Ethan to enter the room. "Feels like they are looking at me wherever I am."

Russ growls in Ethan's mind. His eyes open on the surface of Ethan's shadow, staring back at the closest statue.

'Shush,' Ethan commands. He moves to the left to examine the walls' carvings in detail. Each statue is flanked by depictions of themselves in melee combat against hordes of demons or in a duel with some unique aberration.

Only one of the statues is depicted in grand congregations of knights. On his right he is among his own, holding a banner atop a hill with a sea of Abyss Watchers looking up to him. On his left, he stands in front of a kneeling paladin who wears Seraphel's sigil upon his armor. Looking at the background, Ethan notices that many of the gods have someone bearing their mark.

"Nobody here knows when or where that happened, if it ever did happen," the man comments.

"Seems important though," Ethan says, thinking aloud. He's intrigued both by the reason for such an event and also as to why the realm's owner is showing it to him.

"Sit in the center," the man orders. He points at the wide altar. "Close your eyes and try to stop thinking."

Reluctantly, Ethan steps away from the mural carvings and approaches the altar.

Ether crystals, embedded into the floor below chunks of glass, shine as Ethan passes them. Their light extends into narrow conduits, illuminating Eldorian sigils that converge into a massive array. The dozens of clusters, each containing many more words than any of Ethan's spells, fill the room with leaking Ether.

"You could at least pretend like you're shocked," the man quips. He lifts the lid of a jar and retrieves a red Ether crystal cut into the pear shape of a precious gem. He joins Ethan near the center and holds it in front of him. "Don't drop it. You need to place it into the slot in the center."

The crystal shines brighter than any Ethan has seen — yet strangely, it emits less Ether. That Ether, however, is demonic in nature; it makes Ethan ask, "This thing uses demonic Ether? Or are you trying to corrupt me with it?"

"It's required to feed the last part of the altar, that's all. Everyone who uses it gets a minor corruption, but it will be gone in a week," he explains.

Ethan's gaze falls on the core of the altar, where lie unlit runes. They are not in Eldorian, and though he doesn't understand them, he knows they are in Demonic. He still has the Abyss Watcher lantern, but part of him, or Maelor, apprehends being subjected to their effect. "What is the altar's purpose?"

"As Razak puts it – a warrior must be strong of body, Ether, and soul," the man explains. "You can train the first two anywhere, but usually you can't willingly train your soul. The altar lets you fight the souls of ancient warriors with yours while protecting it from any irreversible damage."

"Razak didn't strike me as someone versed in magic. How do we know the extent of this… spell's effects?" Ethan asks.

"I… I actually don't know. We all use it when we can; once the corruption is gone," the man admits. He touches his chin as he thinks.

The man's fingers stop mid-gesture. The room has gone still. No breath. No heartbeat.

"You should use the altar," the realm's master says, appearing next to its core. "You gained tremendous power in a short time, but your soul remains untrained. Employing life force often laid foundations, but it is nothing in comparison to the Abyss Watcher's methods."

"And the corruption? Or any other side effects I should know of?" Ethan asks.

"Everything surrounding you and your bond is mine to command, even the Ether. I can assure you, any corruption suffered here will not follow you to the mortal plane," he reassures.

'He hasn't lied to me yet,' Ethan thinks. He takes the Ether crystal from the frozen man and steps to the center. A slot awaits the red stone, ready to send its Ether into the demonic sigils. "A question before you g –"

The realm's master vanishes, and the man unfreezes; he seems unfazed by the inconsistency of Ethan's location. With a nod, he walks backward to exit the altar.

'Guard,' Ethan commands Russ.

Darkness pools around Ethan and spreads over the altar, his shadow extending to a liquid, black smoke.

The man stares at Russ' domain but seems unafraid by its sudden appearance. He leans back onto the wall, his eyes shifting towards the closest statue.

Ethan sits down on the altar and closes his eyes, keeping his other senses on the man. After a moment the man's breath vanishes from Ethan's senses, alongside his own.

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Opening his eyes, Ethan finds himself in darkness and looks down to see his body as a translucent ghost – a copy of his martial echo. A layer of black water licks the bottom of his feet, sending shivers up his legs.

A blue light pierces through the darkness – another ghostly figure clad in plate armor. He levitates towards Ethan with a long cloth floating behind him.

Realizing the man is wearing armor, Ethan takes the time to observe his own clothing. Despite the absence of color, he realizes he's wearing his most common outfit – a simple, black costume with a white shirt. It's the outfit he wore most of his adult life, padded with discrete body armor.

The other figure stops a few meters away. He places his forearm across his chest and bows. With a voice that rings source-less in Ethan's mind, he says, "I was Lord Alaric Vornhart. I bid you welcome to our final resting place."

Ethan struggles to speak as he tries to present himself as Viktor. Instead, he bows forward, mimicking the ghost's motion.

"May I inquire as to the current year? Your outfit is foreign to me," Alaric asks.

"Five hundred and seventy-two," Ethan guesses with the information given by the realm's owner. He looks down at his clothes and adds, "Armor like yours is still common; my clothes are something of a formal attire."

"My last awakening predates your calendar," Alaric states. "Is this temple still under the Watchers' control?"

Ethan's throat tightens as he thinks of lying. Unless Razak's follower misled him, he shouldn't be at risk of retaliation. Besides, staying silent might appear worse than the truth. He clears it with a light cough and explains, "No. An Orc, someone from a race that came to this world some seventy years ago, built a training ground outside."

Alaric gazes into the distance, over Ethan's shoulder, towards the assembling banquet. Ghostly figures appear there, lugging unseen barrels and carrying invisible stools. The man watching over Ethan still leans against the wall, but Russ is absent. They vanish, and Alaric says, "Many of those are honorable souls; I'll allow it."

