[WP] You're such a powerful magician that life is pretty dull. To combat the boredom you and other sorcerers, wizards, vampires etc. started to raise and groom your own groups of champions, setting them to fight each other with bad excuses like "saving the princess" or "slaying the demon lord".
....
In Gillian's honest opinion, the worst part of being an all-powerful Sorcerer had to be how simple everything became as a result. The world itself was had become so boring, it was now lacking at a fundamental level.
With his genius, all it had taken as one hundred years of training beneath his master, two hundred years of secretly plotting to destroy his master, and then another one hundred years drinking the all-powerful mage's soul to become unrivaled by any other... but now? Three thousand years of life since then, a very solid majority of those dedicated to the magical arts, and things certainly had gotten dull.
All he had to do was snap his fingers, and whatever it was could be possible by one method or another. Did he desire a beautiful maiden to warm his sheets? "Snap" Send out to Orcs and raid a village in the region on his behalf. If he wished to try himself once more in Glorious combat, "Snap" Rally the undead armies and sound the horns. His legions could march within the hour, pillaging and burning all of the Western Continent in three months time.
But Gillian rarely felt the need for either of those trivial pursuits as of recently. The last two hundred years had seem unremarkable simple. Instant gratification had cursed him. His only worthy rivals, the great Mages of Faith in the Church-loving, Eastern Nation of Dotera, were all dying off and handing their lands to successors; their belief in god kept them from attempting immortality. Back in their prime a century ago they might have honestly presented a challenge, but now... It was as if Gillian had forgotten about a delicious pastry he was much anticipating on the counter-top, left for a few days, only to come home late and find it spoiled.
They just weren't worth his time any longer. The world seemed to be slipping into a slow and terrible decline. There was nothing that could keep his attention any longer. He had beaten, defeated, and subjugated everything of interest and value remaining.
"RODRICK!" Gillian shouted, waving his gnarled wood staff. The affixed piece, crystal and gold in finest brilliance, flashed smoke and fire with abandon- each magic imbued missile flying off in the halls repeating his cry. "RODRICK!" His voice shouted over and over, before a satisfying "Thump" signalled his desired target had been reached. Moments later, a smoking giant of a man, armor scorched black, clanked into the great hall.
"My liege." The towering figure knelled, regal demeanor almost comical to Gillian in light of its contrast. Rodrick had been one of the few Champions to rise up against him after The last Great Mage fell. Now the Knight was simply an undead husk with barely a trace of personality remaining beneath that magic-filled steel. Still, in life the knight was the closest to stopping him. No other champion had ever come close, and Gillian still wore the scar on his chest beneath his thick robes as a reminder.
A reminder of the thrill, of the challenge.
"Rodrick, have the acolytes finished their work upon the spheres of Chaos? I've yet to hear a report." The staff flared again, thick glass of wine rising from a distant coaster to his waiting hand. This particular vintage came from a nation Gillian had destroyed twenty years ago, after an uppity king who had forgotten the lessons of history decided that the borders should be rearranged slightly. As it stood, the borders certainly were adjusted, but perhaps not in the expected ways. "Rodrick, I recall assigning the task of overseeing this particular venture to you, and you alone."
"My liege." The deep and rasping voice seemed to boom through air and mana alike as it spoke, "Currently of the thirty lesser mages you assigned, ten have been torn asunder by the wild beasts that persist in the horrid space between the realms. Seven have had their minds broken by the escaped essence of Chaos itself, and six more have been pulled through by fluctuations of the mana-streams they channeled." The black knight set his armored handed heavily on his lifted knee. "One of which reported back a successful transfer, but was soon beset upon by wild beasts of the plane in which he had landed. One more successfully returned, only to burst into flames."
"Hm... Indeed." Gilliant stroked at his thin beard, pulling the hair on his chin to a sharp point of silver, considering. "Have there been any true successes, though?"
"There have been some... abnormalities, My lord." Rodrick lifted slightly, perhaps emboldened by the chance to please his master. "The surviving mages have claimed that the resonance of the spheres will open portals to other worlds, and the chance of transference between them should be possible- if unpredictable."
"How unpredictable, Rodrick?"
"Our Orcish scouts have passed through several local disruptions, but only half of them made it back to report. Numerous examples of previously unknown wild-creatures have also come through the rifts."
"Is there any potential though? Tell me, is there any chance of a foreign champion or a new champion arising from this experiment? Should I simply scrap this with all the others, and go back to breeding civilizations and crossing my fingers?" The staff spun idly along careful fingers, lights and flame dancing along with wisps of powerful ripples in the air.
