----------------------------------------
Ages had passed by, and the pain had become menial to the ancient one. He had been immersed in the bloody and deathly landscape for so long that life seemed but a distant memory. The chains of flesh gripping him, the monsters of despair surrounding him, all was a mere sight to feel numb. So he'd slumber in this desolate place, in a state between sleep and wakefulness, unaware of the world above as time slowly ground away, until one day, one of untold many... he awoke.
There was something new he could sense. It was not the dull tapestry nor its inhabitants; no, it was something else... something familiar... The chains of flesh still shackled him, their hairless, writhing embrace still the same, but there was another pull - it came from beyond the physical. It was a small tug at his soul, so small it was barely noticeable. Yes, it was tiny and faint, yet it carried the undeniable promise of… more.
Why this tug had come, like the whisper of a beloved, a remnant of a broken dream, the ancient one could not know – but it had awakened something long ago suppressed and forgotten.
For many millennia he had been shackled, and he now hungered to break away more than he'd ever done in the past, like a starving man with a sumptuous meal under his nose. And so it was that he gave in and allowed the pull to pull him wherever– because anything was better than this.
The prison around him ruptured like a mirror, splintering into fractals of black and white and swirling in a tumultuous blur of gray until finally, with a breath, he found himself in a cosmos of brilliantly spangled heavens, in a place of ethereal languor. Nine wheels overlapped and moved around each other in perfect harmony, all connected and yet not, all spinning lazily but surely toward the inevitable.
The wheel of reincarnation. To think even we titans come here after death.
The surrounding void glittered and shone in a golden hue, affected by the presence of such magnificence. The ancient one floated there, a lost soul in a place where souls found themselves new lives and destinies.
Was it his fate to enter the wheel for the first time? He who had been denied release for all these years?
It was at that time that he felt the tug again. Stronger. Like a grassy braid woven by a child but with stubborn strength. The ancient one could withstand, even snap, these tinsel bonds, yet what was the purpose? Adrift in this infinite space, he had but two options. Enter the wheels of destiny – forget who he was, and start a new life, wherever that may be. Or go wherever the tug called him and see what would happen. The easy path was to enter the wheel and forget all his pain and suffering over countless years. But would that be fair? Would it really be right? Was he a man to give up because the path was hard and he was tired?
The void reworked itself with his mind made up, a deep and sonorous laugh reverberating from within.
He was finally free.
----------------------------------------
He awoke to the cold feel of stone against bare skin. Opening heavy eyelids, a chamber dimly lit unfurled itself, its walls lined with thin torches that cast looming shadows across their black surface. From above him, he heard the shuffling of feet and a high-pitched voice.
"I used all my mana, and all I have to show for my efforts is this dratted undead. I mean, is it a skeleton? Is it a ghoul??
A gaunt and haggard man stood on top of a podium leading up to an altar built from what seemed to be human or animal bones. Behind him paced a young man.
"Did you draw the magical circle correctly?" the old man croaked, struggling to stay upright even with the aid of a gnarly staff.
"I may have tried something different." admitted the young man.
"Oh, but we never try different! These are passed down to us by the abominable himself."
"I know, I simply– I wanted to try something new."
"I can see that. Let's go take a look then."
The aged man slowly descended from the altar, each step carefully taken as if he tried to contain the pain and exhaustion of his body. Once down, he paused in front of Prometheus, his hands trembling from strain as he studied him, the younger man at his side.
In turn, Prometheus studied the aged man. He was a scarecrow of a man, draped in a black robe too large for his gangly, thin body, with hair more gray than white – that hung over the shoulders like a limp, wet curtain.
"Odd. You don't look like anything I've seen. Clearly not a skeleton, nor a ghoul, a mix perhaps? The old man said, pausing before giving a low chuckle. "Well, I guess you can't answer th–""
"You... was it you that called me here?"
Prometheus spoke then; his voice was deep and thick, rolling out like a thundercloud.
The aged man froze mid-speech, and the young man jumped. Both stared with jaws agape at Prometheus. After several moments, the aged man inhaled sharply and seemed to clutch his staff in support. The younger man opened his mouth to speak several times, but no sound came out.
"An s-sentient raising. To think I'd ever witness it." rasped the old man after a long silence, his breathing heavy though he seemed to have calmed down slightly.
The aged man turned to the younger as he spoke. "Do you know what makes a sentient raising so special?"
"What makes them spe– ah, the path!"
"Yes. The abominable will be very pleased when we present it."
"You mean to give it away?"
"Shush, boy." admonished the old man. "It's not something we can keep. The abominable will want it trained and evaluated. You have to remember we are fighting a war on all sides."
The younger man sagged visibly.
"Now you listen here." The old man said sternly, now with iron in his voice. "The power of the path is beyond comprehension; this dratted undead... its power, harnessed and directed upon the living, could be a vast, unstoppable force, if in the hands of the abominable, but in ours..." sighing the old man gestured to the door. "Go, write down that summoning ritual. We will do as I say, and that's the end of it."
The younger man pursed his lips but turned on his heel and left the chamber swiftly, his leather boots making loud echoes as they hit the stone tiles beneath. "Ah– sorry, excuse my disciple. It's nice to meet you... ?"
The ancient one thought for a moment, then told the man his name.
"Prometheus... never heard of a Prometheus before." muttered the old man, his eyebrows raised. He then shrugged and seemed to think of something that made him smile. "Okay then, Prometheus, I suppose you should take a look at yourself. You're an undead now, a part of the legion. Here, look." With a wave of his hands, a disc of purple appeared in the air, its reflective surface showing the ancient one his own image. What crude magic. Wait, what?
As he looked into the mirror, he saw his new body and was startled. It was black like the river Styx, and over two meters in height, with joints that creaked every time he moved. His face was narrow but defined, with eye sockets that shone with orange fire, as if they had been chiseled by a cruel hand and replaced with two suns. His teeth were knotted and jagged, shining like sparks in the dark, and his skull had been encircled with a garland of blackened thorns, their points jutting out at odd angles. From his fingers and toes grew sharp, black nails that looked like the talons of a deadly predator.
"Quite the sight, aren't you." remarked the old man. Then, clearing his throat after receiving no response, he said. "Now try calling your status. Simply will it to appear in your mind."
"My status?"
"It's hard to explain, better you see it for yourself.
Prometheus did not quite understand what the old man wanted but nodded and did as asked, willing his status or whatever to come forth. As he did, three apparitions of some kind, rectangular, like the ocean in color, but deeper and more velvet-like, materialized in front of him.
For a long time, the ancient one simply stared. This… The blue core? But... I destroyed it?!?!