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-Layer 10-
Cogs oiled by the blood of the lost churned their slow, methodical rhythm in a pit of darkest darkness.
Something watched as the primordial ooze beneath it bubbled suddenly. A child was taking its first breaths and found itself wanting.
Then the will broke through. This child was strong. It had always been strong.
The watching entity had felt that will as it had eaten the child. The same being had then silently kept its vigil as time ticked past for the mortal shells that trundled above, waiting for the day when death would triumph, and the world of the surface would be pulled back into the writhing womb of creation.
Another bubble. Another cog turns. The key twists in the lock, and meets resistance.
But the watcher is patient. The will is strong. It will serve.
The cogs twist for the final time, then they break apart and scream their cries of agony into uncaring air. Silence dominates for but a fraction of an instant. A moment in time is lost, then gained: a roar emanates from the deep.
The bubbling tar of potential boils over, and out of the grail comes first one skeletal hand, then an arm, forcing their way into life. Their solid cocoon breaks away from the burnt bones that spill smoke into the dead sky.
More eyes open in the abyss. More have come to see the rising of the child. The quiescent watchers of the dark - they have all been waiting with the patience of those for whom eternity is simply another tick on the clock.
Then the bones of the little one begin to quake and contort – the undulating uterus beneath it starts latching to the body, repairing and rebuilding, scurrying up the arms and into the empty eye sockets and regenerating what the child’s memories demanded. Like a caring mother, the scuttling void obliged, and the Watchers gazed on with adoration and respect. Already, it was a commander - a champion fetus that could order even its own mother to die for it.
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When the muscle was grafted and flayed skin knitted back over the bones of the newborn, the Watchers began their chant of praise, raising up their new brother with a song that resonated through the halls of their debased kingdom and touched the minds of all their thralls.
The heart of The Everloft was throbbing – beating for the being that ceased its newborn cries and stood now erect upon the gestating ooze that was starting to solidify under its feet.
Two eyes crawled out of the empty sockets of the newblood’s face and draped themselves over the dark, soulless void of its innards. The creature stood, naked, staring up at the ever-increasing wails of the living mass of dark that encased it.
And then it heard their collective cry. It was the same echo it had heard in the scuttling void of its new mother’s womb – the Call that had given it the strength to claw its way out:
From the condemned depths shall a champion rise, vanguard of Chain, firm of purpose. He shall come as a thief, and usher in the severing of the Numinos. Now, he wakes from the endless sleep to reap the Harvest he began. He shall be our progeny. Our wing of darkness. Our shadow to cast out all light. He shall come to seek the end, but shall lead us to the new beginning.
The newborn listened to these words with the ears that had once belonged to its mortal shell. Yet, it heard them also somewhere deep within the reconstructed bones and empowered blood that ran through its veins. It clenched its fists and felt energy throbbing within. It was beyond strength.
His power shall grow stronger than strongest! His reign shall be longer than longest! His name – his name they shall cry on the surface as their souls are dragged to the depths. His hands shall stretch to a billion worlds and etch his name in the stars themselves.
The newborn stretched the strengthened limbs that had been bequeathed to him, watching with mute fascination as the last residue of primordial bile washed away from his skin. He turned to see the crimson-eyed shadows stalk towards him, secreted from the boundless bellies of their masters. He remembered what he had called them once, fumbling in his ignorance: Voidspawn. All around him their armada was dripping into existence – each being of the Old World offering a piece of themselves to form part of the blade that would break the Chains forever.
The newborn’s mind sifted through memories, finding the impetus for the Calling tucked away in the foundations of his being. He breathed in and smelled the confluence of shadow surrounding him. The hunger for vengeance. The desire for retribution that had festered within the denizens of the dark since the beginning of their imprisonment. He ran a thin hand through his silver hair and watched the most voracious of the Voidspawn kneel before him on their scintillating pincers. Like monks at prayer. Like noble supplicants.
Like conquerors.
The newborn let a smile play across his face as he watched them prostrate themselves before him. For it was through their moment of fealty that he remembered his name.
"Well," Jael said. "Shall we begin?"