Chapter 2 – After You

Sirus was a tall wiry framed man with almost spindly arms and legs who wore an oversized robe and hood that only exaggerated his dimensions. He had a strange almost comical gait when he walked. If his build didn’t make him stand out enough he had pitch white hair and almost translucent skin hidden under his hood.

His most disturbing feature was his eyes, the irises an unhealthy shade of luminous red bordering on pink. His eyes drew and held the gaze of those they fell upon. A momentary lapse, and one might find a sharp pain radiating from their chest. A look down might reveal a dagger as it withdrew from between their ribs. Quite a useful skill for an assassin rogue mixed build which suited his legendary class Hunter Killer.

It would only be natural that the greatest, living, murderer and all-round creep would lead not only the silent blades assassin guild but also be the first to enter the portal. It had been agreed that Sirus’s unique skillset would be best utilised scouting and setting up a beach head for the rest of humanities leaders who were now its champions.

As Sirus stepped through the portal, being quite literally ripped apart atom by atom and then forcibly re constituted and dumped on the other side. Inhaling deeply and puking up his breakfast while on his hands and knees in the dark. Well that was unpleasant, Sirus remarked quietly chuckling to himself.

He slowly sat up instinctively looking for some form of light or cover. Finding none he activated a skill Darkness Meld which allows him to enter any shadow or dark space and see through it as if they were walking in daylight.

Instantly Sirus realised he was being supressed there was no light no dark only a void where none of his senses worked. He couldn’t see in the darkness. He couldn’t hear any sounds even his own heart beat or breathing. He couldn’t feel anything not his feet’s light pressure on the floor or even the clasp of his own hands. He couldn’t taste the spit or the acidic vomit that had coated his mouth earlier. Finally he couldn’t smell, even though he knew instinctively he was sweating.

Sirus grew more and more agitated as what seemed like days passed, all bodily functions including sleep and hunger seemed to fade away. While he hoped the other champions would arrive and help release him from this hell, he cursed the weakness and selfishness of his thoughts.

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POV Change

The Champions as they had agreed to be now known, had agreed that the best strategy was to send two champions to scout through the portal and then to enter in groups of two with the strongest and weakest champion entering the portal last being Finnian and Morgan respectively.

Morgan was the last portal last to enter the Portal. Yes, comparatively he was the weakest of the champions however he could still blow a hole through a small mountain with ease or rip the wings from some lesser forms of dragon. He had built himself up as a warrior and dark type while obtaining a rare class the Knight of Reaping.

Morgan had fallen into his role as a leader of a tribe accidently a loner initially he spent the first half of his new life as a foot soldier under various lords. His low position was not from lack of skill, experience or aptitude he just wasn’t a people person. He didn’t feel comfortable in loud crowds constantly trying to impress others. When the former leader of Deaths Embrace, Morgan’s best friend Andrew realised Morgan’s potential both within his Class and his unusual…. talent for getting out of trouble or gaining the upper hand he immediately groomed him to lead.

Under Andrews tutelage, Morgan learned about leadership, battle tactics, spells, combat and a myriad of other useful skills needed to lead. As Morgan excelled, he was promoted consistently until he was second only in rank to Andrew. Andrew had tested Morgan and had he not disappeared, presumed dead, in the last great wyvern hunt he would have shared with Morgan the undeniable truth he had learned about Morgan.

Morgan stepped out of the portal onto a flat plain of sand, flames licking the surface rising and falling like some one was turning the dial on a gas cooker. It is so… hot … Morgan said. What is wrong with me I can hardly think straight. He looked around him not quite believing what he was seeing the eleven champions that had gone before him were standing like statues with dark black eyes. He could see dark black veins throbbing in their necks.

Morgan heard a sound in the distance he craned his neck to view a throne made of black marble about 20 metres high. Sitting on it was a demon of sorts. The demon had ash grey horns that curled back towards his head like a ram’s, yellow eyes like a goats, feet that were in actuality hooves and finally black wings with glittering feathers that were midnight black.

The demon arched its eyebrows in surprise, standing up he shrank to a more manageable, but no less imposing 8 feet tall. He strode towards Morgan, well this is interesting the demon said.

I am the final judge, the final executioner, the final floodgate, the final face many will see prepare yourself Morgan Fairchild.