Walking from a flickering portal akin to the most beautiful night sky supported on a golden ring was a man of a tanned complexion with hair and eyes darker than coal dressed in plain grey clothes. A human, despite his many qualities, defies the norms of the species.

There were a few seconds as El Shaddai blinked, and the world unfolded before his dark pupils to a sight surpassing any he had ever witnessed or conceived. Mountains so high they scraped the upper layer of the stratosphere and encompassed kingdoms and empires.

Flourishing around was a flora of shapes, sizes, and colors, all so eerily normal, simultaneously alien and exotic but mesmerizing in their daunting beauty and horrific appearance. And a fauna was standing equal in all manner. Birds of hundreds of scintillating wings, or so it what appeared to be, were flying high in the sky while gargantuan giraffe-like six-legged creatures feasted upon the sweet fruits growing from low-hanging clouds.

It was enough to shatter the mind of the common man. Even for him, a Perpetual who had a recent growth of his mind, body, and soul, it was less than simple to comprehend the scale presented to him. The same was true for this situation; it was new, and he was humble enough to admit he was out of his depth.

This planet–Yuggoth–of which he had very little complete knowledge let him understand enough to realize it went against all he perceived as normal, as universal laws, from what it was, its movement and location. It was an eye-opening experience. In other circumstances, he would excitedly study it, but it was not the time.

It had been in the contracts, each of thousands meaning warped in one, a trap yet not. A poisoned present yet void of toxin, a simple wish to be granted for the impossible, and this was the epitome of these contracts, the reason El Shaddai's Creator–his Father for all intent and purpose as none alive had any authority to be considered as such–had called him to walk upon this grand world.

Peaceful minutes flew by with company, the ever-humming noise of the wildlife, until a tall creature warped before him. His eyes widened as he didn't foresee nor feel the fabric of reality and unreality shift.

A creature double his height had appeared in front of him. It was draped in a long, ornate ceremonial robe of pure black with an accent of gold. Around the neck was a golden chain ending with a pentagram pendant thrumming with divine blessings. Below it was a pair of furry arms interlocked together with various rings not dissimilar to what he had seen Oll uses.

As for the upper pair of arms, equally fluffy or the hands precisely. The tiny clawed ends of the two thumbs, index fingers, and pinkies extended outward, the tip of the pinky pointing downward while the annular and middle fingers curled on the other in a way that formed a five-pointed star. A religious symbol, he reckons, and the most fundamental aspect of magic.

As for the face, it was deceptively innocent, yet it wasn't an illusion. It was real in both flesh and soul. If one comparison could be drawn, it was natural and pleasant to observe mixes of a giant flying fox and a tiger cub. It was, to an incredible degree, both able to affect the sensible hearts and the cold-blooded ones to underestimate the threat.

It was a predator; there was no more apt qualification—a very dangerous predator.

'Only past the last few days.' The man remarked, before the Shard of Suneater, his chance of surviving, nevertheless winning against this shapeshifting emotovore, a Khrave from the scant knowledge he had been given and not any random one would have been nihil.

Or so it was his immediate impression. He had the raw might, but the Perpetual lacked the skills and knowledge of someone his power should have. He was young, inexperienced, and lacking. What is the use of a weapon if it misses? None, the opposite; in fact, untamed power was dangerous for all.

He was a big fish in a small pond, though the word puddle fitted better, it was evident by the battle above where the mere remnant of echoes proved these facts… for now, that is. He did not intend to remain stagnant, not that he could if desired. Growth was an inherent part of him. How could it not be if Humanity was to survive and thrive in the face of the tribulations to come?

"My greeting, El, or would you prefer Enkidu? Regardless, I'm known as Majun, and I'm the Archdeacon of the Church of the Beast and Herald of Darkness." The winged xeno bowed respectfully, his eyes studying him critically, "Let me guide your path to your destiny."

And so El Shaddai nodded and followed any alternative conceptually impossible as was hurting Majun. The Lord of the Dawn was meticulously thorough, and any facets of the contracts were unbreakable.

Though that would be an exaggeration, the energy necessary to ignore this condition was immense, far beyond conceivability for the next several dozen millennia. And even then, not all could be rid of. It was an impossible web the Perpetual willingly tangled himself in. But the results were worth this much sacrifice.

Their march was one of silence, for no words were necessary between them. But it was relatively short, for their destination was at the rocky base of one of the surrounding mountains, a cliff at first glance.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

One where all plant life progressively stopped to grow until naught remained but grasses and rose of grey to ebony pigmentation feasting upon the deathly silence from the absence of airflow and the artificial warm ray of lights from the sky drowned in the oppressive presence.

A familiar presence he could sense through the silent golden ring around his left thumb. The main attraction for El Shaddai was not the suffocating ambiance of joyful anticipation and vengeance.

It was a gate made of a black crystal-like material. It was tall and large, so much so the tallest peaks of Earth were the only comparison, a pale comparison at that. The design etched spoke of history before history, of the birth of the universe, the seeding of life, and tales in the thousands, each rich and complex. All of it was of major importance, but what composed the gate was just as much.

It spoke of the creators.

'Blackstone… what is the quantity here, and how little is it to the totality used?' He internally questioned. Through the memories of the Queen of Ys, he knew how valuable this material was. Able to amplify and nullify the energy of the mind to absolution but a material that requires the strongest natural phenomenon to be produced.