"So far as I know, there have been no planes discovered with truly intelligent life. No champions or demonic forces remotely capable of engaging you in a true battle have shown themselves yet, but..." The knight trailed off, speech settling into the faintest hint of the undead's former persona. Gillian detected malicious intent, for the briefest instant. His interest heightened.
"Go on, Rodrick." Gillian lean forward on his throne, tipping back the goblet of wine in full, savoring the familiar taste. "Tell me, what is it that troubles you so?"
The undead Knight rose to his feet, armor clanking in dull magnificence as whatever husk still remained beneath it turned towards the great windows of tinted glass. A sunset slowly fell over the jagged spires of thick mountains and twisted rivers in the distance.
"The surviving mages claim that these occurrences- these rifts, are taking place upon the land everywhere." The dark shadows beneath the visor of blackened steel shifted. "They have begun the process of harmonizing the spheres, removing those planes of irrelevance portion by portion. At the rate in which these open, I believe there is a chance that somewhere, a worthy opponent might arrive in time."
"Indeed. Indeed..." Gillian leaned back, hand once again stroking the silver hair upon his chin. His staff tapped against the stone below, glow ceasing in finality before he spoke once more. "I appreciate your words and council Rodrick. You may leave."
A clamor of metal shifted as the great knight bowed, heavy pace taking the undead back out of the hall and into the deep stone corridors of Gillians Great Keep. In this place, known to many who still lived outside its rule as the Towers of evil, or the Thrones of Death, Gillian sat in silence. His thoughts churned through the details, pondering the significance and information that now found itself present.
There was a very good reason Rodrick alone stood in observation of such an experimental undertaking. Blunt and predictable through means he almost found refreshing: The purpose was simple. Even if he had searched day and night for another thousand years, Gillian could not have found a single servant that hated him more than Rodrick; of this he was absolutely certain. Among all those beneath his banner and command, there was not a single soldier who had resisted him for as long or as hard. Even cursing the former knight to bend knee, be bound by his very soul's essence, and serve Gillian for hundreds of years- and there were moments when control almost seemed to slip.
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By that simple logic, who else would work harder to ensure the success of his grand plan?
In a world where all the heroes and beasts of power had long-since fallen, and all the world could be conquered should Gillian simply say the word and raise his staff, there was something crucial missing: A challenge.
If this world could no longer produce one, what of another?
...
Beneath the Black Knight's horrifying stare, the surviving mages worked and toiled. None within their dwindling numbers remained with the hope to raise so much as a single finger towards resistance as he watched. To the contrary, even as they worked their fear wafted like a stale scent in the air and magic among their weaving spells. They knew what lay in resistance.
To fail in their work here, to make a mistake: That was likely death. But to resist the Dark Mage or his chosen overseer was certain death.
It was that small difference that convinced them entirely as they carried on their chanting in unison. Together, their magics barely wavered as an unpredictable lash of power jumped from the ancient relics floating withing their careful circle of runic engravings and lofted seals, shredding an unlucky one of their number down to ashes and bone.
Still they did not slow: Tears dripping down wide eyes in horror, they continued.
The magic of this nature was an abomination to any who witnessed it. Dangerous and uncontrolled in many of its aspects, the universe's realities converged in destructive clashes among the floating spheres- tiny portals ripping and tearing through the dark void of the space between. The mages knew very well what waited for them there, should they fail to control the flows. They had seen it enough to remember, even if they wished they could forget. Unspeakable things, untold horrors inconceivable to a mortal mind.
Another layer of the circle fell into place, and yet another series of planes fell away. Empty worlds, barren wastes of poison or deserts- they carried on as the relics tuned. Another whiplash of power, this time lighting and fire rippling in the face of a demon. Its hands began to reach from the runs of the chambers floor- all but manifesting before a thick black sword cut them down with a terrible show of force.
The Mages each twitched violently as the blade passed through the channeling casts, slicing whatever creature had attempted to free itself back down to dust and mana. Slowly the sword lifted to a heavy shoulder, clang of steel on steel settling like a gong's call.
"Continue." The deep voice ushered out to them from beneath a shadowed metal veil, helmet hiding untold horror beneath. Hatred leaked from the command as pure as the malice behind it; the mages complied without question. The Black Knight could not be disobeyed.
More worlds fell away, and more still after- the infinite planes shifting like sand to reveal the purer elements within them. Rising from the center of the casting, whirling sparks and flames jumping with barely constrained vigor, images began to flash. A forested world, then a place of fire and brimstone- giant horned and volcanic beasts shifting through magma, then a place of metal spires and flying metallic monstrocities.
Their eyes widened in amazement. Towers that reached the skies! Taller than even the Dark Mage's lair, taller than anything they had ever seen, and the wealth! Glass and beautiful shades of metal and color, a vibrancy unheard of almost anywhere in the current world: There was so much life, even from a distance they could feel it. Life and power- yet so little magic it almost seemed impossible.
