Three of the longest centuries in the life of one jolly demon later…

Hiding behind a large boulder, Hadjar watched the scene unfold before him. For the first time in nearly three centuries, he was seeing someone who wasn’t just a manifestation of others’ fears, someone who wasn’t always muttering and complaining, never giving him a moment of peace.

Even in his sleep, the General could hear the demon muttering. And considering the fact that Hadjar, despite all his newfound power, now needed sleep and food, this hadn’t been the most comforting aspect of his journey.

Fortunately, the anomaly had had plenty of water and game for him to hunt along the way.

Right now, however, Hadjar struggled to find the words to describe what he was seeing.

“The Gate of the Immortals,” Helmer whispered in his ear.

“You’ve been talking about it for... I don’t know. Twenty years?”

“And I still doubt you actually understood any of it.”

Hadjar chose not to answer that. Nine times out of ten, if he ignored Helmer long enough, the demon would calm down. Unfortunately, ‘long enough’ was a rather relative term here.

As for the Gate of the Immortals, it was very real. Anyone who hadn’t used the anomaly as a shortcut (if spending three centuries with an annoying demon could even be called a shortcut) would get to face it.

It appeared to be a rather ‘ordinary’ wrought-iron gate that stretched from the ground all the way up to space. The bars were so thick that they resembled vertical rivers. Beneath them was a frozen lake, mirror-like, but not quite a mirror. A violet mist flowed across it, the same mist that enveloped the gate.

Before them stood two figures. One of them, a woman, Hadjar could only see from behind. She wore a distinctive yellow cloak, emblazoned with unfamiliar symbols, and high boots made of a material that looked both scaly and smooth. It was unlike anything Hadjar had ever encountered before, even in the Strange or Northern Lands.

“Oh, she’s from the Davlerd region,” the demon whispered. “Not a nice place. They’ve been worshipping the Light there for ages, and they have strange customs that make virgins quite rare.”

Hadjar ignored Helmer’s incessant chatter and concentrated on the scene before him. If the demon’s tales were true, the real show was about to begin.

And it indeed began a moment later. The purple mist coalesced into a massive figure, one larger than any natural entity Hadjar had seen thus far. This creature resembled an elephant, but stood on two legs and had two muscular arms. In its right hand, it held a mace capable of breaking through mountains, while its left hand fiddled with the tusks protruding from beneath its trunk.

The elephant’s lower body was draped in a large, blue cloth, and a gold plate covered its belly. Silver earrings dangled from its ears, and steel bracelets adorned its shoulders and forearms.

“I am Gambatta,” the elephant creature intoned, kneeling down to better address the adepts before him. “Guardian of the Gate of the Immortals.”

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“Greetings, Great Gambatta,” the woman bowed. “I am Erthali, Master of the White Light of the Sad Willow.”

Hadjar looked at Helmer. The demon merely gestured expansively, indicating that what Hadjar considered to be excessive courtesies and pompous titles were actually quite common in the Land of the Immortals.

“For what purpose have you come here, Master Erthali?”

“I have come to seek the way to the Land of the Immortals, Great Gambatta.”

“Really now?” The elephant scratched his tusks, each of which was the size of a small ship. “And what makes you think you’re worthy?”

The lump of fear coughed and whispered in Hadjar’s ear: “This happens every time. Every fucking time.”

Erthali held out her hand, and a silver light manifested upon it, soon forming the shape of a tree. “I have completed the trial of the Heavens and the Earth, shed my physical shell, and now seek a new haven where I can continue my journey without worrying about Time.”

The elephant man nodded and stood upright once more. “I am Gambatta,” he declared. “I have been appointed by the great Masters of old to guard the entrance to our lands from all who would attempt to enter without the necessary strength. One attack from my Mace of All Truths will determine whether you, Master Erthali, deserve to pass through the gate. Are you ready for this test?”

“I am, Great Gambatta.”

Hadjar mused about how Helmer was a stimulating, fun conversationalist compared to this exchange.

“So be it,” the elephant man intoned.

He swung his mace, and within moments, purple clouds gathered around its massive tip, enveloping it in a dense shroud. Despite its formidable size, the mace descended upon the adept with a speed that Hadjar, even in his prime, would have found difficult to match. His enhanced vision allowed him to see every nuance of the Guardian’s movements. But determining the full extent of his power proved a harder task.

Hadjar remembered the stories and legends about the varying degrees of Immortal power. The hierarchy began with ninth-rank Divine Warriors and rose all the way to the first rank. Those who passed certain tests or rites then ascended to the revered rank of Lesser God in the Seventh Heaven. Even among the gods, there were still distinctions: Lesser God, Heavenly God, Elder God.

According to Helmer, only about one to three cultivators out of the nigh-infinite number of the Mortal Realm’s inhabitants attained immortality every thousand years. The same number also ascended to the Seventh Heaven every twenty millennia, give or take a few centuries.

Turning his attention back to the Guardian and the aspirant, Hadjar watched as the mace wrapped in clouds collided with a dazzling veil of silver light. The aftershock was so titanic that the ground beneath him cracked, only to heal back up instantly.

“If a mere exchange of blows can cause such devastation…” The demon muttered.

“I assumed they had more control over the echo of their power here.”

“They do,” the demon affirmed. “It’s just that their power is so immense that even with great control, some dramatic aftereffects are inevitable.”

Hadjar brushed the stone fragments from his clothing and continued to watch the unfolding scene.

“Master Erthali,” the elephant man intoned as calm returned. “You have honorably withstood the impact of my Mace of All Truths. However, your power is not yet sufficient for true glory. I can only bestow upon you the emblem of a seventh-rank Divine Warrior. Do you agree with my assessment?”

“I do, Great Gambatta.”

“Then so be it.” The Guardian nodded.

With a few graceful movements of his huge fingers, a symbol appeared in the air. Quickly shrinking to the size of a human-appropriate emblem, it descended toward Erthali and embedded itself within her. Immortals had no physical form as mortals understood it. Their corporeal ‘substance’ would be replaced by pure energy that took on the appearance of flesh upon their ascension. This difference was something Hadjar hadn’t fully grasped yet, for he was present in his tangible, human form — complete with blood, bones, and muscles.

“Enter, Master Erthali, and may the light of Eternity shine upon you,” Gambatta said, stepping aside and gesturing invitingly with his free hand.

“And upon you as well, Great Gambatta,” Erthali replied with a bow.

The clouds before her dissipated, and the gate swung open with ease, despite its colossal weight. With one step, Erthali disappeared in a blaze of scarlet light.

“Well,” the lump of fear nudged Hadjar. “Is it your turn, General?”

Taking a deep breath, Hadjar glanced sideways at the Guardian. Then, making sure his blade was secure at his side, as was his habit, he emerged from his hiding place.