Damian made his way through the forest, making an irritating amount of noise as he left a visible trail through the thick underbrush. He cursed softly as yet another branch snapped under his boot. So much for being quiet. Everything he had learned about stealth seemed to not apply here. The thick brush at his feet seemed intent to trip him at every opportunity, and every wayward branch had placed itself directly at his feet, snapping eagerly.

As he walked, his mind wandered, transporting him back to the dusty training yard in Brightridge. He could almost feel the grit under his boots, the sharp commands of his mentors punctuating the air just as his muscles screamed for relief. With each memory, his hand twitched, reflexively forming a grip on the sword that was at his hip. He remembered nights spent by candlelight, his fingers tracing routes on faded maps until they curled stiff and his eyes stung with fatigue. Those grueling days and endless nights weren't just routine—they were his life, each moment a step leading towards the day he would be tested.

Focus, Damian reprimanded himself. Master Broal said that this would be more difficult in the field. Stop getting distracted. Blinking the memories away and releasing his sword, his eyes lowered as he tried to pierce the underbrush beneath him - in vain.

Recalling the pre-planned route he had memorized on the large map back at Brightridge, he glanced at his guidebrace for what felt like the hundredth time since he set off a few hours previous, and confirmed that he was still heading East towards his mission.

As he ventured deeper, the canopy above thickened, casting a deepening shadow over the forest floor. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with moving patterns of shade and light. The once bright green and golden sunlight hues grew muted, swallowed by the growing darkness. The branches closed together like grasping fingers seeking to choke out any rays that managed to wriggle their way through. The air grew cool and damp, laden with the scent of mold and decay.

Before darkness had a chance to swallow all of the light, he stopped for a moment to open his beltpouch. Pulling his Lumi free, he took a moment to admire the small, ornate device, before turning the dial on its side. Light immediately began to illuminate the surrounding area, and Damian tied the Lumi to his belt, and then cautiously pressed onward.

The Overgrowth was aptly named, and it seemed to digest him more and more with every step. With the sunlight having no purchase here, the shifting shadows cast from the light at his hip began to tease his imagination, causing his senses to prickle with unease as he journeyed.

Shadows danced at the corner of his vision, shifting with each step that he took. Was it merely the play of light and shadow? Or did something darker lurk amongst the trees? With each step that took him deeper, a primal urge that screamed at him to flee began to fill his senses. Wiping sweat from his brow he forced himself to press onward.

Realizing that he had unconsciously gripped the hilt of the sword at his hip, he forced himself to let it go. Blinking intentionally he imagined himself becoming a full fledged scout, but the shadows surrounding him made him feel foolish for coming here.

Stopping, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, calming himself. It was only his imagination. If he panicked and began tearing through the trees it wouldn’t do him any good, except in getting himself lost.

It was at this moment of calming however, that Damian noticed it. The silence. A chill ran down his spine as he realized no birds sang, no insects chirped. It was almost as if this thriving, dense, lush forest was inexplicably dead. Or perhaps holding its breath in anticipation.

Shuddering he opened his eyes once more, feeling less panicked but more uneasy, and forced his unwilling feet to continue walking.

The sooner you complete your mission, the sooner you can return to Brightridge. He told himself. This is how it was supposed to be. The other Scouts hadn’t turned back in fear. They had overcome it, and had become fully fledged Scouts.

Right foot. Left. One foot. Then the other.

Keeping on like this for what felt like an eternity, he nearly lost track of time, focusing on each step. All that mattered was that he headed due East, and that he would eventually arrive at his destination.

It was to his surprise then, that the trees suddenly ended, and Damian stumbled to a stop. A hill rose before him, topped by a great, spiked fortress - Demonfort. Smiling in relief, he knew that he was almost to his goal that it was almost time to return home. His smile quickly turned downwards however, as he realized that the clearing was not illuminated by the afternoon sun, as he had anticipated. Instead, a clear night sky hung overhead. He fell to his knees, mouth agape.

