The hooded stranger lingered before Havoc, its smile broadening into a sharpened-tooth grin, then moved to Havoc’s side. It folded its arm around Havoc’s shoulder, strumming its black shrivelled fingers through his vaporous chest, creeping an indecipherable chill down Havoc’s incorporeal spine.

‘We’ll watch this together, my boy. Share a laugh, have a word, and then I’m going to kill you,’ the stranger said, its tone casual, as if discussing social plans with an old friend. ‘Not in here, mind you. But out there, in what you would laughably call the “real world”.’

‘Who are—' Havoc began, but his words cut off as the stranger dissolved into wisps of black smoke, re-forming solidly before him.

‘There’ll be time for that later,’ the stranger said, its grin broadening into a twisted Cheshire smile. ‘I want you to watch. See what your master has made of us, despair, then die. All things in their proper order.’

Instinctively, Havoc parted his lips, ready to rebuke the accusation that he served anyone but himself, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by a truth he was not ready to accept.

The Heretic’s soul… The memory stirred, its weight pressing heavily on his shoulders, a lingering impression of the entity’s domineering presence. There had been no equality in their exchange. The details of the bargain struck with the being beyond time and space eluded him, yet its demands had already begun. However he tried to frame their association, there was no better word to describe it than servitude.

Scattering his thoughts, the stranger reappeared at his side. With a snap of its fingers, the gathered creatures resumed recounting their lives before the Dungeon—the misted retelling Havoc had not realised had paused until that moment.

‘Don’t start speaking in riddles, Lady Cassandria. If you have a plan, say it plainly,’ The eight-legged creature said, his voice laced with equal parts irritation and desperate hope.

The White Temptress—Cassandria—broke from her place, gracefully slithering across the manicured fungi to the centre of the gathered circle. Though far taller than the other creatures, she coiled her shimmering tail beneath her, lowering herself until level with the lowest of those Havoc assumed to be her subjects.

‘The gods are at war,’ Cassandria said, her tone heavy with grim resignation. ‘Countless worlds across the realms have already fallen in the wake of their conflict—a war that threatens all of creation.’ She turned slowly, meeting the gaze of each creature gathered before her, pausing as her eyes settled on Havoc.

Her gaze widened, recognition flashing in her expression. For a moment, she held his stare, her lips moving in silent apologies. The gathered creatures watched in silence, their faces masks of confusion.

Can she see me? Havoc asked himself, his mind racing to grasp what it might mean if she could. He opened his mouth to call out, but before any sound escaped, her eyes glazed over, the awareness of his presence fading from her face. She refocused her attention on those gathered around, laying her fingers elegantly atop her lips. Clearing her throat, she continued speaking.

‘We cannot escape the fallout of their war. But—' looking down, she paused. Her shoulders shuddered, sending faint ripples through the mist of her vaporous form. ‘We can delay the inevitable.’

Her words still in the courtyard, the creatures turning to face one another, exchanging silent resignation. The quiet held for a moment, before the stillness of the canopy was supplanted by a cacophony of raucous chatter.

‘Delay the inevitable?’ Dhalthantum spat, marching toward the Temptress, his tusked lower jaw stopping inches from Cassandria’s throat. ‘That isn’t good enough!’

‘What do you suggest,’ a voice called out amid the clamour. Dhalthantum turned toward the source, raising his powerful arms high above his broad shoulders.

‘I say what my clan has said from the start! We fight!’ he roared. ‘The royals have failed to protect our world!’ He thrust a pointed finger toward Cassandria before turning back to the crowd. ‘The gods have gone mad. Our path is clear—we will seize our destiny with hands soaked in divine blood!’

‘How do you mean to do these things?’ Cassandria spat, her voice like a cutting edge.

Facing the Temptress, Dhalthantum locked eyes with her, his glare unyielding. ‘The gods are mighty, but they are not almighty. They are stewards, after all.’

Again, he turned to address the crowd, arms raised in a commanding display. ‘Across the cosmos, there are whispers of a scheme—a dungeon to seal both Steward and Sentential alike. A prison where they can be contained long enough for us to gather the strength to slay the tyrants once and for all!’

The clamouring intensified. Hurried whispers spread from creature to creature, growing louder with each exchange. Amidst the throes of the surrounding chaos, Havoc struggled to make sense of the muttering, but every secret overheard shook the foundations of his world.

There were as many rumours about why humanity had been taken from the Aarth as there were lips to speak them. Some believed it was divine punishment—that Gaia, in her righteous fury over the excesses of mankind had forsaken her firstborn, locking them away so other life could thrive. Others believed the Dungeon was a test, and that once passed, humanity would partake in the gods’ divinity. Still others claimed there had never been an Aarth at all—that the Dungeon was all that ever was, and humanity’s belief in a sovereign world was nothing more than wishful self-aggrandisement.

Yet even those who doubted the Aarth’s existence longed for its green pastures. Mankind’s hope was to return to the world of their ancestors. But from the words spoken gravely by the creatures of mist, if there ever was an Aarth, it was likely now gone—a casualty of a war that left no victors.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

What was more, the Dungeon was no punishment—at least not for the mortals trapped within. It was a weapon of hope; a final act of desperate defiance against impossible odds.

