Listen carefully and listen well
The song of the underworld calls out to many
But most can only hear its screeches and its wails
But blessed be those who can hum its true melody
-Excerpt from the book of lost souls
When Remuria opened her eyes: she knew that she was walking in her dreams. The blackened skies of the underworld were nowhere to be seen, instead, she was back in her happy place: a serene garden of nigh-perfect beauty. The scene before her was breathtaking. Towering trees adorned with glistening golden fruits stood tall, casting dappled shadows on the landscape. Streams of water flowed like liquid rainbows, the vibrant hues of each color blending seamlessly into the next, while the pathways that wound their way through the garden were paved with marble polished to a brilliant shine.
To be lucid within dreams was nothing new to her. Remuria traversed through her dream garden filled with a sense of contentment and calm. In this world, she was not burdened by any worries: not her commitment to Rhea, not her connection to Vhael, nothing at all. She was free to admire the aesthetics of her dream world, how marvelous everything seemed.
As Remuria continued her walk, she couldn't shake off the unsettling feeling that something was calling out to her from the shadows. At first, the voice was barely audible, like a soft whisper that tickled the edge of her ears. She strained to make sense of the words but could only hear fragments: my child, my child, my child.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a shiver ran down her spine as the whispers grew louder, more insistent: MY CHILD, MY CHILD, MY CHILD. The voice was relentless. Remuria knew that she should ignore it, that acknowledging it would only invite trouble. But the voice was like a leech, sucking at her willpower, slowly eroding her resolve.
The whispers soon turned into a deafening cacophony that reverberated within her mind, drowning out all other thoughts: MY CHILD, MY CHILD, MY CHILD. It was maddening, like a thousand needles piercing her brain. Finally, with a heavy heart and a deep breath, Remuria gave in and spoke, "Who or what are you? Show yourself!"
After Remuria spoke, a hush descended upon the surroundings, a stillness that was at once peaceful and disconcerting. The constant din of voices and whispers that had plagued her earlier had vanished, leaving behind only the sound of rustling leaves and the gentle flow of nearby streams. The tranquility of the garden seemed almost too serene, as if the very air itself was holding its breath.
For several minutes, Remuria stood silent and wary. Her eyes darted in all directions, trying to spot anything suspicious or anything out of the ordinary. Cautiously, she began to pace slowly through her dreamscape once more, her senses as alert as can be. With every step she took, she felt goosebumps emerging from her skin, the cold caress of the wind causing her to shudder on occasion. Was this place always this cold? She thought to herself.
After what felt like hours, Remuria continued to walk, and walk, and walk. Slowly, she noticed changes in her dreamscape. The marble roads she once walked on had now turned into a dusty dirt path. The once colorful river streams now had turned into a flow of a strange blackened sludge. And the golden fruits which once hung from resplendent trees had all but disappeared: leaving behind barren husks of leafless branches.
Despite her growing apprehension, Remuria continued to walk, droning forward as if she were a puppet. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to keep moving forward, but the compulsion was too strong to ignore. It was as if some unseen force was pulling her forward, urging her to obey some vague instruction that she couldn't quite understand. With each step, she felt her heart grow heavier, her mind starting to play tricks on her.
Every so often, at the corner of her eye: Remuria would see shadows darting back and forth, disappearing too fast for her to discern its shape. Once: she felt something prick on her left arm, causing her to bleed. She had no idea what caused her injury, only that she could feel it, and that it would not heal. Remuria tried to think the wound away: she was still within her dreams after all: reality here should bend to her whims, at least to an extent. Yet, still, the wound would not go away. In desperation, Remuria began to chant arcane words of power, hoping that one of her spells could close her wound: it was all futile.
As Remuria made her way through the dream world, the shadows that had once lingered at the edge of her vision seemed to take on a life of their own. They no longer flitted about, but instead, stood stark and solid, taking on the form of strange, twisted beasts. They were hunched and gnarled, with limbs that twisted and writhed in unnatural ways. One of them had eyes, too many eyes. Strangely, the monstrous creatures did not seem eager to attack Remuria. They were content with simply stalking her, watching her.
The fear that her mind had embraced only grew stronger in time. Remuria could feel it pulsing through her veins, making her heart race and her breath come in ragged gasps. And then, suddenly, the shadow beasts were everywhere: dozens of them swarming around her, their twisted forms blocking out the light and leaving her in near-total darkness. But even as they closed in on her, Remuria could sense that they were not there to harm her. They moved with an eerie, unnatural precision, parting ways as she approached and then closing in behind her like a living wall. Remuria tried to reach out to them, to communicate in some way, but the shadow beasts remained unresponsive.
Remuria glanced downward to her legs, they too were bleeding now. In fact, they must have been bleeding for quite some time. She glanced behind over her shoulder, spotting a trail of blood that followed her. Strange. Remuria thought to herself. She did not understand why she did not feel even the smallest hint of concern at her predicament. Somehow she knew that she was reaching her destination soon.