"Would you be capable of driving them away? Without needing them to use the altar to meet you?" Ethan asks, intrigued by the ominous possibility.

"I could," Alaric answers as he turns his gaze back to Ethan. "My soul could crush theirs, morphing this place into a cursed realm that drains their strength. No sane person would choose to remain here."

"I was told this altar allowed us to fight against the souls of old warriors while shielding us from harm," Ethan comments.

"Your soul is indeed protected by the altar; theirs are not." Alaric motions behind him with his arm, unveiling for a brief instant seven slumbering warriors. Contrary to Alaric, their forms seem decayed, with missing chunks of armor and flesh. "It has indeed been a very long time…"

"I'm guessing the others' experience of this altar isn't what it was once supposed to be." Ethan tries to move, but his feet slide uselessly — finding no grip on the watery surface.

Alaric lowers his gaze, making the sleeping figures vanish. "We are called from our slumber by our similarities to those who require our teachings. But each awakening takes away something our now nonexistent bodies are incapable of restoring."

'It's a good thing we are in a fake world then,' Ethan thinks. The spike of empathy troubles him, as he shouldn't allow himself such a distraction. 'But what similarities is he talking about?'

Like Razak before him, Alaric melts into smoke to reappear as he was a few seconds ago. Last time it happened because Ethan referred to an event he lived with another version of Razak. Could it be that this ghost is reading his mind?

"The altar enables you to experience a level of control over your soul you'll need decades to replicate," Alaric says. His voice switches, turning to that of an authoritative teacher. "Anything you achieve here, you will only be able to use at a hundredth of its intensity outside. It will require constant practice with comrades versed in the art."

Ethan places his hands behind his back. The movement surprises him, as he never uses this 'at attention' posture, at least not since Four's training.

"Your soul, though invisible to the naked eye, exists parallel to you, as does the soul of any being and object around you."

"Objects have souls?" Ethan asks. Testing it, Ethan could only use Soulsight for an instant, but he remembers seeing the outlines of objects.

"Yes. Everything we conceive of as an 'object' has a soul; common exceptions are water, sand, or air. The more precise, defined, and revered an object is, the stronger its soul. And we can alter it to weaken, strengthen, or even morph said object. The most common way of doing so is through enchantments, but many practitioners know too little to understand the process."

"You said you could crush someone's soul," Ethan says, trying to put them back on track.

"There are many ways to use your soul in battle," Alaric begins. "Those versed in the mastery of Ether can use their aura to weaken or even wound their opponents. In a similar way, weak souls will cower away from trained ones."

"I'm using a ring to hide my aura; can I avoid making people uncomfortable if I train my soul?" Ethan asks. "Attracting everyone's attention would make things difficult."

"Naturally. And you shouldn't rely on baubles to restrain your aura; your understanding of ether will suffer from it." Alaric grows brighter, assailing Ethan's eyes.

Ethan's sight shifts back to the altar room. He springs to his feet, his heart racing as if he fell into an ambush.

"Let us rid ourselves of unwanted company," Alaric echoes in Ethan's mind.

The man watching over Ethan straightens his posture. His eyes dart to the closest statue, and he recoils from it, sweat dripping from his brow. He staggers back; his right hand reaches for a weapon he doesn't have.

Ethan tries to pivot to face the unseen menace, but his body resists him. Like in a dream, his limbs are bound by invisible restraints.

The man yells something Ethan doesn't hear despite the short distance and bolts through the doors. They slam behind him, shaking clouds of dust off the walls.

"The second use of your soul in combat is the delirium you can inflict onto your enemies," Alaric says.

The closest statue cracks as it falls off the wall, its solid shape turning into fire and smoke. A long, shifting blade made of the same darkness appears in its grasp, covered in electric arcs.

'Is that an illusion? It's too real. Prescience.' Ethan extends his hand and summons Stormshard. The blade tilts to the ground, heavier than Ethan expected. He grabs it with both hands and deflects a blow his prescience does not predict.

The impact sends burning pain into Ethan's wrists and elbows. The beast lifts its blade high above its head, arming another strike. The fire making up the creature pulses, scorching Ethan's skin with its heat.

"Once trained enough, one can create illusions so potent they damage the material through the spiritual," Alaric comments.

With two thoughts, Ethan stops Prescience and summons a shield around him, stopping the descending blow. His mind clouds, weakening the spell as he pains to visualize its runes.

"The third way is similar to enchantments," Alaric says. "By targeting an object's soul, you can weaken it."

A third strike pierces through the shield and strikes Ethan's blade. The sword's lightning melts Stormshard, carving a glowing red scar into its edge.

'Strengthening,' Ethan thinks. With a kick that tears through Ethan's legs with clawing pain, he sends the monster into the wall. Ethan stumbles as he regains his posture. Electric pain fires into his right femur; it's broken. 'How?'

"By attacking your soul I weakened your body," Alaric answers. "Object or animal, there is no difference in that regard; iron to ice, bones to chalk."

Ethan shifts his weight on his other leg to regain his balance.

"Blood to plague, flesh to lead," Alaric continues.

Ethan's arms blacken along his veins, consumed by a raging necrosis. Stormshard escapes his hands, his fingers pried open by their weight.

"To fight this alteration of your soul, you must convince it that this sickness is a lie." Alaric's voice pierces through the pain, dulling it when he speaks. It grows softer, becoming that of a benevolent teacher. "You must believe your body is strong, your blood pure."

Ethan tightens his jaw. His limbs are numb, his vision blurring from the fever crawling up his blood.

The shadow-creature rises again from the rubble, slow and predatory as it prowls towards Ethan.