CHAPTER B5: STEP INTO DEATH

Book of The Dead

To create a path from one realm to another was no simple thing. The more Tyron learned about it, the more he appreciated the elegance of the three rituals he learned from the Anathema Class. They were able to slice through the veil and establish their desired paths while making it seem relatively straightforward.

In designing his own ritual, Tyron had learned that it was not simple whatsoever. Cutting through the veil was the relatively simple part of the equation—using magick to interact with the weave that separated one realm from another and stabilising it, easy enough. Creating a path to the destination, however… much more difficult.

Realms weren’t stacked on top of each other, they weren’t adjacent, with the only exception being the Abyss, which was adjacent to everywhere. They weren’t even adjacent to themselves. As far as Tyron knew, there was no way to bend a dimensional pathway back around and re-enter the same realm again. It would be incredibly convenient if he could find a way to achieve it, but sadly, it didn’t seem possible. Any such travel would need to pass through another realm before coming back.

In creating this particular ritual, Tyron had worked long and hard to create a stable path from his home realm to that of the dead, and it had been a process. If he were likening it to anything, it would be tunneling through a mountain, except he wasn’t digging through stone, he was boring through the fabric of the dimensions themselves, slipping through the cracks of existence without straying to places he didn’t want to go.

Except, in this instance, the tunneling was done as part of the design. It wasn’t as if he could manually adjust the pathway once the ritual was underway; the route had to be locked in before the first stone was overturned, so to speak. Even with all the hints and nuggets that he’d had, pinning down the exact location of the Realm of the Dead had been a pain, but with Yor’s help he’d gotten over that difficulty relatively quickly. Next had been the long and arduous process of plotting out the pathway.

Compared to that, actually constructing the gate was relatively simple. To be fair, it was only simple because he had two of the finest Arcanists in the Western Province working on it. For less accomplished enchanters, it would have taken significantly longer, if it would have even been possible at all.

Once Master Willhem triggered the circle, it began to faintly glow as it absorbed power from the arcane crystal being heaped upon it by the undead. As time passed, the light grew brighter and brighter while a procession of skeletons continued to remove any burned out crystal and replace it with fresh samples from the carts outside.

Within the Empire, such a volume of arcane material would have cost several fortunes stacked on top of each other, but here, the stuff was as common as flowers, waiting to be plucked off the ground. As time passed, he refreshed himself, ate and drank and discussed enchanting with a hovering Master Willhem as the two observed the ritual circle gaining power. At some point, Annita Halfshard returned and yelled at them for triggering the process without alerting her.

Tyron rightly pointed out she needed her sleep and it was still hours away from anything actually interesting happening, but she refused to hear it and immediately began a detailed study of the absorption circle. When she was satisfied it was working as intended, she joined them in sitting back and watching events unfold.

All in all, it took almost six hours for the circle to absorb the ridiculous amount of power required to fuel the gate, almost an entire wagon of arcane crystal burned to dust to fuel it. When he noticed the flow of power begin to move through the channels on the floor and into the gate itself, sigils rapidly lighting with an arcane glow as the magick passed through, Tyron sat up and alerted the others.

“Here we go!” he said, enthused.

“It might be wise to move back to a safe distance,” Master Halfshard murmured. “If that gate blows up, we don’t want to be too close.”

Having said that, she showed no sign of taking a backwards step. Tyron and Master Willhem said nothing, watching as the stone arch took in more and more power, driving it through the arrays Tyron had created and distributing it throughout the complex network of sigils the Masters had carved. It was beautiful to watch, though it wasn’t easy. The sheer volume of magick dwarfed what Tyron had used to create the Ossuary ten times over, and the sigils blazed so brightly it was almost impossible to look at them.

The first phase was over relatively quickly; an opening through the veil was formed and stabilised, easy to see as the space within the arch grew hazy, rippling like the surface of a pond, much as a rift did. As of yet, there was nothing on the other side, but the most difficult stage of forging that path was now underway. It was here that the bulk of the magick would be used, carving out the path and ensuring it remained stable.

Time passed as the three watched the gate intently. The sigils burned so bright the arch itself looked like it was made of light, burning itself into their eyes. Even so, they didn’t look away, eager to see their creation at work. The concentration of magick was such that the air itself felt heavy around them and Tyron felt a pull on his gut, as if the magick within him were being drawn toward the gate.

Finally, it grew too bright for his eyes. Tyron and Annita turned away, shielding their faces while Master Willhem continued to stare, his undead vision unhindered.

When the glare finally began to fade, Tyron turned back, peeling his fingers away to see that the sigils were finally fading. The vast reservoir of energy built up within the circle had been fully expended, and it had gone inert.

The sigils now shimmered softly, while the space between the arch was no longer hazy, but had become midnight black. It had reached its destination.

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Slowly, Tyron stood and took several tentative steps towards it. The darkness between the arch was fascinating. So black it seemed almost to absorb the light, as if the darkness extended even beyond the gate itself, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. Řã𝐍ȏ𝐛Ěș

“I wouldn’t step in there,” Annita warned him, and Tyron scoffed.