Yet here was proof that this impossible substance capable of godly feats was abundant. It would be for a mortal if it were made of gold and precious gemstone, a show of wealth and power impossible to repeat…

"No… it is not." He mumbled to himself, it wasn't impossible, and he refused to consider it as such.

"At-Tawil Prime, the First Gate of R'lyeh, the fallen city of the traitorous Old Ones and where Lord Hoopa's prison lay at its heart." The Archdeacon breathed, gliding across the black grass to the gate that, on many planets, would breach the barrier of space and air.

Then it opened; it was quick, but the wind did not pick up. The mere motion of something so heavy moving at speed far beyond sound was enough to destabilize the biosphere and kill millions upon millions if it were on Earth, but here, it did nothing of the like. It was a silent and peaceful opening to a world of shadow and dark fumes where the dead capital became visible.

Word failed El Shaddai to describe it as the Khrave prompted him to follow. The creation of dimension, be it for storage, habitation, and any possible alternative born from new space to exploit, wasn't new, but the extent of what was done here… the Solar System wouldn't even begin to fill this area, and the sensation of transition was absent.

Once again, his place in the grand scheme of things was hammered, but it only showed what could be achieved. The silent walk on, the omnipresent darkness continuing to grow and grow as they moved through routes and portals with only the sound of their footsteps and breathing.

Then Majun stopped, a pleased smile full of fang on his face as he took five of the rings from his lower set of hands, "May the Lord guide you from there henceforth; take these keys and do as you must. Follow these instructions, and you shall survive; do not walk back, do not look back, and do not falter, or else the darkness will devour you whole. Farwell, young one, may our path lead us to meet again."

And stepping through a nearby door, he vanished from El Shaddai's transhuman and psychic senses, leaving him alone in the capital from which none could return, the hungering monster of the dark with the five rings, the five keys hovering.

With these pieces of information, he advanced, never straying from the path and his gaze forward to his destination. His journey continued, and the darkness exponentially amplified in strength, robbing him of seeing beyond his extended hand. At the same time, it slowly but surely began to eat away at his heavily enchanted clothes.

With a frown, his soul pulsed, and a sphere of golden light expanded outward, banishing the devouring darkness and revealing the remains of the once-pulsing heart of the greatest civilization to have ever existed. It was discerningly worse in appearance, not for it was inferior but as the result of the environment corroding everything that was is and would be.

It was daunting in many ways, but the Perpetual had no option but to go on, and so with a stern expression and calm mind, he steadily progressed deeper into the belly of the Beast's gilded cage. And the deeper he went, the abyss strengthened, the angular and organic architecture vanishing to one melted and oozing while his shield of light fought on, forcing him to push himself if he didn't wish to be digested alive.

Soon, there was no sound, smell, physical and psychic sensation, only the purest of black as if none of the above ever existed. A world of nothingness where time lost all meaning, for it did not exist as was space; left and right were inverted with up and down as none could exist in a plane with no concept of direction and distance.

It was a place of total sensory deprivation, a place of eternal wanting, craving, and desire that would and could ever be fulfilled no matter how minute. It was a place of madness, the final destination at the end of the road where souls evaporated.

Yet he walked on. He had no choice as the world wished to consume him, the flickering candle in the snowstorm at the apex of the moonless and starless night. His only company, the six rings that chaotically pulsed, methodically guiding him forward on his labyrinthine journey, the journey his life was constructed for, his primary purpose of existence.

Then his eyes saw it.

A strange bottle oozing the darkness made manifest. Its bottom was a flat golden ring turning into a smooth ring of unknown material painted pale blue, shifting to mauve as the head thinned out. Then was the cork, a horned head with a top knot, his mind tied to the vision of his Creator.

The Flask of Sealing.

The Perpetual carefully approached, his light holding with great difficulty as the darkness tried and slowly succeeded in extinguishing him. His body wanted to run, but there was no walking back. His mind was despairing at his imminent doom, but there was no looking. His soul was dying in the remnant of a prisoned God, but the only path was forward.

He grabbed the flask, and the grinning darkness agonizingly ate away the upper layer of the skin on his right hand, yet he pushed forward. A ring was slotted, the simple jewelry melding back to the bottle.

His muscles followed next as maniacal laughter echoed in the silence of the darkest night. But he kept on, and a second was slotted, then a third–his hand was nothing but bone–the boy that would be king screamed.

Yet he did not look back as his face melted off, revealing pulsing muscles and wide eyes, and a fourth ring was put back. He did walk back, for he could not as he added the fifth ring, his legs vanishing in the gleeful darkness.

His sight was robbed, but he did not falter. His body was no more but a dying husk, his light a flickering ember, but he did not falter as the sixth and final ring was brought. The darkness roared. Then, with a final push and a hand that was little more but melting biological tissue, he opened the strange bottle.

The darkness stilled for one moment. It was all-encompassing, then in the next, it was gone, and a melodious voice full of ecstasy, pleasure, relief, and pride echoed across countless souls, yet El Shaddai's own was the focus. His soul quivered before the Aeldari God he had freed from his cursed prison.

"Freedom at last! My greatest thanks, my little light!" The God loudly clamored, a monstrous body of pure muscles inching down the pile of organs that once was human. It was a minor inconvenience that was fixed by the snap of one of his six floating claws, and the Numen of Light was healed.

Hoopa, the Archdjinni of the Rings, the Fallen God, the Betrayer, the Original Sin, Aeldari God of Darkness, Magic, and Travel, was freed.

The box had been opened, and the beast had walked out… a signal was rang, and the barriers were ripped apart for change had settled.