The Darkness we Bring With us
A short story that I wrote a little while ago, and edited recently. It is set in the same universe as my upcoming apocalyptic fantasy novel, The Traveler, and acts as a world building prequel to it.
There were six of them in the beginning, and they either didn’t know or didn’t care about the price of their unhallowed ascension. They were spry and youthful when they had started, not sure where to go until they set down a path without regrets. They knew that regrets would only hold them back, so they constantly wanted to further themselves into the future, and they did just that. They were barely halfway through their college courses, only half interested in their day work, but when the six of them came together in the protection of the night, there was nothing they would not try to accomplish that they wanted done.
In the year 2035, New York City was in a grey 21st of November that was filled with a cold rain and bustling streets like so many other days in the condensed concrete jungle. On this glum day, The Six met as they always did off campus in the sewers, connecting to lost train tunnels, as dark and haunting as the parts of the imagination that the mind itself even dares not to touch. On the streets, they wore all grey common clothes, hoods pulled over their heads that cast shadows that obscured their faces. Nobody paid heed to these prowlers now that the sun had just set, and they did the same to the world. They all hated what the world had become, filled with greed and poverty and loss and infection. Disunification and wars, those as together as apart from another.
From different parts of the city they entered dark alley ways to avoid suspicions from arising, at least any more than was what was preventable. Here, in the darkness they found the gateways to their underworld society in the forms of rusted sewer grates and worn down manhole covers, just as forgotten as the maze of tunnels beneath and so many other secrets that a rare few knew of, and let alone understood.
Some years ago, they had their first official ceremony in the darkness that they so coveted. After stripping down and donning their loose-fitting black robes, they had pulled out their pocket knives from inner pockets in their robes, they folded out the blades and held out their free wrists as they stood in a circle, facing inwards, towards each other. With the last moments of hesitation in their accused lives, they drew the blades they held in their other hand swiftly across their wrists, each leaving a somewhat shallow mark close to where their hands began and their arms ended. Blood oozed out from the serrations and ran down into their hands where it started to pool before it spilled over the edges and fell onto the floor. Then, five of them began to walk in a circle around the singular one that stood still for the moment with their hand raised up to slow the blood flow as the rest drew on the damp and dirty floor with their blood. Finally, once the circle of people had stopped moving, the one in the center began to move now, lowering their arm and letting the blood flow down into the floor in a pattern that was vaguely reminiscent of a hieroglyphic pattern. As the sole moving figure painted their red design, the others produced bandages from more new pockets somewhere in their cloaks and dressed their wounds properly, keeping them from festering in their dank underground.
Once they were done with their crimson painting, they all stepped away and out of the circle, waiting for the next step of the ritual.
“You have returned to me,” a deep and harrowing voice emanated from within the darkness as The Six walked down the haunted tunnels to where they had first gathered.
“Yes, we have, M’Lord Doranak,” said the leader of The Six in an almost mocking tone whose deep voice and face were chiseled under the hood, as accustomed to the menacing presence of Doranak as was the rest of the group.
“Good,” said the voice of the Demon, seemingly forever down the tunnel. Then, it spoke again, slightly louder than before “Bring her to me,” he said with his voice sounding more wet with hunger now.
One of The Six carried a small and silent bundle of something, clutched close to their chest, keeping it warm and safe for the opportune moment. This member walked forwards several paces while staying in visibility range with the rest of the group. They set down the bundle on the floor, it was an oblong package with something small and breathing wrapped inside. It was as alive, human and young as the voice that came out from the dark passageways was not. And that harrowing voice belonged to the creature Doranak, the one The Six seemed to worship, and the name that belonged to that voice, in its own language from some other world, meant “Great Bringer.” The member of The Six who delivered the bundle stepped back and watched as the thickening darkness enclosed around the bundle, until it was consuming it entirely and completely obscured it from view, and like a malevolent haze over the bundle, it lingered there menacingly.
The dark haze and the bundle with its contents in a drug ensured sleep were simultaneously lifted off of the ground as it was dragged back, leaving only the slightest marking of its presence in the grime on the floor. Suddenly, when it had risen unnaturally several feet above the floor and so far back from where it had once been, it almost went unnoticed in the unlight blackness as it began to shudder and shake from side to side violently, like some sort of violent withdrawal. Sickening cracking sounds emanated from it, growing louder and louder each moment until it made a new and even more disturbing sound. This time it sounded like an incredibly wet and solid log that had been split apart by bare hands, seeming to crunch separately in certain other places as well. Then the shuddering stopped, and it seemed to sag only slightly, almost like a bag that was filled with a heavy burden of water. Abruptly, the darkness threw itself forward, dissipating and cruelly letting the two ragged vertical halves of a small human, barely an infant, fall to the dirty floor as if it were just some common piece of litter.
