Slow, steady steps approached the towering golden chaos gates within a large, dark and empty hall.

The gates themselves were a masterpiece, forged from gold and silver that seemed to shimmer with golden hues at any angle.

At first glance, the surface of the gates appeared textured, as if merely decorative. But upon closer inspection, the intricate engravings became apparent—thousands of tiny, meticulously carved figures and symbols, each one telling a story, each one representing a fragment of the cult's long and brutal history.

The engravings began at the very bottom of the gates, where the foundation of the Chaos Cult was depicted. There, the first Karmin stood, his face a mask of fierce determination, his hands raised as if summoning power from the very earth itself. Around him, the first followers knelt, their expressions filled with a mixture of fear and reverence.

The lines were so fine that even the strands of their hair were visible, their postures conveying both devotion and the weight of uncertainty that came with pledging allegiance to a new order.

Above the founding scene, the engravings flowed upward, chronicling a cycle that repeated over hundreds of years—the Chaos Cult's rise to power and subsequent falls, each era marked by the reign of a new Karmin.

The scenes captured the tumultuous nature of their history: the moments of glory when the cult flourished, followed by inevitable periods of decline, as if to illustrate the inescapable fate that awaited each Karmin.

Battles were depicted in vivid detail—tiny armies clashing, swords raised high, the anguish of the defeated etched into their faces.

The cult's enemies were shown in various forms—some were faceless, mere representations of opposition, while others were carved with a painstaking level of detail, their armors distinct, their eyes wide with horror as they faced the cult's relentless advance.

Further up the gates, the story shifted, depicting moments of triumph—cities falling under the cult's dominion, fortresses crumbling, and the blood-red banners of the cult being raised high above conquered lands.

The engravings showed the expansion of their influence, the cult's priests standing tall, their robes flowing around them as they preached to newly subjugated masses. There were scenes of rituals, circles of robed figures, their hands joined, their faces hidden beneath deep hoods, as the power of chaos was invoked. The delicate carvings captured the eerie glow of summoned magic, the twisted shapes that emerged from the darkness in response to the cult's call.

Near the very top, the present day was depicted. The most recent Karmin stood there, his figure larger and more commanding than the others, his gaze cold and unforgiving. Around him, the remnants of the cult were shown—diminished but still formidable, their loyalty unwavering even in the face of near annihilation. The final engraving was of the golden gates themselves, a recursive image that showed the cult standing before these very doors, as if to say that the story was not yet finished, that the legacy of the Chaos Cult was still being written.

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The engravings were so intricate that one could spend hours tracing each line, uncovering each story, each moment of triumph and tragedy. They were more than mere decoration—they were a history lesson, a warning, and a promise all at once. To stand before these gates was to confront the weight of eight centuries of bloodshed, ambition, and unyielding willpower.

The golden chaos gates were not just an entrance—they were a testament to everything the Chaos Cult had been, and everything it still aspired to be.

Before them approached a tall figure, clothed in black flowing clothes without a single crease, made from fabrics of beasts long extinct, the cost alone could support thousand for numerous generations.

Yet before the golden gates, the man slowly knelt, bowing his head and making contact with the floor.

A perfect display of subservience.

In a loud voice tinged with reverence, he asked

'Great Karmin, I humbly request an audience with you.'

Silence filled the hall, before a booming authoritative voice reverberating through the gates.

"Come through"

Zen walked up the blood-red carpet and laid his hand on the golden gates. Though the gates weighed several tons, it showed no resistance as he pushed through them.

As they slowly shifted apart, a dark room lay before him. Unlike the hall, brightly lit with flames dancing on torches lined on the numerous pillars supporting the structure, the room before him was shrouding in darkness.

The light from the halls seemed unable to pierce the shadows in the room, as if the shadows themselves held power.

For Zen however, who long shed many of his mortal limitations, the darkness hid nothing. He could clearly see through as if the darkness could not hide anything from his eyes. On the sides of the room lay countless skulls held on pedestals, many with holes and scars engraved on them, indicating the brutal wounds they would have suffered before their deaths.

They formed a path to the end of the room, where the Karmin lazily sat on a black stone throne.

Zen held his breath.

He had met the Karmin countless times over the decades, the initial wonder of meeting one of the strongest beings in the realm had long worn off, yet the reverence remained.

The reason he held his breath was not of awe, but a reaction of seeing the huge bloody hole in the Karmin chest.

Zen was not weak.

In fact, being the second-in-command to the Karmin of the Chaos Cult demanded a level of strength widely respected across the realm. While he could not compare to the Karmin or the greatest warriors of the Righteous Coalition, he was far closer to them than to a common warrior.

At his level, losing a limb or two was nothing. With time they would regrow and he could regain his strength very quickly. In fact, the training he endured to get to this where he was required him to dance on the brink of death numerous times, a tactic used to remove the fear of death and fight optimally no matter which situation.

As a first-class warrior, he fundamentally understood the extent at which being like him could recover from.

Yet the sight he saw before him revealed a situation more complicated than that.

The huge gaping hole in the Karmin's chest had permeating through his flesh, damaging the very soul itself.

This was not a wound that could be recovered from.