Stunned, he racked his mind. He shouldn’t have arrived at night. His stomach still felt relatively full from the breakfast he’d eaten a few hours previous. By all rights he should be completing his mission and turning back before needing to even stop for lunch. And yet despite his instincts yelling at him that this couldn’t be, the moon and stars silently mocked him from above.

Damian's stomach churned with unease, a cold knot of fear tightening in his chest. Despite the queasiness threatening to overwhelm him, he clenched his jaw and pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting every movement. The damp earth beneath him felt unsteady, as if it might give way beneath his weight at any moment.

It’s okay, he assured himself, trying to calm his ever-weakening resolve. The other scouts had strange things happen to them too. As he thought this, the fabric of his mind threatened to tear, his very sanity fraying with every minute spent here. The air hummed with an otherworldly energy, prickling at the skin and sending shivers down his spine. Every sound felt magnified, every shadow elongated into grotesque fictions. But this was no mere trick. How had he lost several hours despite heading to this place directly with little to no delay?

He shivered. This place was cursed, he was sure of it. It was no wonder that the Old Sentries had gone mad.

Climbing the hill, his breaths quickly became heavy as he ascended the steep incline, but he did not slow. A dreadful sense of urgency drove him onward despite his growing fatigue. For several minutes the climb continued, as he reminded himself over and over that his mission was almost done.

Before long he reached the top, and he found himself finally looking up at the walls of Demonfort, the dreaded fortress of old. Having been abandoned for the last century, the fortress stood untouched by time. The imposing stone walls stood two dozen meters tall, crowned by spiked towers far above, and the iron gate before him stood agape like an enormous maw that was ready to swallow him whole.

Looking back to the west he swore could almost make out Brightridge far off in the distance, but the sight eluded him. Turning back to the gaping maw, and trying to ignore the dread that blanketed him, Damian stepped through the opening, half expecting the gate to close down on him as he passed through. Glancing around the courtyard he found it empty, and then set off quickly towards the black gate on the far side. His feet tread over the muddy grass that grasped at his boots like a beggar asking for coin, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he made it. As he looked up at the black, metal door before him his breath caught in his throat.

The door loomed ominously before him, its metallic surface adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to writhe and twist in the light of his Lumi. Grotesque figures danced across the wood, their twisted forms contorted in agony or frozen in eternal torment, almost as if to warn him not to enter here. The air around the door grow colder, and Damian couldn't shake the feeling that the very essence of evil emanated from the dark corridors behind this door. Reaching forward with trembling fingers he gingerly touched the metal frame, but recoiled when it felt as cold as ice.

Come on, Damian. He urged himself. If Varin can do this, so can you. He had to go through this too. Stop being such a coward. Reaching once more, he palmed the door with both hands and, ignoring the cold that the door emanated, pushed with all his might.

The door opened effortlessly and he stumbled inside, yelping in surprise, his voice echoing in the massive entry hall. Looking back at the door he swallowed, his eyes wide as he stared at the doorway. A metal door that size shouldn’t have opened as easily. Breathing shakily, he turned back towards the massive hall.

Oppressive darkness swallowed his light that now seemed to shine weakly in this place. Unhooking the Lumi from his belt, he held it before him, trying to penetrate further into the blackness. But as he walked, his eyes failed to see anything more than several meters ahead of him. Straining his ears, his boots echoing each time he took a step, he realized that the hall here was massive.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Swallowing the lump in his throat and taking a deep breath as panic began to rise once more as the overwhelming and unnatural nature of this place nearly caused him to flee, he assured himself once more that this is how things were supposed to be. If he left now he wouldn’t be able to face the Scouts again. Clenching his jaw, he drew his sword and continued forward. He was almost there.

It felt like an eternity but he finally made it to the back of the hall, and he jumped when he nearly ran into a gnarled statue of a snarling demon. Glancing back he looked for the open door that he’d entered in through and swallowed, licking his lips as he saw that the darkness drowned out any light from the moon outside.