And to the Demon Doranak, it was as close as something could get to being meager trash. The miserable thing lay with its internal organs either split between the two halves or sliding slowly out of the shell of the corpse. Blood pooled quickly beneath the sorrowful remains as the grey cloth it had been wrapped in soaked up some blood at the edges, while the intestines held the two halves grotesquely together, kind of like a cable between two structures, ready to pull out of their anchors at a moment’s notice. It was a grotesque and saddening sight to see such a small sentient creature killed with such little effort, a creature which would otherwise have had a long and hopeful life ahead, filled with hope and opportunity. Regardless of what could have been, The Six felt relieved that a potential threat to their ongoing scheme had been removed, no matter the cost.
“She is dead,” said Doranak without a guilty thought to what had been done under his own will, no matter how chained he was.
“And what if she returns too soon?” asked one of The Six.
“Near impossible,” said the Demon, still shrouded in the darkness of the tunnel. “At worst, you would have several decades to prepare.”
“But what if she comes back into this plane?” Asked another of The Six, apparently not all too bright.
“No, the order of the High Fae’s arrival is never one repeated attempt after attempt. We must keep the Fae within their realm for the time being. Should they become integrated into your society today, many disastrous events should happen that would displease you greatly,” Doranak taught, frustrated that some of the members of The Six had forgotten his previous lessons. He wanted to lash out and control them and their world today, but now was not his time. Only soon would he be able to usurp the power positions and the very land itself of where he lay imprisoned now. But that was only if The Six followed his further instructions to the letter as they had done in the past. With the addition of the infant’s Earthly Mana, the very essence of magic, would do greatly in the schemes thought over and adapted for centuries.
“What do you need for us to do next, M’Lord?” asked the leader of The Six.
Doranak hated the mocking of his position, but he still at least respected even the slightest acknowledgment of his true powers. If only he’d be let loose from his bonds, then he’d truly earn the title of “Lord.”
“Return to me within a month’s time. By then, come with a worthy sacrifice,” Doranak demanded of them.
A month’s time came crawling forwards, and The Six spent it dragging through their courses and finding a worthy sacrifice to give to their chained Demon. After much of the month had gone by, also spent by setting up one of their members with another student, a party arrived in just enough time, on the eve of when Doranak was expecting them to return. The other student was top of the class with as strong of a body as was their brain. The group unanimously agreed that he was the perfect sacrifice and had to lure him somewhere where they could prepare him for Doranak.
At the party, the target was first warmed up with several drinks from the punch bowl of uncertainty, despite his reluctance at first to accept the drinks. Later, he was brought into one of The Six’s dorm rooms, expecting something that he never got. Instead he was gagged and sedated with a rag that soaked in chloroform, and was dragged down into the tunnels beneath the city where nobody would ever mind an unconscious person being carried by six cloaked individuals. Under the city they traveled and when they reached the place marked by ward Runes, the darkness around them seemed to stir and the smell of the decaying corpse of the kid became grossly noticeable above the regular stench that wafted through the tunnels. The steady breathing of The Six froze as it hit the dank air, their hostage’s breath became only slightly more faint and ragged, and barely anything was noticeable without much cast light.
“What have you brought me, my faithfuls?” Doranak asked from deep within the darkness, gluttony oozing from his every word.
“Sacrifice,” said the chiseled leader, “intended to be worthy for your ritual tonight.”
“Yes,” the Demon hissed. “I can feel his presence now. His warmth,” he drew out the word, as if cherishing it like a delicious sweet meal that was had only ever so rarely and was therefore special. “Bring him closer, I want to feel him in the flesh.”
The members of The Six that had carried their victim into the tunnel rushed forwards as fast as they could with the extra weight, dropping the unconscious body onto the ground and backing away quickly without a second thought. The darkness seemed to shift closer and consolidate into something that was more than just a vague dimness. This time, the darkness took the form of a silhouette of an immensely tall figure, with wild hair parted in the middle that was streaked backwards and was flowing upwards, so it looked like an ominous black halo, framing the long triangular head in a circular way. It had large horns like a bull’s, protruding from just above their long ears. The torso itself was hunched and lean while still retaining somewhat of a muscular frame. His arms, legs, fingers, and toes were long and gangly, resembling crooked knives and well-worn out claws from some massive and horrid beast of fables that would be prime for a mythical warrior like Beowulf to engage and slay in one on one combat. The eyes of the creature were oblong and curved upwards so that if they were ever closer together, they would look like a wicked jack-o’-lantern smile that glowed maliciously with a deep maroon color. And set between his eyes, there was no nose of any sense, whether it were snake-like slits, or a raised mammal nose. Only flatness occupied that space, with no indication of ever having a nose.
