Chapter 3. 

“Why’s the mountain called that, you ask? Well, why don’t you two sit down, and I'll tell you the story of the Devil’s Fang.” An old man wiped the sweat from his brow, before sitting down on a rock in the fields. At his feet were two young boys, his grandchildren, who looked up at him with wide grins and big eyes. He paused for a moment to take a whiff of his pipe, gazing at the tall mountain visible in the distance behind him. It was all black, and devoid of most life: only a couple of mountain ibex and some eagles roamed the area.   

“Now, where to begin? Hmm… Since my grandfather’s day, wives would whisper of the dangers of the ominous mountain... and of the goat-man that resided there.”

“Goat-man!?”  

“Mhm. At the foot of the Devil’s Fang, a farmer had taken up residence. All was going well for him, and did so for years, until one day his goats began to disappear. In search he travelled up the mountain many a day and night. Two weeks later, his flock had only diminished. The farmer grew frantic.”

Sighing, the old man felt the pleasant wind carrying along autumn’s dried foliage. He gazed at the clear blue sky, then at the mountain that cast gloom upon the noon. “The farmer would be ruined if he lost his herd. Desperate, he turned to a god. Fervent prayers left his mouth for a day and night, but he gained nothing. At the end of his rope, he turned to the devil. In his prayer, he promised to enter into a contract as long as his flock returned and his family was taken care of…” The smile on the old man’s face had been diminishing throughout, and now it was finally replaced by a grimace. He went into deep thought.

A gasp escaped the younger boy at his feet. Less patient than his sibling, he nudged his grandfather on. “What happened to him then, grandpa?”

The old man turned to study the two boys. He sighed and continued the story. “A man abandoned by his god wouldn’t expect anyone else to help him. And yet, a devil appeared in his home. His prayers were answered! The devil would let him find his flock, but on one condition. The farmer would take residence on the mountain itself, delivering a child to the devil each year. Scared out of his wits and foolish as many men are, the farmer agreed.

“And to his surprise, the devil didn’t reveal any trickery. It kept the end of its bargain and led him to his missing flock. The farmer cried in relief. But while he had forgotten the bargain, the devil never had. As the farmer was hugging one his goats, his back began to twist. His clothes ripped apart, and revealed a back covered in hair, and something began to protrude from him skull. He grew taller many feet and his back became crooked.

“Two horns then grew out of his head!” The old man put his fists against the sides of his head with the index fingers unfurled.

”Hooves for feet!” He stamped his feet onto the rock beneath him.

”And panic in his eyes.” He jumped up and stared

at the boys with the mountain looming behind him.

Horrified, the two gaped as tears made their way into their eyes. Seeing that he’d frightened them too much, the farmer sat back down. “In his now horrible voice as coarse as sand, the farmer screamed with reluctance. But he, or rather it, had to obey the contract. Each year it would steal a child and sacrifice its pure soul to the devil. It would spend the time in-between staring at its own reflection in a pond deep within the mountain.”

The old man stood up and gave the two youngsters a stern look. “And that’s why everyone stays away from the mountain, and you should too! Unless you want the goat-man to take you...”

As he spoke these words, the frightened look on the boys’ faces returned. While a handy tool for keeping the children in line, the legend’s truth was one he was uncertain of. He gave a weak smile and was about to coax them when he realised that their eyes were fixed to a spot behind him. A chill ran down his spine as he turned to look at the Devil’s Fang.

Belying the sun hanging in the wide blue above, the sky around the Devil’s Fang had begun to darken. The old farmer grabbed the two boys and ran with all his might into the shoddy barn nearby. His pipe lay discarded upon the rock where a tendril of smoke would rise up time and again.

This far up north in the continent, there were only a few villages to witness the scene, whose residents all rushed back to their households with children and cattle in tow. The view only turned more ominous as lightning flashed around the peak. Yet, what was happening was far beyond the villagers’ feeble superstitions.

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In another part of the continent, in a flourishing city by the name of Light’s Sanctuary, was a large temple. Since ancient times it had been dedicated to the god of light, Soramon. Deep beneath it was a chamber hidden away from common knowledge, large and round. A semi-circular table went around half the room, at the center of which was a glowing orb. Sitting behind this table were twelve old men whose existence, if known, would warrant prostration from the city’s folk. They were all former archbishops of the temple of light.

These men would remain motionless all year as they prayed to their god. But now they were shivering and staring in disbelief at the flickering orb in the middle.

The old man sitting at the head of the table managed a quivering voice. “How could this be happening? I feel engulfed by a fear like I’ve never felt before. A being that shouldn’t exist has entered our plane. Its descent has even caused the power of light in the world to fall into chaos!”

The other men were too shocked to reply. A flash of light erupted within the chamber, and as it cleared, what remained was the flickering orb and twelve empty chairs.

