Within the bowels of the earth, forgotten by the city of Men that stood ignorant above, dwelt a hallowed realm untouched by time. There was nary a sign of life there, and yet it was in pristine condition. Its architectural design was massive in every sense there was. Its massive walls and gothic structures was a sight to see, as the large cavern allowed it to be viewed in its eerie splendor.

Despite its ancient nature, there were braziers and sconces that burned with unnatural fire, illuminating the voluminous cavern with an eldritch light. It allowed one to see the massive statues that were carved into the walls themselves. Depictions of hooded beings in ornate armor. To the left of the opened gate rose mighty stone warriors who held their vigil proudly; their faces hidden beneath masks that envisaged a wide range of emotion, and clasped swords within armored fists were aloft upon their breasts, each of them regal as kings in their mausoleums.

Yet facing them were figures opposite in every seeming way. The procession of the right depicted only  morbid caricatures of undeath, desecrated warriors whose dessicated hands showed only a profane mockery of the living reaching out as if to grasp the very vitality of their counterparts; their skulls carved in such a way as to convey a bitter hatred that persisted beyond the veil of death. Such masterful stonework spoke of a level of sophistication unknown in the current modern era, of knowledge long forgotten in the dusty annals of history; and yet the ravages of time had seemed to spare the city whole-cloth. An unseen force bound the stone to its shape, ignoring such petty concerns as weathering, dust, or fracturing.

A silence persisted here, much as the stars persisted in the world above. More than a sense, it was a tangible sensation that crawled around the wide paved streets and hollow, dry fountains in the city squares. To disturb such a silence was to profane the very nature of the city itself. And yet, disturbed it was. Near the central castle rang noises of activity. The pitter-patter of feet, and the disparate metallic clanging of various armored parts replaced the noiseless gloom. The living were about in the necropolis, the first signs of life existing within these walls for an unnumbered span of years.

There were two distinct groups: the pursued, and the pursuers. Those being hunted were a desperate gaggle of slaves; their hunters, on the other hand, were a well-armed group of men in metal armor with grim expressions.

All it took for the hunted to be doomed was for them to slip upon the polished stonework of the silent city. Malnourished and fearful, they gracelessly toppled over each other into a disheveled heap, each of them barely having the strength to stand up again, much less aid each other as they faced the challenge of a broad series of steps rising before them.

They were three angelis, stripped of their wings and shackled by magical bindings. Their once sacred appearances were marred by ugly strips of ragged cloth that hung upon their emaciated forms like cruel drapes upon a window that only revealed horrors. Their flesh, tortured and blasphemed by blade, brandings and the perversions of men, struggled to keep them alive. Terror fed them; there was no looking back, not now. They could only force themselves forward, each step a new fight and a new victory against torment and suffering.

Behind them, their pursuers had no such difficulties traversing the paved streets with their well-shod boots. From deeper within the labyrinthine warren of avenues, the escapees heard the tongue of man being spoken in heated cries.

“Find those slaves!” One said in a tone that clearly carried authority.The natural acoustics of the cavernous depths only served to warp the sound until it became something twisted and obscene, an echo of pure malice that sundered the souls of those who heard it. This served to motivate them forward, as they tried to help one another ascend the steep steps of the castle they had inevitably run into.

It was a desperate bid for survival; one last chance of rebellion against their cruel captors. They had no time to admire or even question the nature of the underground city they had found; they only knew that perhaps, in this place, they could possibly be free or die trying.

“Incompetent brutes! Must I do everything myself?!” The same voice muttered, as its source came into view, watching the retreating forms of his slaves that had just barely ascended the steps. He was a noble, fresh-faced and barely over nineteen summers, yet his eyes held a wealth of cruelty within them.

“Sorry milord, we got lost!” Whined one man dressed in shabby plate mail, as he was joined by four others that were similar to him in attire. They were several years older than the noble, yet they dared not look him in the eye.

“You’re worthless! Use your heads damn it! Now hurry up and go catch my slaves! I did not spend a fortune just for them to lead us to.. Whatever this place is!” He yelled in indignation and impatience, pointing a soft gloved hand at the castle into which his slaves had so recently fled

“But lord, shouldn't we call for the others?” One of the men suggested, but the noble only returned an unhappy glare.

“I don’t care! Get them now, and we can worry about whatever this place is later!” He insisted as he glowered towards the five. With little choice in the matter, they looked to each other for a brief moment in hesitation before they began to ascend the steps, and unlike their master, they felt fear from the ancient place they had trespassed upon.

With great reluctance and not a little timidity, they began to speed up and enter the large castle. It had an excessive amount of gothic-like design, with its interior decorated with unmarred furniture and ornate life-like statues. However they did not leisurely gawk at the sight, and instead they began their search for their master’s property.