The Demon stretched out an arm with its wicked fingernails, reaching towards the form of the unconscious person on the floor with the sound of invisible chains rattling, as if they were being stretched out and were close to being pulled taught. Leaning down, above the body of his sacrifice, the Demon ran his fingers across the man’s face, caressing it almost lovingly.
“Yes, yes,” Doranak said. “He will work just fine for a sacrifice. But still, it is early. Not yet one month since you came last.”
“No, we thought since that we have him, why should we wait if you needed him regardless,” claimed the leader of The Six.
“Do not apologize for or explain your actions,” Doranak cooled in an unnaturally kind tone, sending goosebumps creeping along the skins of The Six, looking up towards the group standing before him. “Your ignorance was planned for and is well accepted.”
“Then why do you sound hesitant, M’Lord Doranak?” asked the leader of The Six, almost as hesitantly as the Demon sounded.
“This is sacrifice for a ritual,” Doranak said in an obvious tone, as if annoyed by the stupidity of the Humans who had trapped him on the Earth. “If you still desire for your plans to come to fruition, I suggest you listen to my instructions now more carefully than ever.” Doranak drew out the sentence slowly, almost like he didn’t think that The Six knew the language he was speaking in and that he was tired of being treated like an enslaved creature. In his mind he knew that if his own private conniving turned out to be a success, he should be able to be free as he hadn’t been in centuries and ruler of not one, but two worlds
“What do you need, M’Lord?” asked the member of The Six who had the best attention to detail in the group, in a confident tone.
“I need to be moved to channel the Mana correctly. I need a conduit for my powers, like your electricity through wires,” Doranak spat, seeming to hate everything that involved anything.
“Where do you need to be moved?” asked the member with attention to detail.
“Someplace high above the ground. Secure. And the structure must be shaped perfectly for me to be able to channel correctly. Something like a peak or point,” Doranak demanded, knowing perfectly well that he was discussing a statue instead of a building, subtly planting the intended location into their minds.
“We can move you to a place. It might take a bit of effort, but it will happen if we can get you there,” said the observant one.
“When are you ready for the transportation spell?” asked the leader.
“I am as prepared for it as you should be,” Doranak said menacingly.
“Then let us begin,” said the leader.
Some parts of them did not expect it to work, and yet the other parts of them wanted for it to work more than anything. Regardless, every little piece of them were shocked when it did indeed work. Blood stained fog swirled together into a sharp whirlpool, twisting together in the center of the circle with sharp tendrils lashing out violently at the ceiling, clawing about as if it were trying to escape as it emitted a faint and eerie maroon glow. The tendrils were pulled into the windless throng, flailing about like frightened fish without ever even once outstepping the perimeters of the circle that was painted in blood. The whirlpool retreated into the center of the circle and the Rune inside until it uncovered a shadowy shape of a horrid looking creature, kneeling down and trapped to the perimeter of the circle by ethereal chains that wrapped around its very form. The blood on the floor was glowing ever so slightly with the absorbed Mana of the magical whirlpool. Their plan had worked. They had summoned a Demon quite successfully.
After the transportation ritual was complete, the leader held a small flat and grey stone. It was filed down so that it vaguely resembled a typical tombstone, a long rectangle with a rounded top and flatness on the bottom and along all of the sides. It was about the size of the leader’s thumb and it felt cool to the touch with an unnatural heaviness for a stone of its size. On the front side of it was engraved a Rune, glowing a deep and menacing maroon color that was very much like Doranak’s eyes. The rune itself somewhat resembled Doranak’s own face with his head, eyes, and horns, all made of triangles making a geometric representation of its likeness, saving for the fact that the head itself was essentially in the shape of a cone and that it was missing the ears. It looked exactly like the Rune they had painted to summon Doranak when they were younger, only more refined and geometrically even.
“I hate to bring this up to you all, but how and where are we supposed to find and get to a place like that while carrying him?” one of The Six asked, who was overly cautious and was pointing at the unconscious person on the floor, rats scurrying about nearby and stopping to sniff him with their little noses before turning the other way.
