Chapter 5: Echoes of the Past

Endless. That's what the fall felt like-an unrelenting, suffocating descent into nothingness. Lance's body twisted through the void, though he couldn't feel air against his skin or hear the rush of wind in his ears. The silence pressed against his eardrums like a physical weight. It was like plummeting through *existence itself*, every sense dulled except for the sharp, gnawing awareness of *something* waiting below. The darkness seemed to pulse with each passing moment, as if alive, as if watching.

But then, the darkness shifted.

A ripple tore through the void, reality bending like a mirror struck by a hammer, and Lance's mind was yanked into a vision so vivid it felt like reality. The transition was jarring, like being thrown from a nightmare into an even darker dream.

He stood-not falling, but *standing*-before a **towering man** perched atop a mountain of **monster corpses**. Blood pooled at the man's feet, glistening under a crimson sky, thick and dark like oil. His posture was regal, confident, as if he *belonged* there, seated on the remnants of his enemies. The air itself seemed to bend around him, distorting like heat waves rising from sun-baked earth.

Behind him stretched an **army of dragons**, their scales shimmering like molten metal in the blood-red light. Each beast was unique-some bore battle scars that glowed like molten gold, others had wings that seemed to fold through impossible dimensions. Their eyes glowed with a terrifying intelligence, each one locked onto Lance-or rather, onto the man. **Orbs of pure power** floated around the figure, pulsing with energy that Lance could *feel* in his bones, each pulse sending waves of ancient magic rippling through the air. Strange, otherworldly creatures loomed in the background-*things* Lance had no names for, shapes that seemed to shift and change whenever he tried to focus on them, but their presence sent chills down his spine.

The man's face was shadowed, but his eyes burned through the darkness with a familiar, piercing light. They held centuries of knowledge, millennia of power, and something else-something that made Lance's soul recoil even as it yearned to draw closer.

*Why... do I recognize him?*

The figure tilted his head, almost as if sensing Lance's presence. For one terrifying moment, it felt like their eyes might meet-and in that instant, Lance felt the weight of destiny itself pressing down upon him.

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The vision **shattered** like stained glass, each shard carrying a fragment of that terrible reality.

Lance was falling again, the suffocating void closing in around him. His heart pounded in his chest, the echo of the vision clawing at his mind like a trapped beast. The image of the man, the monsters, the dragons-it all felt too *real* to dismiss, too visceral to be mere hallucination. His breath came in ragged gasps, but the fall gave him no reprieve. Each moment stretched into eternity, each second an exercise in endless descent.

Suddenly, the void constricted.

His body was squeezed from all sides, **crushed** by an invisible force that felt like the hand of some cosmic giant. His limbs refused to move, frozen in the grip of whatever power held him. The weight grew unbearable, pressing against his chest, until it felt like his bones might crack under the pressure. The darkness seemed to delight in his struggle, growing ever tighter, ever more consuming.

Above him, a **crater of light** tore open in the darkness, its edges ragged like a wound in reality itself.

Without warning, he was **shoved upward**, through the narrow opening, as if being pushed into a new world by some impatient god. The light swallowed him whole, and for a moment, he understood what it meant to be unmade.

Meanwhile, in the Hallowed Grounds

The air hummed with divine tension, thick enough to taste like ozone on the tongue. Lightning crawled across the ceiling in lazy arcs, responding to the gods' agitation.

In the grand hall of the gods, shadows flickered against walls carved from ancient stone. Pillars stretched into a ceiling that seemed to touch the heavens, yet the weight of the room was suffocating. The gods gathered in clusters, their forms shifting between mortal appearances and their true, terrifying visages.

At the center of the chaos stood Moga, his scaled skin catching the dim light, a wicked grin curling at the corners of his mouth. The Ring of Summoning on his finger pulsed faintly, resonating with the echoes of Lance's recent fall.

"You *imbecile*," Zima snapped, striding forward with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. His usually calm demeanor cracked, revealing the fury simmering beneath. "You didn't explain *anything* to him, did you?"

Moga's grin widened, eyes glittering with ancient amusement. "*Explain?*" he echoed, voice dripping with mock innocence. "*Where's the fun in that?*"

"You know what's at stake!" Zima's voice boomed, reverberating off the stone walls. "He's not just any soul, Moga. He's been here before. He's *failed* before. And if you don't guide him-"

"He saw enough," Moga interrupted, his tone laced with dark amusement. "The deep places whisper to him now. Let's see if he remembers before the curse catches up."

A sudden crash silenced the murmuring gods as Cha, the God of Wrath, slammed his fist into a pillar, shattering the stone with ease. His eyes burned with uncontained rage as he stepped forward, his presence radiating heat and fury.

"You fool," Cha growled, his voice low and dangerous. "That power is dangerous. If he taps into it too soon, he'll destroy everything. Including himself."

Moga's grin finally faded, replaced by a more serious expression. His eyes gleamed with an ancient, knowing light. "He won't die this time," he said quietly, almost to himself. "*The curse won't kill him*. Not again. This time... he'll survive. Stronger than before."

The gods exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Moga's words settling over them like a shroud. The implications were clear. Lance Seraphis wasn't just another soul passing through the Hallowed Grounds. He was something more-something *dangerous*. The very air seemed to grow heavier with the knowledge, the ancient stones of the hall groaning under the weight of prophecy.

And somewhere, beyond the divine halls, where reality blurred at the edges and truth became myth, Lance's journey was only just beginning.