Gripping his sword even tighter he turned back to the statue and recalled the path the Sergeant Broal had drilled into his mind. Turning right, he slowly felt his way to the back corner of the hall, and found the passageway leading away from the entry hall. Collecting himself, he breathed deeply before pressing deeper into the fortress.

If the great entry hall had felt massive, the hallways here pressed in on him, causing his breathing to quicken as if the air were being squeezed from him. His breath echoed as much as his boots did on the jagged stone walls that were occasionally interrupted by surprisingly pristine tapestries. He avoided looking at any that he passed, as one that he did stop by depicted horrifying acts of violence. Even as he passed them, they seemed to morph and warp as his Lumi’s light brushed them, and he shivered as the shadows mocked his progress with an elusive dance.

He followed Master Broal’s directions to the letter, but nearly lost his way several times as he navigated the labyrinthine corridors. Luckily some of the previous Scouts had left chalk arrows on the ground and walls that marked the correct way. He was grateful for the help, but the markings mostly reminded him of his isolation.

Shivering he pushed feelings of being alone aside and pushed on with grim determination. Moving at a snail’s pace, he pressed on, fear hugging him from all sides. The darkness even closed more around him, until he could see only a few feet in front of him. This was how the other scouts had said it would be: the darkness itself tried to stop you.

Just as he was toying with the idea of turning back once more, a door appeared out of the darkness on his right. Damian’s heart leapt into his throat, and he stopped, holding the Lumi above his head. The door stood several meters high and his light failed to reach the top.

Smooth stone greeted him. Eldritch depictions of various demons etched into the surface of the door glowed with a soft, otherworldly light, and pulsed irregularly. A large iron handle stuck out from the center of the door like a finger that urged him closer. Reaching out with an outstretched hand, he touched the cold stone, shaking at the unnatural smoothness of the door.

It’s just a door, he told himself. And yet it was all he could do to not flee. Sliding his sword back into its scabbard, he grasped the handle, he pulled at the massive door, only to stumble once again as the door swung open easily, as if it wanted to welcome him inside. The door barely even groaned under what should have been a large amount of weight. Licking his lips and wiping his left palm on his shirt, he cautiously stepped forward into the waiting maw.

The room beyond the door felt spacious. The sound of Damian’s breathing and bootfalls became consumed in the massive space above his head, causing him to slouch down, as he suddenly felt very small. Stepping gingerly, he ventured towards the center of the room until he found it.

A massive pillar several meters around appeared. Black, obsidian stone glinted as he approached. As he rested his hand on the smooth, glassy surface, he squinted in confusion, looking around. He was told that the gate was large - much larger than he would have anticipated. Fetching a rope from his pack, he tied one end to the pillar of stone before him, and, grasping the other, ventured away from it making sure to keep the rope taut.

A few long moments passed before he found a second pillar, just as massive as the first. His eyes trailed the pillar upwards as he raised his Lumi to try and get a better view. It seemed incredibly large. If this was the other side of the Demongate, the keystone of the archway would have to stand more than two or three dozen meters high. An impossibility.

Head reeling from the realization, he stumbled as he returned to the other side and took several deep breaths to calm himself, clenching shaking hands. As he did so, his neck prickled as dread began to toy with him. Best finish his mission quickly and be out of here.

Shaking, he fumbled with his pack, pulling out the white Arcane Paint that he was given for this task, and began to search for the sealing runes that were supposed to surround the Demongate. A faint smell of decay began to tickle his nose, threatening to make him sneeze, and he raised an arm to cover his nose, and he pressed forward and his boots clacked on the stone as the sound echoed in the hall. Once more he reminded himself he was almost done.

Grabbing the rope he began to search, scanning the floor for the runes. It took several minutes, stumbling around in the dark, before he found the first rune of ten. Kneeling, he uncorked the bottle of paint, and dipped a finger into the glowing liquid. Reaching down to trace the arcane symbols, his hand stopped mere centimeters from the ground. He frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing. Wasn’t the rune supposed to be glowing?

The hair suddenly rose up on the back of his neck as he then realized that the stone beneath his feet were subtly fractured, sending webs of lines across the floor like cracked glass. Of all the oddities that had occurred since setting foot in the Demonfort, this is one that he did not expect.