A broken blade: shattered in two. When Remuria saw the shattered weapon, she knew that this was what her long march had led her to. Despite its current state, the broken sword was a thing of beauty to behold: its blade was made out of a strange crimson material which Remuria had never seen before: both in the material realm and in the underworld. The sword’s hilt also appeared to be crafted out of the same red material, whatever it was, it was highly refined and polished: Remuria could see her reflection clearly on it. However, as Remuria stared at her reflection from within the broken blade, it slowly morphed and twisted, becoming a grotesque parody of Ixhana. The scales on Ixhana's body were twisted and distorted, no longer a pure white but a sickly shade of gray, and they seemed to writhe and slither unnaturally. Her humanoid half was twisted and hunched, as if wracked with pain, and her once-smooth skin was now covered with pustules and boils that oozed a noxious green liquid. Her silver hair was matted and tangled, and her eyes, which had once shone with life, now glowed with an eerie, sickly yellow light.
The impostor's voice echoed through the darkness, sending shivers down Remuria's spine. "My child, can you hear my voice?" it spoke, its words oozing with a sinister edge.
Remuria's eyes narrowed at the sight of the impostor's twisted form. "You are not my mother," she spat, her voice thick with contempt.
"I never claimed to be," the impostor replied, its visage twisting into a smug smile.
"Liar," Remuria hissed, her grip tightening on the hilt of the broken blade.
The impostor chuckled, its mocking tone sending a surge of rage through Remuria's body. "So what if I am?" it said, its voice dripping with venom. "Does it matter?"
Remuria glared back at the impostor, "what do you want?" she demanded, her voice cold.
"You can hear me, that is good," the impostor said, ignoring her question.
"Who are you and what do you want with me?" Remuria pressed.
"I am the underworld: at least, an aspect of it," the impostor replied, its voice echoing through the void.
"Why do you take the guise of my mother?" Remuria demanded, her eyes narrowing.
"To show you what I can do, what is possible," the impostor said, its voice dripping with malice.
"Possible to do what?" Remuria asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
"Impersonate people and play tricks on my mind," the impostor replied, its mocking smile growing wider. "All of that, but also to let you know that we are inexplicably connected: always have and always will be."
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“Did you give this speech to Rhea too?”
The impostor laughed, “oh my, aren’t you the smart one?”
Remuria felt her anger growing, her grip on the broken blade tightening. "Do you regret handing the princess's soul over to me?" the impostor asked, its voice taunting.
"No," Remuria replied, her voice cold and hard. "It was either you or her dying. But believe me when I say this: you were my last choice."
The impostor sneered, its twisted form shifting in the shadows. "You insult me," it hissed.
"Why of course, I have the right," Remuria shot back.
"Care to enlighten me?" the impostor asked, its voice oozing with sarcasm.
Remuria ignored the taunt, her eyes narrowing. "I tire of this game, impostor," she said, her voice deadly. "Speak your demands, and let us get this over with."
"Aren't you the feisty one?" the impostor chuckled, its twisted form shifting in the darkness.
"Speak fast, impostor," Remuria pressed. "You are wasting my time."
“If you insist: All I want to do is help you, that is all.”
“Help me? You couldn’t have figured out a better way to help me than to invade my dreams?”
“I needed to get you more attuned to my song, so that you could follow my melody.”
“Alright, I have adjusted now. So how do you plan to help me? But don’t think for even a second that I trust you.”
“That’s fine, I have no use for your trust: only your compliance.” the impostor remarked, “I know you want to reunite with the Princess of Ishgria, I can take you to her.”
“Why would I need your assistance? My father can take me to Rhea just fine.”
“While your bravery is commendable: daughter of Vhael, I hope you are aware that I can end your journey here and now.”
“So you are resorting to threats now?”
“Not a threat, just a kind warning.” the impostor taunted.
“Answer my question then.” Remuria demanded.
The impostor’s sinister eyes glimmered with malevolent intent, “I can make your journey to the princess nigh-impossible, or you can accept my generosity and allow me to take you to her.”
Remuria remained unfazed, maintaining her composure, “why are you even offering me this? There has to be a catch somewhere.”
The impostor gave out a brief chuckle, “my goals and the princess’s are aligned, that is all.”
“What of my father? If I accept your help, what will happen to him?” Remuria’s voice was tinged with concern, her father had always held a special place in her heart, even if she did not show it outwardly.
The impostor sensed Remuria’s weariness, and smiled, “I will leave the harbinger be, I have no use for him anyway.”
“I will accept your offer, only on one condition.”
“And what may that be?”
“You will not only take me to Rhea, but you will also help us return to the material realm.”
“An interesting proposition, daughter of Vhael, what makes you think I will accept this?”
“I just assumed you were generous.”
