“The origin of magic is a curious one. Many say that magic didn’t exist in the world before the Six granted it to the races. Others however say it did, but in a different form. All that is known is that Abaddon had allowed the common being to use magic far more powerful than what was accessible before, and even what’s accessible now. And he did such at these “Gates of Heaven” – something that’s location is now lost, and is said to have once been a physical entrance into the Mists.”

Abaddon took in a deep breath as he slowly glided over the misty Crystal Sea. He always enjoyed the view of water endlessly stretching out before him. He had taken domain over the seas and their seemingly eternal depths; many believed it was due to the depths of the ocean holding horrors most cannot handle, just as the depths of knowledge did, but in reality Abaddon had found water calming. A force to bring a peace of mind to the darknesses of secrets and forbidden knowledge he had to govern. A force that he knew could be even more devastating than all the knowledge in the world if it needed to be.

The day has been peaceful. No storms, no pleads for his attention. He had a task, and he was contempt to take his time.

Abaddon! Lord of the Everlasting Depths, Keeper of Secrets, open mine eyes and bestow upon me the knowledge of the Abyss that I might smite mine enemies and send them to the watery depths!

Thoughts ran through the gods’ mind. Not his own, but a prayer to him; a powerful, and close, one. Abaddon shook his head, “why do prayers always end up sounding like that? Give me, give me.” He sighed and searched for the origin.

Prayers to the gods have become more and more common in the past few decades. So common that Abaddon, and perhaps the other gods, have begun toning them out. Yet a few still are heard: those most desperate for their needs. And this one was beyond desperation.

Abaddon paused, thinking for only a moment to decide his course of action. He changed his course and headed for the source of the prayer, a nearby island. It took only a minute or two before Abaddon was just off of the island. He saw a man cowering in the sands as an armada of forgotten, the gods’ caretakers, approached the island. He searched through his mind, looking for the ceaseless knowledge of things that pass and soon found what he was looking for: the intention of the forgotten; to torture the man, Jadoth was his name, slowly until he sought not just death, but to cease existing.

Despite who they were, Abaddon didn’t give a moment’s hesitation as he stretched out his scaled arm, curling his talon-like fingers into half-arches pointing downward. Soon, the sky turned a dark red, and then pitch black before the light of the stars reappeared, just to fall down upon the approaching armada as giant burning crystals. Ship after ship was struck and fell to the watery depths. With a wave of his other arm, Abaddon swirled the ocean waters creating a maelstrom of catastrophe around the ships. The water began to boil from the heat of the crystals now embedded in the seabed. Within minutes, the ships were sunk, leaving only small pieces of debris. Any forgotten who attempted to abandon their ships would have been burned alive from the water.

What was once mist had now turned into steam, and the cowering man now stood in awe at the events which unfolded before him. Jadoth knelt down once more, this time thanking Abaddon, his voice ringing through the gods’ head.

“Jadoth, do not thank me.” Abaddon said as he approached the island. Jadoth turned around seeking the god who was now obscured from view by the steam. Abaddon shrunk himself so that he could talk to Jadoth up close. “It was your powerful words that saved you.” Lies, he knew, but it was more important to instill faith in oneself rather than faith in the Six.

“My lord Abaddon.” Jadoth said as he kneeled once more. “Why do you bless me with your presence?”

“You asked for power, did you not? I have looked into your past as I approached. I could think of no finer man than you for the task I have.”

“Whatever it is you wish of me, I shall do.” Jadoth said without hesitation or a waver in his voice. He was a strong captain who commanded with respect, and he held such a strong faith. Abaddon has seen in his past that Jadoth killed a man for a mere insult to the god. He would be perfect.

“I want you to accompany me. I have a task I must complete, and then I shall have what you must perform. Until then I ask you to serve me.”
“I will always serve you, lord Abaddon.”


“What is this place?” Jadoth was astonished at the sight before him. A lone island in the center of the Crystal Sea, cracked open and filled with golden statues of the Six and of winged females. The water of the sea refused to come within a mile of the island itself, creating an oasis with waterfalls on all sides. The two remained at the bottom of a staircase that led to the opening of the island, but the view to inside was still plain to see.

“This is the Hall of Ascension, one of the many entrances to the Gates of Heaven.” Abaddon replied. “You will need to complete the trial presented here if you wish to survive where we are to go.”

Unquestioning, Jadoth walked up a sole staircase leading to the opening of the hall. Before Jadoth entered, Abaddon shouted to him and tossed him a single spear that was made of pure black metal with a spiked collar around the tip of the spear.

The hall led to a circular room, the sides having a ramp that joined on the other end of the hall. In the circle of the room stood a man in armor as black as Jadoth’s new spear, which it also held, that looked as though it may be stronger than diamond. His head was lit afire and the skin looked like embers. The man saluted Jadoth then immediately charged at him. Instinctively, Jadoth dodged to the right and ran up the ramp, hoping to gain the advantage of height.