It was instinct, drilled into him through months of training that drove him to drop, as a whoosh behind him broke the silence. Dropping the vial and his guiding rope, it shattered as he landed on top of it. Rolling, he drew his sword in the same motion, wild eyes trying to pierce beyond his bubble of light for his attacker.

Damian’s mouth quickly became dry as his breaths came out raggedly, panic batting at him like a cat playing with its prey. Mind racing, he backed up to the door to retreat, watching the darkness for his ambusher. The seals were broken. The Scouts had to be warned.

But instead of backing out of an open door, his heart leapt into his throat as he found solid metal blocking his way. The door had closed without him hearing. Pushing with all his might he shoved against it, but contrary to before it refused to budge. Cursing softly, he spun, putting his back to the door.

Screaming, he dove to the side as he felt the air shift. Something massive dropped from above, and slammed into the stone just as he rolled to his feet. Pointing his sword he blinked, trying once more to pierce the impenetrable darkness, but in vain.

Thump. The ground reverberated as whatever was there took a step. Thump. Then another. He unconsciously took a panicked step backwards as a bulbous shape, four meter high, began to take shape in the darkness just out of reach of his Lumi.

“Wh-who are you?” Damian croaked, mouth quivering, as he held his sword before him. “N-not another s-step.” The thing cocked what had to be its head.

“Who?” A rasping voice answered from the figure in the dark. “I… am born of a thoussssand sinssss.” With each word, the young would-be scout cringed back as the voice grated the space between his skull.

“Who are you,” the voice continued “who isss ssso bold to venture here?” A clicking sound finished its question, as if insects crept along its vocal folds.

Almost against his will, Damian felt himself respond, almost as if the words were being drawn from him. “I-I am Damian Sorlin, I have come to this place to reseal the evil here.” His answer elicited a rasping laugh from the creature, and he attempted to turn and flee. But his feet stood rooted against his will.

The creature slurped as it attempted, and failed multiple times, to form more words. Finally the creature snarled before speaking in its slithering voice.

“Name? Damian. Yesssssss, gooood.” The creature’s mouth clicked as if it were tasting the words. “Illsssssstraud the Corruptor, is what sssome call me. But in sssssshort order, you will call me…. Massssster.”

The boy’s mouth fell open as the creature leaned downward, finally intruding into the Lumi’s bubble of light. Illstraud’s eyes, protruding from an almost human face, glowed with an inhuman hunger with an unblinking gaze that sent shivers down his spine. Vicious, thick ichor dripped from an unhinged human jaw that ended in insectoid mandibles, reeking of corruption, a stench that caused him to gag.

C’mon, move! Damian screamed in his mind. But his legs refused to move. Almost as if they belonged to someone else. Looking the grotesque creature in its eyes, he began to shake uncontrollably.

“Good.” The monster croaked, smiling maliciously as it began to approach once more. “Do not fight. Give in… to dissssspair.” His eyes fluttered shut as the creature delicately began to lean in towards him.

NO! This wasn’t supposed to happen! The young man jerked as he struggled against whatever held him there. I won’t let things end like this!

With incredible effort he twisted and struck with everything he had. Opening his eyes he saw his blade strike Illstraud’s left eye. The eye popped violently as black liquid sprayed everywhere.

He only had a moment of satisfaction before Damian felt something break, and found himself flying through the air.

Coming to a stop, he gasped for air. Blood filled his vision. He reached for his sword, but his arm wouldn’t respond. A ringing filled his ears, as he realized that he was screaming. His arm. His arm was gone.

Pain enveloped his entire being, as panic truly set in. Illstraud was coming. He had to run. He had to….

A new spike of pain shot into the base of his spine as something stabbed him as he lay there, silencing his scream, as numbness rapidly spread from the point of impact throughout his entire body. His thoughts fuzzed as his vision clouded and he could hear someone speaking. Or was it hissing?

What was he doing again? To Damian’s surprise, he found that he couldn’t remember.