Yet be it their incompetence, or the large labyrinthine nature of the castle itself, it took them far longer than expected to find the slaves. In that time, they laid witness to the eerie nature of the palace, as its lights were on, with furniture and various other items scattered about, akin to an abode that was still inhabited. Much like every other building they had checked on their way here, there were no signs of life visible. It was as if the people had simply disappeared the moment the interlopers had stepped through the gates.

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Though the strange nature of their surroundings eroded their courage, but as warriors they steeled their hearts and continued their search. The castle, much as every other building within the necropolis, had evidently been built to withstand great violence. It was more apt to describe the entire city as a singular fortress, a bulwark made to defend against something. Their search then led the second floor of the castle, towards an ostentatious hall that lay within the eastern wing.

It had been nearly a full hour since they had entered the castle and its size and scale utterly baffled their sense of direction. The paths they took were clear and well lit, yet there was some force that befuddled their senses. In the end however, as their patrols converged upon the ultimate heart of the keep, they discovered their quarry within the great throne room.

Huddled upon the central dais were the slaves that futilely attempted escape. All three were wingless females of varying age, but as with all angelis their true age could not be properly discerned. This was of little concern to the five warriors, who grinned maliciously as their leader strode into the room.

“You little fucks, giving us such a hard time! That posh fucking prince don’t pay us no more than a warrior’s due for this shit.” He swore at them as he stomped their way. His men followed, but looked around in silent awe at the walls of the room.

“O-Oi, Boss..” One tried to call his attention, but he did not listen. “Not now! I’m pissed, I could be up there in Ahnkelis enjoying the pleasures of the finest courtesans. But we’re here in whatever the fuck this place is, thanks to you stupid whores!”

Irrationally he took out a knife, and seeing his clear malign intent the slaves huddled together in fear. They could no longer run, their bodies were utterly spent and they had cornered themselves. With a confidence born of anger, the man roughly yanked one of them to him, with his hand then finding its way to her throat.

“Disgusting angelis, you’re not worth this fucking trouble! You deserve to be fucking punished!” Swearing roughly, he slowly choked the girl, and slowly drove the knife into her shoulder, drawing blood and causing a strangled shriek of pain from her. She tried to struggle, but it only elicited another blow of the knife from the cruel man, this time on her forearm. Her cries of pain made way to sobbing, as hopelessness finally reached her heart.

Blood dripped down from her wounds and into the grey tiles of the room, splattering against it and painting it with the rich sanguine of life.

“Yeah, cry you bitch. Don’t you fucking forget you’re only slaves!” He yells as he lets go of the girl to look behind him. “You four, go and get them. If the prince asks what happened to this one, tell him she tried to fight back.”

Uncaring and impatient, he turned away to begin walking back to the hall that led them here. He did not bother with cleaning the blood from his knife as he sheathed it. Though just as he had passed the archway of the hall, the screams of one of his men boomed in the room, eclipsing the sobs of the three slaves.

Turning quickly, he saw a man set ablaze by emerald fire. With a burning form rising from a throne he did not notice. He stared at it, mouth agape in shock and terror as the figure became clear. A king of old come again, dressed in resplendent robes and ostentatious jewelry, whose head was a fleshless skull that smiled with some malevolent motivation.

Millennia ago, when the mountains were still young and the seas but new-formed, I had sworn an oath of blood. To preserve the tenuous balance of the world, in memory of my wife that gave herself to save me and our people. For her who loved the world so dearly, I slept. But my sworn oath had a binding compulsion to it.

Just as her loss had driven me to damnation, should her sacrifice and memory be forgotten, and worse still desecrated, I would return. My flames will burn once more, and my legions shall rise with me to rectify that treachery. And so I have risen, and with my two feet taken possession of the world.

With the Gods having betrayed me... With mortal men trespassing on my hallowed halls? How quaint.

It spoke in an ancient tongue, filled with power and verbose intensity. The very reverberations of its speech resonated with the potency of ages; ancient and as powerful as the Gods themselves.

Within the span of a heartbeat after finishing its proclamation, another one of the warrior’s men was set in flames that rapidly ate away at his armor and flesh. It was here that he tried to turn around, to try and run, but as he tried he found his route of escape walled off by the immensely imposing figure of a towering knight. An undead covered in flame just like the one on the throne, its blaze burned a more “normal” color, if such a thing could be said of it, but it did not seem to matter much to the knight as it swung its blade towards his neck, decapitating him effortlessly.

The other two humans would face a similar fate to their compatriots, set ablaze before becoming nothing more than charred husks. The slaves would be more fortunate, as the burning undead looked to them with indiscernible emotion. He spoke again however, in that ancient tongue that not even the angelis slaves could understand.

As always, humanity degenerates into such cruel child-like beasts. Pathetic.

From behind them, ten more undead, similarly wreathed in flame, entered the room. They disregarded the slaves, and simply stood to the sides, carrying their black blades and burning form with stoic silence.While they remained motionless, their enthroned liege would begin to approach the bewildered slaves, looking down upon them as he stroked his fake beard.

It is time that order returns again.