“We can’t cast a spell of transportation on him like what we did with Doranak, so we’d have to move him the old fashioned way,” said the one with attention to detail.
“As for where we’re going to move him, I have an idea to where we could go,” said the leader of The Six.
“Care to share?” asked the overly cautious one.
“We’re New Yorkers of the streets and so much more. We can all get into places unnoticed. And what is a better conductor high above the ground than old Lady Liberty herself and her torch?” the leader stated, growing cocky at what they thought was their original idea.
“Who has brought me here against my will?” asked the shadowy figure, chained to, and trapped in the summoning circle.
There was silence at first for not a single one of them wanted to answer the creature’s brooding question.
Then, one of them spoke up in a voice that sounded almost too meek to shape the course of history from that point forward. “We did,” it quivered with awestruck fear, their skin growing cold and hands clammy. “Wh-who are you? What are you?”
“I am Doranak.”
The Six had stolen a car that was parked on the streets, having hot wired it, they managed to fit everybody inside somewhat uncomfortably with their victim shoved unceremoniously into the trunk like extra luggage. The stolen car drove through the streets at a reasonable speed in the late night traffic, heading for wherever they could get a good look at the Statue of Liberty from a point on land that was close to the water. Eventually, with the clock ticking down to the time for when the ritual was meant to be completed, they found a place that looked right and let the car idle nearby. The one with attention to detail stepped out and investigated the surrounding area. Their breath was freezing in the cold and polluted air, becoming visible while it escaped their mouth as they stood, looking at the thick layer of ice that covered the water, beyond the railing and all the way up to the island, weaker in certain places than it was in others. The observant one walked back into the car, stepping inside as the door was opened for them from the inside, before they sat down on the seat.
“I think I have a plan that could take us to Liberty Island pretty quickly,” was the immediate statement of the observant one once the door was closed. “If we drive as fast as we can and avoid crashing into the base of the island when we get there, we can drive right across the ice and get to the island, through the fences and security. Should give us a moment before security comes to bust our asses.”
“By the time they get there we should be finished with the ritual, and then nothing can stop us,” preached the leader, with a bit of pride in his voice.
The car left its parking space and moved awkwardly in the lot, aiming for the clearest and most direct path to the island. The engine revved and roared viciously before tires began to squeal and then the cramped car shot forwards as fast as it could unsafely go. The car bumped up and over the curb before it went straight through the metal wire fence that was supposed to protect civilians from falling into the water since they were too dumb to keep away from the precipice on their own. Upon impact, the metal burst apart as it bent to futilely shape a net to catch the speeding vehicle, leaving the front of the stolen vehicle warped and damaged. The car went soaring through the air over the ice for a moment that seemed to last several moments that were induced by intense fear and excitement. The vehicle landed on the ice, front tires first with simultaneous loud cracking sounds that sent hearts plummeting into stomachs. The leader shifted swiftly into reverse and backed up nearly to the seawall before rocketing forwards in drive with a slightly angled adjustment to avoid the large section of ice that had broken apart and had fallen into the water. After narrowly escaping the spider webbing cracks that separated the ice. The leader turned the steering wheel sharply around, aiming towards the little island, sending the wheels spinning at unsafe rotations per minute, sliding and gliding across the ice more than anything else.
They barreled towards the island, only letting off the gas when there was about three quarters left of the way to Liberty Island. Afterwards, the brake pedal was never touched again and yet the car was still traveling at very unsafe speeds, heading for the rocks at the edge of the island without any real way to get up the stoney side. Finally, with barely enough space to react in time before violently colliding with the stony shore, the leader slammed on the brakes and turned the steering wheel so sharply that the car managed to narrowly avoid sideswiping the island, but was sent dizzily spinning on the ice. It took almost all of the leader’s effort to keep the car from spinning out of control as it slowed down with all of the car’s conscious occupants pressing themselves down and against their seats, some closing their eyes or staring at the ceiling or down at their feet to keep themselves from growing too dazed. Eventually, after spinning and sliding around precariously on the ice, the car finally slowed to a stop, the engine idling and the occupants momentarily shocked from the experience. The leader managed to put the car into park with the parking brake on, leaving the car turned on as it sat on the ice while The Six all clambered out, growing more steady on their feet for each moment they stayed standing up, their dizziness fading slowly.
