Laz and Alice, two old friends from a time unknown to the men of Eskra and the dragon kin of Narshes, had long forgotten how far back their connection spans, and neither knew just how strong the link was that they shared between the two. Perhaps they would never find out, perhaps they'd realize the depth of their relationship when it's most crucial for their futures, who knows...

But the topic has long changed and shifted from that of mere friendship, towards that of comrades, of battle, of magic, and of sacrifice. It was the worst kind of fate for their story, to end up like this.

As pawns for a cult of a friend, and for one to not have any memory of the friendship.

A stage in a theater was lit and set for a spectacle, a play, one would call it.

However, even with a performance of such epic proportions, there's not a single viewer who's not distracted, not even the actors themselves. They were dead focused and nearly tearing up from the sights of the actors.

One of them was Zabulus, in control of Aeneus' body. Playing the hero of the story.

The other, Alice, playing his adversary, and she played a truly compelling and charming woman, charismatic and powerful in her own right, she would make a wonderful villain...

If not for the fact that her mind, heart, and very soul, were of a monster of the highest caliber; a monster that currently hungers so much she could eat the audience in all of her beauty, and a monster that she herself would rather not be eaten.

If one were to look closely at their situation, the relationship they had between each other was more alike a god and their worshippers. As Zabulus claimed, for all this, they'd make a wonderful priestess, albeit unintentional and a true inconvenience in his case.

Despite the change in his bodies appearance, the armor adorned by the Dragon Guard helped him pass by as the same person he was. He could even act the same due to being able to partially share soul and memory. Albeit... his horns were quite uncomfortable in this helmet.

Anywho, a handsome face and muscular build was not a hard feat for a member of his species...

He looked rather like an orc in his own eyes. But not ugly. At least to humans.

He looked somewhat like Aeneus and bore many scars like him, albeit these were superficial in actual meaning now.

His breath was heavy under the armor, and his legs felt heavy, sore and tired from his running all across this building. There was no chance to pause or catch his breath, for he had a play to finish.

With the air already filled to the brim, he didn't want to waste the opportunity to get closer to his 'subordinates'. He glanced towards one who was cowering and shaking, pleading. "Oh... great Dragonkin... I am sorry, please give my soul the chance to serve the goddess, take my life instead of my brother's, please!!" His face looked of sorrow as he held his head high and eyes closed, his hand trembled as he bowed down in submission, waiting for the Dragonkin to deliver his death. "No, I... I shall not slay a comrade or brother-in-arms... and not family. I shall not be the end of his line..."

"HEHEEHEEEEHEEEAAHHHAAA HA HAAA!" The pleading man laughed maniacally, tears streaming down his face. The screams sounded more akin to a person who had gone through complete madness after suffering far beyond mortal imagination and sanity. His laughter sounded terrifying, like the cries and calls of the demons of the underworld, screaming and reaching into his brain, forcing his body and mind into the ways of hell itself. "Yooou, will have to. That. Orrrr, your very goddess will turn her back on yoooouuu. Unless." He trailed off, smirking.

He got on the stage where Zabulus and Alice were standing, "Sacrifice yooour very being as I have... and spare thiiis pathetic liiiife," The man stopped talking in a calm manner, staring intensely at both of the players and continuing his speech with a demonically twisted, high-pitched shrieking.

Of course, this was all part of the play.

"You demon!" Zabulus said loudly with fury, clenching his fist and unsheathing the blade from the scabbard that was in the hold of his belt.

He cut through the air so fast the sword almost didn't make a sound. 'Ouch...' He wanted to say, but he couldn't let his image falter in front of his audience. He had to impress, as his body weeped in black liquid from the new wound on his neck.

The sight of this caused shock among the spectators and caused them to panic. The crowd in front of the stage rose in a cacophony. Screams rang out as a massive wall of chaos, insanity, and sheer horror spread across as a man died in front of them.

No... these weren't screams of horror. This was a hysterical laughter of rage.

No... these weren't screams, simply, the faces of spectators were being rewritten, changed, distorted, warped, altered... into one of pure hatred and resentment for the man who attempted to defile their goddess by cutting down another.

The laughing continued. Loudly and violently. So intensely it shook the ground beneath the feet of those on stage.

The laughing wasn't coming from Zabulus' body, for that matter. Not from the Dragon Guard, or even Alice.

"WHAT A BEAUTIFUL GARDEN, TRULY!" a laughing man said.

"Ahhh, my daughter, she's so pretty, so elegant, oh yes, she's definitely the one who's got this situation figured out." An older female voice said.

"Yes... what an intelligent little thing she is." Another one agreed with the lady.

A fourth voice chuckled to himself softly and shook his head slowly. His response wasn't audible, or maybe it wasn't his voice at all... "She's lovely indeed! Ahh... the goddess will be satisfied with this vessel!"

Many upon many people were all around in groups and in crowds, some all on their own, others with no less than five others. The laughing went on. Some of the men and women even danced, laughed and sang songs of praises for this so called 'Goddess' of theirs, as well as 'Zabulus'.

They sang their praises, they did. The song went as it did;

"So glad you came, to the garden, to the Garden, I'll be here for you! Glad you're with me! We are alive! You have given us life and purpose. To this Garden, this so called 'Doom', Hahaa...."