The power above the Devil’s Fang was the antithesis to not only the light, but to god-kind as a whole. And so, those powerful enough to sense the change gathered from all the temples spread across the continents of the world. They stood at the summit of the Devil’s Fang, staring at the lightning-laden dark clouds above.

It was the 11th day of autumn in the 143rd moon cycle. And on Kavaron, the land of iron and blood, the world seemed to be ending.

“What in Gaia's name is going on! Does anyone know what could be causing this?” The speaker was one of Gaia’s descendants. He looked middle-aged, and that was quite young, considering most gathered here looked old as oaks. No one answered.

One man pulled his gaze away from the spectacle and spotted a ravine appearing beneath the mountain. It began to stretch outwards, and the earth split apart to reveal a hole. Shocked, they tried to peer through, but its secrets were shrouded in darkness too thick.

And as their eyes were affixed to the hole… something moved within the darkness. A farmer’s cart soon appeared, filled with various objects and carrying a blanket-covered boy in the back, besides whom was a caged raven. It was being pulled by two skeleton-skinny horses, and two hounds padded behind.

The crowd stared in horror, but also in puzzlement. The driver had grabbed their attention, but it soon shifted to the boy sleeping in peace. He was pale and gray hair covered most of his face. In comparison, he had seemed normal to them at first. But after they gazed at him for a while, their bodies couldn’t help but shiver.

One of the archbishops of light could no longer stop his instincts. About to summon a ray of pure light to incinerate the area beneath them, he found the scene before his eyes shift and turn black. Back at the Devil’s Fang, the strongest people of the world all vanished without a trace.

They found themselves in a dark place. The archbishop from before attempted to summon an orb of light to dispel the dark, only to wear a look of bafflement instead. He couldn’t touch his magic at all.

The archbishop yelled in horror. “Wh-where is this? My magic! Old Seventh, Old Ninth! Anyone? Is there anyone here!?”

“Yes, I can feel the others here. What is this dreadful place that has robbed us of our vision and our magic? It seems to be another dimension altogether. I can not even sense the presence of our God,” Old Seventh replied.

“Old Seventh, what kind of power must one possess to transport someone across dimensions?” Old ninth asked, voice filled with fear. Silence was his only reply.

After a while, they began to settle down and discuss among themselves.

“What was that boy? He must be eliminated.” The one who spoke first was an old man from the War God’s temple.

“Why did I feel so threatened?! He must die!” Lacking in anything better to do, the rest gave their assent.

All of a sudden, the air itself began to tremble, sending the now calm holy men into another panic. Two orbs emitting scarlet light appeared and lit up the chamber. The dread that crept into their hearts upon seeing the orbs nearly made them sully their underpants. But this dread was nothing to what they felt when they realized that each scarlet orb had a circle as dark as night inside. They were eyes!

A voice soon appeared, solidifying this realisation. “You dare to plot the death of my heir! MY SON!? You puny mortals servicing those low-born gods DARE!?”

This time, many couldn’t hold their bladders. Some pissed themselves, while others closed their eyes or tried to look away. None of them could faint, even if they wanted to. Fear wasn’t enough to describe what they felt. Their minds were demolished.

One known as Bajan Bright-Blade, son of the Azura God, somehow managed to utter a plea. It proved his reputation as a brave man, for inside, he fared no better than the others under this terrible voice.

“O’ Mighty Lord, pi-pi-pity us mortals. We did not know who we offended. W-we want to apologize. We’d never even dream o-of trying t-to k-k-kill the son of someone like you.” He only finished speaking after much difficulty. In the hands of one who could call their gods low-born, Bajan knew they had to try anything they could. Just the demon’s voice alone had been enough to almost kill them.

It was bend or break.

Bael chuckled, but didn’t let the frightened mortals hear it. He had to make sure nobody would dare to touch his son. Any other time he wouldn’t be scared of a low-born god hurting Kael, but with his son’s memories sealed, he was afraid of a cat killing a defenceless dog.

“Mark my words: if a single drop of my son’s blood is spilled, your world will end. I will wipe you all off the face of the earth. Then, I will destroy your dimension and slaughter every god who ever came from this lowly planet. Do you understand!?” The last bit was pronounced with such force that some weaker people present began to bleed from all orifices.

All of them nodded in unison while shaking like autumn leaves in a hurricane’s path. Just a touch would be enough to send them to the underworld.

The darkness within the chamber moved and engulfed the crowd. When it dissipated, they had vanished. The chamber was left with an eerie silence, which soon broke again as a laughter rumbled through the halls, echoing for a long time.

In the end, Bael said one more sentence.

“Now, my son, the world is your stage. I will wait and see the choices you make and the future you create.”