So the trial is to fight? Simple enough! At the top of the ramp, Jadoth swung around, swiping the spear at the waist-leveled head of the burning man. Just as Jadoth did before, the man dodged to the right, then followed up with a swipe of the spear at Jadoth’s shins.

Caught off guard, Jadoth just barely managed to jump over the spear and attempted to slam his feet on top of it but missed. In turn, he jabbed the spear at an opening of the man’s armor at the neck. Just like before, he dodged to the right – straight into the wall. Once more, Jadoth jabbed at the man, this time aiming to go through his armor.

The man jumped in the air and over Jadoth, down into the center of the room. He recovered as soon as Jadoth turned around.

Gritting his teeth, Jadoth followed the man, jumping straight at him. The man outstretched his own spear as Jadoth fell down. Kicking the spear out of the way, Jadoth then thrust his own into the man’s skull, down into the body. The body fell apart as the embers of the flame disappeared into ash. A faint sensation flowed through Jadoth’s body as the last of the ash was blown away in the wind, leaving an empty suit of armor.

“Congratulations, Jadoth.” Abaddon said at the entrance to the hall. Now, let us go to the Gates of Heaven.”

Abaddon led Jadoth back up the ramp, into a niche where during the battle Jadoth saw a flat wall. There was neither an exit nor anything else in the niche, but the two walked into it and came out in another room. It was created out of the same golden materials, but mixed in with sandstone, and the air felt differently – Jadoth could still smell the sea, and even heard waves in the distance, but the air itself was far more humid.

Abaddon turned to look at Jadoth, whose face was filled with curiosity and confusion. The god gave a soft chuckle. “We are now on the southern edge of the Crystal Sea, Jadoth, at a temple dedicated to all six of us, the innermost chamber of which also serves as the true entrance to the Gates of Heaven.”

“I’ve been to the Temple of the Six Gods before, but I never had to defeat a shadow of myself. What was the purpose of that test?”

“The temple is safe, except for the inner sanctum. The air there will suffocate those who have weak souls, effectively separating it from the body – passing the test of Ascension strengthens one soul so that it can endure exposure to the Mists.”

The Mists, the essence and origin of the universe, true home of the gods and of the afterlife; Jadoth knew of the Mists, and he recalled tales that no living being had ever entered them and returned alive – save for King Doric, who only had done such with the aid of Dwayna. Those that did survive without the aid of the gods replaced them, such as Grenth had done to Dhuum only a couple decades ago.

The two continued through the surprisingly emptied temple. Jadoth assumed that Abaddon had taken them to an isolated portion of the building – after all, if the inner chamber wasn’t isolated, innocents could wander in and die. The walls of the temple remained flat, save for some intricately twisted thin poles that looked like they were frozen during a dance.

Abaddon paused in front of two larch arched doors before pushing them open. Jadoth noted the brief hesitation in the god, and only became more baffled. A wonder which he quickly dismissed as he knew no mortal should attempt to understand a god’s thoughts – especially Abaddon’s whose mind contains knowledge that sends beings mad.

Beyond the walls was a tall circular room with seven niches – one holding the door, the other six each holding a beautiful golden statue of a winged female. The wings were stained glasses that remained in place by the golden frame. In the center, possibly twelve feet high, lied six lights, dancing around in loops, each with their own path that nearly created a spherical trail of the light. It was near impossible to see that the lights were circling something due to their brightness, but Jadoth managed to get a glimpse of some sort of object – an object which moved on its own accord.

“What’s in there?” Jadoth asked without thought.

“A relic. A mere reminder to us of the true origin of our current power, though now only Dwayna and Melandru know what it is. The statues are of the original gods – I, Lyssa, Balthazar, and of course Grenth are merely successors to them.” Abaddon replied, no emotion flowed from his voice. He stared at the center of the room, beneath the circling lights, as if waiting for something to appear.

And something did appear.

A pillar of mist formed within seconds and just as quickly disappeared, revealing a small shrouded man. Jadoth felt the man was familiar but could not place it.

“You’re late.” Abaddon said. “Are the preparations ready?”

“I am your elder, Abaddon. Do not order me around.” The cloaked man said, his voice cracked and dry, speaking as if it was the desert wind. He walked forward towards the two but his face was kept in shadows, and despite the movement, his cloak seemed to drag on as if he was being pulled.

“You gave up your godhood to survive as a mere specter Dhuum, I may order you around if I wish.”

Jadoth stood there in astonishment. He had to avert his eyes constantly from Abaddon to prevent going blind, but he was capable of staring at this god with ease.

“He is not part of the plan.” Dhuum said

“He is now.”

“My lord, what is this plan?” Once more, Jadoth asked before he could keep his mouth closed.