Unfurling her tail, Cassandria rose above the gathering. She stretched out her arms, her shadow sweeping across the creatures, who shrank back beneath her towering form. With a voice like a thundering storm, she spoke. But not in words, rather, her voice was impelled directly into Havoc’s mind, and doubtlessly into the minds of those she commanded.

‘You will be silent before your queen!’ she pronounced, her voice booming with unquestionable authority. One by one, the creatures knelt, heads bowed. Even Dhalthantum could not resist her compulsion for long—his legs buckling even as he strained to remain upright.

‘What the Lord Commander says is true; there are those who intend to seal the gods,’ the Temptress said aloud, her voice soft yet unwavering like a mother chastising her child. ‘I have communed with those who hold such ambitions. But Dhalthantum has not mentioned how they mean to accomplish this feat. Their hopes hinge on a Steward’s cooperation. To craft this Dungeon they speak of—a prison to contain the divine—it could only be built inside a living god.’

A collective gasp filled the canopy as Cassandria’s words lingered in the air. With a wave of her arms, the Temptress seemed to lift her spell from the gathered creatures Those who had feet rose slowly to stand, while those with stranger forms ascended in their own ways.

‘Even if their plan succeeds,’ the serpent continued, ‘it will be too late for our world. What I propose will give us time. Forever is promised to no one. The best we can hope for is time.’

Once again, silence took grip of every throat. Havoc watched, his mind reeling as he processed the latest disclosures.

They must have succeeded, he concluded. He was living proof that they had. Did they subdue a god or was it a willing sacrifice?

Questions frothed in his mind, bubbling to the surface only to be swept aside by further mysteries.

The Dungeon was a living god imprisoning others of its kind. That explained how it possessed its own unquestionable will. It even explained why it desired Inheritors—to kill the gods trapped within. There was something else. A small detail almost lost within the whirlwind of revelations.

He said they’d be locked away for time… A time—not forever.

The gods would escape one day. Free to wage their war anew…

‘Your plan…’ called the meek, feminine voice of a bird-like creature. ‘If it succeeds, how long would it give us?’

‘We would have a millennia… Perhaps a little longer,’ Cassandria said, gliding toward the voice. She cupped the creature’s hand within her own, pressing it gently to her cheek.

‘I would never see my children grow old,’ the creature said, her voice wavering as her shoulders trembled within Cassandria’s embrace.

Cassandria returned to the centre of the gathering, her face cast downward as tears rippled the mist beneath her. She pinched the bridge of her nose between trembling fingers, then raised her head once more.

‘We will gather the citizens of Desire to this city and move it below the earth,’ the Temptress declared, her tone leaving no room for refusal. ‘I have spoken with the Eternarchs. They have consented as sacrifice. Their power will sever the city’s connection with the outside world. For a time, it will shield us from the spreading befoulment,’ she said, her voice slightly wavering.

‘How do you intend on transporting the entire city?’ The spider-creature asked, his earlier passion replaced by weary resignation.

‘That is where we shall need the spirits...’ The words left her lips, and in an instant, she froze, motionless, alongside the other misted creatures.

‘That’s where we’ll need the spirits,’ the stranger said, mimicking Cassandria’s resolute tone with exaggerated mockery. ‘Isn’t that a laugh, my boy?’ It added, brushing mist from Havoc’s shoulders, like a father tidying his son.

‘Who are you?’ Havoc spat, thrusting his arms in an attempt to break free from the stranger’s hold, only for his wrists to pass through its tangible grip.

‘You reek of them, you know,’ the stranger said, its grip tightening somehow, clamping down on Havoc’s incorporeal form. ‘Their scent is thick around all of your kind. But with you it’s especially pungent. It’s disgusting—I want it—you make me sick to my stomach, and I don’t even have one.’ the stranger said, its voice growing increasingly frantic.

‘Who are you!’ Havoc repeated shouting this time.

‘I’ve seen you out there. I’d wear your skin so much better,’ it said, ignoring Havoc entirely as it stroked the back of its withered hand across his cheek. ‘Do you think your world will accept me? I’m ready and willing to do its bidding, my boy.’

‘Who—‘

‘Quiet down! I’m still speaking!’ the stranger roared, its pointed teeth flashing as they filled both ends of the hood that shrouded its face in impenetrable darkness. ‘Apologies, my boy. I somewhat lost myself there. Of course you’d want to know who I am. You simply must forgive me—it’s been some time since I was last in civilised company. Although, I must admit, it’s quite perturbing you’d come all this way to kill me and still don’t even know who I am,’ it said, stepping backward and placing its hands to its hood.

‘I’ve had many names, and just as many faces,’ the stranger continued, lightly tapping its fingers atop its hood. ‘But I think the one I’ll enjoy the most—’ it said, its fingers curling around the seams. ‘Is yours,’ it finished, pulling back the hood to reveal Havoc’s own face staring back at him, amber eyes gleaming with malice, his expression twisted and grotesque.

‘Abominable spirit—’ Havoc muttered.

‘Noble spirit, my boy,’ the stranger corrected in Havoc’s voice. ‘Mimicking spirit, some have called me. Others might say I’m a sacrificial spirit—unwilling, mind you. You corporeals are so obsessed with your names.’ Pausing, the stranger stroked its chin, its expression contorting with mock thoughtfulness.

‘Alas, I don’t get it. But perhaps I’ll understand that compulsion after I’ve spent a few millennia with yours.’