“I’m not a fool,” he replied, to which she muttered something he couldn’t hear.

No, stepping through the gate would result in instantaneous death, or close to it. He couldn’t go through himself, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t.

With a thought, he summoned one of his minions, and watched as they slunk into the temple from where he’d had them waiting outside.

“Laurel, nice of you to join us,” he said.

She turned to look at the gate, and then back to Tyron.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” she said.

“You always wanted to see new places and experience new things, so how could I give this opportunity to anyone else?”

The ghostly features of his former classmate did not appear pleased to hear this news at all.

“And where am I going?”

“The Realm of the Dead,” he replied.

Yes, she definitely wasn’t pleased.

“Hop to it,” he told her. “That gate is going to remain open for another five minutes, and if you get stuck on the other side, you aren’t coming back.”

Laurel’s feet were inexorably compelled towards the gate, though she clearly didn’t want to move in that direction in the slightest.

“What do you want me to do over there?” she demanded. “You’re really sending me by myself?”

“Take a look around, and come back,” he said. “And do your best not to be noticed. That could be unfortunate.”

“Noticed by what?” she squawked, but by then it was too late. The wight stepped through the gate, and was gone.

As much as he desperately wished he could step through himself, Tyron knew it wasn’t possible right now. Without the protection of The Three by his side, he couldn’t survive there, but the undead should be fine, even those with a soul.

The seconds ticked past as Tyron waited impatiently. It wasn’t possible for him to sense Laurel any more, or see through her eyes, she was simply too deep, too far away. If ever there was an opportunity for her to try and break free of his hold on her, this was it, but with only one road home, he didn’t think it likely she would try.

Sure enough, not two minutes later, the Undead Ranger leapt through the gate.

Instantly, Tyron formed a sigil with his hands and spoke a single word of power. The gate flickered and began to shrink, the darkness fading as the power was drawn away and the way through the weave was closed.

Eagerly, Tyron stepped forward to interrogate Laurel, but she seemed strangely frozen in place, staring at nothing.

“Well?” he prompted her, giving a simultaneous mental nudge.

Even then, it took her a second to collect herself.

“Are you really going to go there?” she rasped.

Tyron grinned, a manic glint in his eye.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said.

It took a full day to make the final preparations for the trip. There were an absurd number of things to do, and Tyron didn’t have the energy to deal with all of it. He spent ten hours sleeping, making sure he was fully rested and prepared for what would be a gruelling sojourn into hellish danger. His minions worked like ants, swarming through the temple and out into the wastelands, working tirelessly under the direction of the wights to gather the supplies and materials he would need on the other side. When he finally awoke, he found a train of wagons lined up outside the temple, with ramps to get them up the steps and through the gateway.

His legion had been massing for days, and soon those who had been venturing out into the wasteland to fight kin would return. Hopefully there would be just enough time to work on the most direly needed repairs before it would be time to go through the gate. Tyron was unwilling to wait any longer.

There hadn’t been any sign of the Empire returning, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Someone had decided to pull back their half-hearted attack, but that only meant a more full-throated one was coming. If Tyron stayed in place, there was no hope for him to grow strong enough to fight off the might of the Empire by himself.

If he had the choice, he would not be massing his legion to move into the Realm of the Dead, but his hand had been forced.

The Temple complex boiled like a kicked beehive. Tyron had been deliberately secretive about his plans, and even now most people didn’t know what he intended to do. With very few exceptions, most of the city had no idea why the undead had gathered in such numbers in the heart of the city, and he felt no need to inform them.

The final hours of preparation were spent with his aunt and uncle, eating a fresh-cooked meal and reminiscing about the past.

He knew both wanted to talk him out of his current course of action, he could see it in the little hesitations in their speech and movement, and in the glances they sent each other when the silence grew too heavy. Of course, they knew him better than anyone, so they didn’t say it out loud. They knew better than to try.

Instead, the three Steelarms enjoyed their time together, smiling and laughing amongst themselves as Worthy told absurd stories and Meg poked gentle fun at him.

When he excused himself and returned to the temple, he found Rolan waiting for him, as requested, along with Elsbeth, who couldn't help but look faintly disgusted by the presence of the man.

“My gods demand that I serve,” Rolan stated, spreading his hands. “So I am here.”

He bowed, though Tyron felt he reeked of insincerity. Ignoring the man, the Necromancer turned to his old friend.

“And why are you here, Elsbeth?” his eyes narrowed. “You don’t have anything foolish planned, do you?”

“I came to say farewell to my oldest friend,” she said, glaring at him. “Is that a problem?”

“If that’s all, then fine,” he said.

He stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms.

“Don’t do anything stupid when I’m gone,” he told her.

She tried to punch him in the side, only to yelp in pain.

“Ouch! I’m not the one doing stupid things at the moment. Try to stay alive.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He released her and stepped back, smiling at Rolan, who had a strangely possessive look in his eye.

“Come with me,” he said. “We’ll have you ready to go in no time.”