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Alice remained expressionless, her hands behind her back. "Ahhh! my oh my! looks like I have to go to... the doctor!" She said to Zabulus sarcastically, although she wasn't sure he heard her.

She slowly walked away as their strings grew taught with danger, as if tugging on her nerves as she walked offstage, trying not to get noticed.

"Enough!!" Zabulus cried, clenching his fists tightly in frustration, unable to hide the look in his eyes.

Alice took this chance to swiftly exit the stage and reach the edge of the balcony on the first floor of this 'masterpiece'. From here she would get a better view of the 'people' gathered, her attention was fixed on her main focus, though, this focus didn't stop her from wanting to eat everyone in the room.

It all felt wrong... she didn't even get to play her role in the play! Zabulus stole her spot as the protagonist! How dare he?!! She almost screamed... and it wasn't even worth yelling anyway... though she was meant to play the villain anyway, but still couldn't.

After a while, the screams began to calm down and the laughs, which were once jovial and genuine, began to be replaced with a silence so intense and heavy it could've stopped a man's blood cold, a fear that made men cry out, and tears rolled down his cheeks like rain drops onto a window pane. Was it his presence, that resembled that of an ungodly being?

That, was her cue, and so, she descended the stairs that would lead her into the theatre's hallway, there, Laz was sitting at a table, writing on a piece of paper and humming lightly. His usual smirk never left his lips.

As Alice walked out into the darkness, the walls illuminated brightly for a split second then settled back into a natural level of illumination.

"Laz? What on earth are you doing...?" She said as she approached, a slight waver in her voice, something else was lurking underneath that made her tremble.

His face quickly brightened, the smile became more sincere. He raised his hand, waving gently, signaling a sign for his friend to come sit next to him and help her relax.

His hair was now much shorter, before it used to be a ponytail like an old man would have, now it was a normal man's hair, though this style seemed more suitable to him, for he now wore a simple dark red suit, his pants and shoes being made of the finest leather.

On his nose sat glasses which were dark brown and circular, almost like those glasses of ancient time. He took a cigarette out of a black metal case and lighted the cig.

"So, I wanted to ask," Laz said, "Where did we meet? Anywhere?" He smiled. The question was as innocent as a flying insect in the open world of Eskra. Yet the words spoken had such immense impact on her.

To understand a relationship, to love each other, to care for each other so dearly and unconditionally is something the man always cherished in the depths of his soul. Yet, now, he recalls none of it.

To know this is torture to Laz and the people around him, and he doesn't understand a single damn word of this pain. It is merely a curse, the feeling of unrecognition and loss of the self and those he once knew. As much as he felt it, he didn't register nor understand it at all.

Not yet, at the very least, maybe one day.

"We, uhm. met... in a tower. Well, to be more specific. It was me, the three of us in a tower. It was... during a war, and... you were the leader... of one side? Something about that tower. That's all." She wasn't sure. So she lied to protect his sanity.

"Oh! I see! So it was me, Zabulus, you, and Aeneus, right?" Laz asked innocently, without an ounce of sarcasm.

She blinked.

"Who's Aeneus...?"

Laz laughed. Then his expression grew grim at a realization.

"Oh... t-that's nobody. A friend who died recently." He frowned.

She saw it in his expression that told her it was better not to press on, so, they remained quiet.

"Okay, tell me, what exactly have you written about, if you're writing at a time like this, surely the situation has gotten... tense," she trailed off. The black ink dripping. Sweat drops forming at a molecular level. Eye lenses enlarged, veins pulsating and pumping, heart beating steadily in her ears.

Laz smiled warmly.

"Well, nothing too bad, only good things, the good memories. Me, Zab, and you." He paused, "And sometimes, my wife."

"Your wife? You never-"

He was quick to interrupt, as if anticipating this response.

"We all have different memories. Zab is our guide in this adventure." He paused again. "What do you remember?"

He smiled, warmly. And Alice blinked.

Her mouth was parted, about to reply. But Laz didn't move and neither did he take note of this.

"I... why do you want to know? What do you want from... just, this?" Her expression shifted and twisted, contorting in a way that was all too visible.

"Relax...! Don't you see what the goal is, dear?"

"I can't read your mind, Laz..."

Meanwhile, the cultists were in the audience. They had all returned and resumed their duties; cheering. Some watched closely the two actors on stage, others ignored it.

Yet their silence was a message for all, the scene unfolded like some tragedy of ancient plays and all present knew this was something not unlike death, but something closer, more intimate to them, a communion.

In the far reaches of the world, where nothing of note lies, not even a single pebble, a figure sits. A man sits in an empty chair. He watches over through an orb as it glows and glows, like a row of candles lit by a singular campfire. He had a long gray beard and a single robe resembling an old magician, with a bald dome that seemed to make him shine brighter. "I see. The anomaly is growing."

He took another look through his orb. And looked deeply into his globe of vision, staring intensely at the images being portrayed and moving with quickening speeds and rapid flitting movements and sights, noises and conversations, the events are endless and appear before and after him in real-time. The sights of Zabulus and his cult.