With a nod of both awe and horror, the mages began to cast one final piece upon the spheres. A single bonding seal, to hold and to funnel away the rifts as planned- yet as they did, the sphere above began to flicker. Panic turned to terror, the mages screamed. Another burst- not into flame, but simple into nothing, not even bones remaining beyond the scorched mark and smell of spoiled meat. Another screeched in agony, boils and sweltering marks bursting with impassible growth as they calcified to stone where they stood- leaving a grotesque statue in a terrible parody of the life that once bore it.
The seals began to unravel, as the Dark Knight's shouts and threats urged them on, all but unheard for the sensation of violence brewing beneath the black armor behind them. Then the spells collapsed entirely, and the tower burst into unbridled and uncontrolled Chaos.
...
Gillian sipped from his chalice as he watched the far eastern tower of his keep explode in a brilliant display of color and flame. Twisting spirals of mana, faces and screams in the coarse plumes- as unpleasant as these things were, truly it was the faint hint of vinegar on his tongue that angered him more. The stale wine was far more troubling than the wrathful chaos scents drifting on the smoke now reaching his balcony.
This was the expected result.
He'd been waiting for this outcome for some time, but training additional mages was a difficult and tedious process and the next batch wasn't quite prepared for this level of work. Another few years and they would be put to the prior's task, but not until he could be certain of reasonable success and expertise. That second took time. Still, he had to admit, those final few mages who had survived the first tribulation of the spheres: They'd lived much longer than he'd anticipated. By watching them from a safe distance he'd learned many things of value.
As the smoke cleared away, the ancient spheres- relics of the First Race of Man, settled down unscathed. Around them Gillian could see the ripples of time and space calming on the surface of the air, like waves on a clear pool. Beside them, the charred armor of Rodrick slowly rose, steaming madness floating with flecks of burnt steel from the rough treatment he'd just received. His dark visor sought Gillian and nodded from afar, the undead slowly but surely stepping towards what remained of the stairs to make his way down from the wreckage.
None of the mages had survived it seemed, but then again- he'd not truly expected them to. There was a reason this work wasn't being done personally, after all. Tasting the air, Gillian raised his staff and felt out for the power, reaching through his mind's eye with the strength none of this world but himself could possibly hope to muster. Passively he searched for the remnants of their work, and smiled.
They had done it.
Incomplete and unfinished as it was, they had found what he'd hoped for, and sealed the planes around it. Perhaps five worlds were bound to this one now, and the rifts... They had opened, and they had brought with them traces. A deep sip passed wine down his throat, laughter barely waiting for his swallow as he threw it from the balcony, head back and arms raised.
A challenge! Finally a challenge! In a few years time, he would have what he wished for at last!
The traces of the magics had already faded to the barest whisper, but he felt it linger, rolling it along his mind. pieces and fragments of it had already come through, far to the north, the south and east... perhaps his challenge had already arrived, but he could wait.
Gods alone knew how long The Great Gillian, Lord of Darkness could wait.
...
To the edges of the first great continent of the world, along the Northern Mountains of fire and soot, a great beast found itself upon high peaks. The flames of its skin sputtered to life against the cool whipping breeze of snow as its tail coiled around the slopes of stone. Dark eyes and wrathful anger set upon the terrain as it roared with horrible and tremendous rage.
To the dark oceans of the deep South beyond the reach of land, where currents and forced beyond that of man riled up in maelstroms of unmitigated power- a creature of nature's very essence found itself in a new world, of new laws. The crushing pressure and shackles of its previous plane no longer held it at bay, and the sway of mana was lush and full. With deep gulps, it drank in the world around it, spreading mighty wings of crystal from the currents and twisters of storm that danced on the currents about it. Through glittering teeth, it called out in joy and unrivaled strength.
But then there was one more soul that passed through the veil. one more rift that opened and closed as quickly as it came. Not in power, not in force, but in almost complete silence, unnoticed as the night of one world became the morning in another.
In the realm of Dotera beside a forest of dark and tall trees, in land left to fallow along a village of no true importance, blacktop found itself meeting grassland. Deep white lines of fresh paint, clanging metal and rubber bouncing at rattling from a trip both impossibly far and impossibly close. An alarm of horns and shouts and curses sounded through the calm air of this land.
A man stepped from his camper, eyes wide and slippers barely set upon his feet. In the moments that followed, he questioned with true disbelief what had set the car's alarm off, or why a majority of the parking-lot had gone missing; but above all else he had to wonder where the name of honest-fuckery he'd landed.