Two of them went to the back where the trunk was and opened it, revealing their victim still laying awkwardly on his side and folded up to fit within the claustrophobic space. He was still gagged and breathing stiffly with eyes closed and totally unaware of the high adrenaline ride on the ice. They picked him up gruffly around the ankles and wrists, pulling him out and holding him in between them as if he were already dead and ready to be disposed of into a place where he wouldn’t be found by prying eyes. In a way, he was already dead. He was sleeping, yet not even sure if he would ever wake up again, or if he would even wake up in time to save himself. Regardless of anything that wafted through the man’s subconscious, he never fully comprehended it as he was brought over to the crag that outlined the island. Awkwardly scaling the rocky side and dragging their victim upwards with them, The Six climbed up, and let their victim be scraped harshly against the stone and stretching out his joints without clemency, when they had to, so it would be a convenience for them.
When the first of them reached the top and set foot onto the more level parts of the island, they assisted their comrades in dragging their victim up, like he was just a muscular ragdoll slightly over two hundred pounds, as the rest of The Six were still clambering to get on top of the island. The leader fidgeted with the Rune Stone, twiddling it between his fingers and thumb on one hand.
“How do we get into the torch?” asked one of them when they were all on secure land. “Especially with him,” they added, nodding towards the unconscious man lying on the floor. “We can’t carry him up all the way, even if we take the tourist way.”
“Problem would be breaking in,” said the one with attention to detail. “There’s too much automated security in today’s world.”
“We’re here now, it’s too late to turn back now. If we haven’t been caught yet, then we’re probably fine. But if we are caught then it’ll be too late for everyone else,” the leader tried to comfort, stoking their faith in the Demon’s plan.
“So you’ve said,” said the anxious one.
“And we need to move now if we are ever going to reach the top,” said a member of The Six who was as brash as Doranak was cunning.
The journey to the top was tiring, and their legs felt incredibly weak at what was about the halfway point. Some of them felt as if they would fall down the interior of the statue and fall all the way down to the bottom and consecutively, to their deaths. They took turns of who was dragging their victim so they could conserve as much as their consecutive energy as possible, and whoever was at the front of the group, headed up the stairs with the Rune Stone in hand and Doranak contained safely inside. Constantly and almost irregularly, several of them would look back over their shoulders as if they wondered or felt unsure of if they were being followed by something. There was no one there save for the darkness only pierced by dying electrical torches all around, and the unsettling, and small glow of the Rune Stone at the front.
Eventually, they managed to reach the top of the statue, and through ancient ladders they daringly managed to get into the torch of the iconic statue. Once they were on the torch, they shuffled awkwardly about to ensure that no one was going to plummet from off the side to a more serious death than what would have happened at any other point in their ascent, and to compensate for the space the body that was taking up on the floor now. Up that high, the cold wind whipped through the air in a bitter breeze, cutting through the robes that the members of The Six wore, numbing their skin and making their noses run. The leader of the group, who now held the Rune Stone within his cold hand, set it down on the platform on which they stood on, and the group closed their eyes, waiting for the Demon to return.
The Six were apparently as curious as they were surprised by what had happened.
“Where do you come from, Doranak?” asked the member who was starting to develop into more of a leading role in the group.
“I am from elsewhere. Where am I now?” said the Demon, apparently stunned by the whole summoning ordeal.
“You’re in our servitude now in our territory,” said the leader stoically, teetering on the brink of brashness and self-conscious inflation.
“Where is that?” Doranak pressed further in his cold tone.
“Underground of New York City, New York, America, North America, Earth,” said one of them with a constant cocky sense of humour.
“Earth,” Doranak said more quietly than before, mulling the word over in his head and testing how it felt on his vile tongue. “Earth…”
After resummoning Doranak out from his Rune Stone, the stone itself crumbled into ash in the wind and blew away across the water and into the dark sky, fading off into the night. The tenebrous figure of Doranak warped and twisted around the flame in the torch, like a noxious vine climbing up a tree, or a snake constricting their latest victim, preparing to devour it in whole, the details of his lower half being lost in swirling darkness. His mystic and ghostly chains were once again visible, and they tethered him to the railing system around the platform, creating something that looked almost like a tent’s skeleton that was made out of chains.
“He is bruised,” said the Demon, quite sardonically.
“We are all too unfit to find another,” said the one with attention to detail. “If he is unfit, I will be willing to offer myself in addition to his tribute.”
“No, your sacrifice is not required. He will do fine regardless of his minor damages,” the Demon said, as close to a comforting message as he could manage.
“Then, let us begin!” said the leader.
“Yes, we shall start now,” the Demon said, stretching out his arms and reaching towards his unconscious victim, only slightly unwinding from his perch.