“Then you assume correctly, it shall be done.”
“What do I have to do now?”
“This sword which I inhabit is called Nemaia, grab its hilt, and it will seal our pact.”
“This sword is for Rhea, isn’t it?”
“You truly are a fascinating little thing, I’m going to enjoy working with you.” the impostor commented.
“I know this is a trap and I won’t have a real choice regardless, so why don’t you force my hand so I can feel better about myself?” Remuria quipped sarcastically.
The impostor shrugged, their visage breaking out into a wry smile, “if you insist.”
Remuria's body tensed at the sound of those words, as if an invisible force had gripped her, commanding her to act. Her eyes darted to the hilt of Nemaia, the broken sword lying on the ground in front of her. She tried to push back, to resist, but it was as if she was being drawn towards something irresistible. With a reluctant hand, she reached out to touch the hilt of Nemaia.
In an instant, a jolt of energy shot through her arm, and she watched in amazement as the shattered pieces of the blade levitated and reassembled themselves around the hilt. As the last piece clicked into place, the sword glowed with an eerie scarlet light. But as Remuria looked at the blade's reflection, she gasped in horror: instead of her own face, a twisted, demonic visage glared back at her from the sword's surface. Remuria's heart raced as dozens of shadowy creatures spilled out from the sword, their dark forms swarming around her, suffocating her with their presence. The weight of the shadow creatures quickly bore down on her, and she felt her breath grow shallow as they enveloped her whole.
***
The pale sands of the underworld stretched out before the Red Reavers, an endless expanse of nothingness. With each plodding step, sand clung to their boots, the light of the crimson moon illuminating their way. But the Reavers pressed on, their red cloaks billowing in the hot, dry air as they trudged across the barren wasteland.
“Princess, our warriors need to rest, we have been marching non-stop for weeks.” Sedris said aloud, breathing heavily.
“I’m doing fine, personally.” Zia shrugged.
“Of course you’re fine sister, I’m talking about the others.” Sedris replied in frustration.
“Rest easy Sedris, we are close to where we need to be.” Rhea replied nonchalantly.
“Remind me why we need to see this Remuria person again?” Zia asked aloud.
“She is my lover, Zia.”
“Duly noted.” Zia was not willing to press the princess on the matter any further.
“I do want to ask, princess, how do you know that she will be where you think she will be?” Sedris asked.
“The underworld showed me the way.” the princess replied.
Sedris felt unease at the princess’s answer, but he could not bring himself to refute the princess’s words. Ever since she quelled the Night Terror, the Princess of Ishgria had shown a prophetic accuracy in her words.
Several times, the princess led the Red Reavers on their most successful raids yet. Attacking even those territories which were owned by powerful demon warlords. Somehow, their targets were always weak and vulnerable. Once, the Princess of Ishgria led an assault on the territory of the Demon Warlord Maz-Gharal. When they arrived, the reavers had found the warlord’s domain to be woefully undermanned: many had left to fight in another skirmish elsewhere. And so the Red Reavers butchered those that remained. When Maz-Gharal returned with the rest of his warriors: it was too late. The Princess of Ishgria pressed for an immediate counter-attack, crushing the exhausted ranks of the demon warlord, before challenging, and then besting, Maz-Gharal himself in single combat.
“I sense danger ahead,” Rhea stated aloud, “tell the reavers to prepare for combat.”
“As you wish, princess.” Sedris replied, before issuing commands to the rest of the Red Reavers.
“Finally, some action.” Zia said excitedly, gripping her axes in each of her hands.
“I wouldn’t be so excited if I were you.” Rhea said.
“Why not, princess? It is in our nature to spill blood.”
“Even against that?” Rhea said, pointing towards a mass of writhing shadows at the distance.
Zia's breath hitched as the firsts of the shadow beasts appeared. Its body was dark as the void, with jagged edges and razor-sharp claws. Its eyes were nothing but empty pits of darkness, yet they seemed to be able to see everything around them. The beast's movements were fluid, and it seemed to glide over the sands of the underworld, moving and shifting with an ethereal grace.
As the horde of shadow beasts drew closer, Zia could see that each one was horrific in its own way. Some had large, bat-like wings that seemed to stretch out impossibly far, while others had long, whip-like tails that lashed out in every direction. Still, others had massive, clawed feet that could tear apart even the toughest armor with ease.
But even more terrifying was the winged abomination that led them. Its wingspan was wider than any dragon's, and they beat with a thunderous sound that echoed throughout the underworld. Its body was massive, with rippling muscles as dark as charcoal. Its face was a contorted mess, twisted into a snarl, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. But most horrifying of all was the sword it wielded, its crimson glow illuminating the darkness around them. The sword seemed to be alive, pulsating with an otherworldly energy.
Zia was many things, an honest soul being one of them. So when faced with such a daunting circumstance, she said the first thing which came to her mind out loud, “shit.”