Down below, flashlights waved about and little figures ran around. The security had arrived and were sweeping the island, looking for the trespassers. Doranak grabbed the victim by the mid section in both wickedly massive hands and lifted him up as if he weighed nothing. Recoiling himself around the flame and stretching upwards, he held the victim high above his own head, letting the limbs dangle downwards loosely like a doll. Doranak suddenly pulled his sides apart intensely viciously, still holding on to the victim in both hands. The victim split in half suddenly and grotesquely as clouds began to form in the sky above, smelling like the kind of winter thunderstorm that would have particularly viscous lightning. The sacrificial victim didn’t even feel the pain in their unconscious state, partially because it was so shockingly sudden, his skin tearing apart and bones snapping, organs spilling out and the brain lolling out of the cracked skull. Blood rushed and spurted out, showering Doranak in red, as if he were baptizing himself in the blood of the innocent.
Somewhere in the distance, lightning struck and thunder clapped soon thereafter, and as if directed by some unknown force, lightning flashed from five sides around the island all at once, moving closer and closer as they went to the statue. As Doranak cleansed himself in the carnage, a solid shadow covered with dripping blood and eyes peering out from behind with a mouth agape and drinking it all in, the lightning chain that had been creeping up, struck the base of the flame of the torch simultaneously with all five bolts narrowly avoiding The Six when they struck their intended target, thunder booming loudly and shattering their ear drums as if a gun had gone off right next to their heads, and their vision was left with stains from the monstrous green flashes of electricity. Sparks flew out widely and the electricity channeled upwards into Doranak as he absorbed the sacrifice’s Mana. The glass that had made up the torch’s flame shattered and sprayed out wards, putting several lacerations into the backs of the cowering Six. Electricity crackled and flowed through the copper frames that once held the glass, as it went into Doranak, his very being growing heated as he absorbed the Mana of his victim and the lighting. The copper beneath him grew heated and the two dried out halves of the body he held burst into flame as he threw each half over the side, letting them tumble to the surface below where the security would most certainly find it.
He uncoiled himself and stood straight up on his own two legs, now on top of the torch, wrapping all of the chains that bound him into his fists as lightning now repeatedly struck solely him, supercharging him and leaving The Six’s ears ringing with pain. The ethereal chains now grew visibly heated in his grasp and steamed in the cold night storm air as they heated up, glowing brighter and brighter, creeping along the full length of the chain. Once they were fully glowing, looking as if they had been soaking in the inferno of a forge for quite some time, Doranak pulled viciously upwards on them, yanking them out of their ghostly anchors, the chains flailing about as they disconnected before Doranak absorbed their Mana, extinguishing them entirely like clouds dispersing at instant speed.
In the interior of the torch, where the outline of the torch’s flame connected to the base, spikes began to come out from the bottom, protruding upwards until coming into a cone shape with enough room in between their points to fit a large circular object though, or a larger one on, nestled into a thorny cradle. Doranak had all the Mana he needed, as lightning struck him and powered him up like a battery as the sky above him twisted and melted like the center of a great storm. Cracks appeared in the sky as Doranak channeled the Mana, focusing it all on a summoning of his own. Suddenly, tracing itself upwards from its bottom upwards was a silver bowl appearing on the tip of the spikes, and when it was done, it then materialized into existence once it was complete. Spontainously, an extraordinary chromatic flame burst into life, hovering just above the bottom of the bowl, giving off no heat or smoke, and any cascading sparks rose for a moment and fell to the bottom of the bowl where they softly sank to the very middle before rising up into the flame to join it again.
The very world seemed to warp in the visions of anyone with their eyes open, like a haze coming off a hot summer road. One dimensional cracks appeared all throughout the entire globe now, stretching outwards from The Flame, revealing another world entirely from behind their fately luminescent glows.
Doranak laughed so joyfully and uncharacteristically to him, his cackle splitting his face apart in a wicked smile. “I have done it!” He roared with much glee to his voice, now sounding as if he had many voices speaking at once, though somehow out of synchronization. His voice corrupted the minds of The Six, turning them from a petty cult who merely used his powers for their own gain, into loyal worshipers of a new ruler, screaming in agony as their minds betrayed themselves. The cracks in reality spread, and at their borders, the natural geography of the two worlds began to merge seamlessly together. “I have brought The Eternal Flame of Bondage to Earth! I am now king of both of my old prisons, the Fae Plane and Earth! I am now king of a new world for my shaping! I have brought about The Great Merging, and I am victorious!”