“First, to grant magic to all beings; second….” Abaddon reached up to the circling lights overhead and ripped two of them apart, pushing one into himself and tossing another to Dhuum, who did the same. “To fix the folly of the other gods.” Once more, Abaddon ripped the lights from their loops, forcing the remaining four together into a single light.

Jadoth’s eyes widened as the object the lights shielded – a pulsating coalescence of flesh and thorn – was revealed.

With one more thrust, Abaddon had shoved the now combined light into the eldritch flesh. It pulsed harder and faster for only a matter of seconds until it exploded, sending out a shockwave which went through the walls. As Jadoth lowered his arms that shielded his eyes, he saw nothing left of the mass of flesh. And though he could not see it, Jadoth felt Dhuum smile beneath his cloak.

“A storm will take place, heralded by the King of Corpses and brought by the Holder of Secrets. This storm shall envelope and overshadow all and none shall be left unscathed.”

– Excerpt from the Tome of Time

The wreckage of the forgotten’s armada was scattered across the waters. In every direction there were either broken floating wood or dead bodies – many of which scorched. Being a serpentine race, most of the forgotten had jumped ship when giant crystals fell from the skies, hoping to avoid the splinters of wood that flew in every direction. Those forgotten were the first to die as the water boiled as they entered it.

Now, only one of the entire fleet survived. Xixiss surveyed the area around him. No ship was left in a piece but he was lucky enough to have found enough wood to lay on as the water cooled down. Two of his four arms were bleeding and the webbing between them and his torso were cut and felt as if it burned. The salt water surrounding him only made his wounds worse.

Knowing his could not swim, he mustered what strength he had to use a plank of wood as an oar for his little raft made from wreckage. Over hours, he forced his way onto the island the armada had followed Jadoth to. Xixiss wasn’t worried in finding the murderer there. He witnessed who caused the destruction of his comrades. It was because he knew this that he had to survive; he had to warn his masters, the gods, of the betrayal of their own.

Once he reached the small island, he laid down on the sandy beach exhausted. Without any strength left, he closed his eyes.

The world remained black for Xixiss, but it would never silent. At first he thought he died from exhaustion or blood loss when he first came too, but soon felt his own breathing. Voices muttered about as the waves crashed into a wall. He could hear things leaving and entering the water time and time again – oars, he figured. He had to be on a ship, but his eyes remained closed, unable to open.

“Isss he awake yet?” A slithering voice asked, clearly a forgotten as well. The other serpentine races wouldn’t go near the Crystal Sea – it has become the domain of the forgotten and Margonites, and them alone.

“No sir. He seems to be breathing more regularly and stronger so he is doing better than when we found him.” Another forgotten’s voice said.

Xixiss tried to move, but he felt nothing.

“Let me know when he…”

The voices began to fade, as did all other sounds. Moments later, or at least what felt like moments to him at least, they had returned. This time, his eyes opened slowly.

Blobs moved swayingly across a dark canvas as he watched the little light left in the back die out. One of the blobs approached him as his eyes closed once more and the world fell silent for only moments later.

This time, the light awoke Xixiss. He tried to block it with the webbing between his arms but it still shone through. Opening his eyes he saw that the webbing had been almost entirely torn off and memories of the disaster filled his head.

Xixiss screamed both in pain and frustration as he remembered the betrayal of one of his gods.

Within seconds, three forgotten had came to him and held him down steadily until he stopped thrashing about.

A fourth forgotten approached. “I sssee he isss awake now.” It was the first voice Xixiss had heard earlier.

“But still in no condition to be questioned commander.” One of the three that held Xixiss down stated; this time, it was the second forgotten’s voice. “You two remain nearby, just in case.”

“I can talk.” Xixiss murmured. For a moment, he thought that he couldn’t talk, so he repeated himself once more, louder.

“Then tell me how a sssingle Margonite managed to dessstroy an entire armada of oursss!” The commander said. His lisp that is common among their race becoming even more prevalent as he raised his voice.

“It wasn’t the Margonite…” Xixiss closed his eyes for a moment before he retold the event; how he was preparing one of the row boats with the others on his ship, their captain shouting that Jadoth was found, how the captain asked a question so silently no one could make it out, how the stars seemed to have fell from the sky and the water swirled and boiled, and that the god Abaddon was floating in the distance.

The commander and the other forgotten remained silent for minutes, soon to feel like hours.

“You… You sssurvived the powersss of a god?” The commander asked.

“It was pure luck.” Xixiss responded. “But we must warn the other five gods! If Abaddon had betrayed us…”

“His betrayal is known.” The second forgotten, a doctor Xixiss has realized, said. “You were out for weeks, an in that time there have been reports of him calling his people and creating an army out of them; the most dangerous kind too, a fanatical one. Furthermore, he granted an insurmountable amount of magic to all races in this world. Enough to allow a small group of talented individuals easily do as much damage as he did that day.”

“We will ssstill return to Arah.” The commander said.


“To be back here in this room so soon…” Balthazar said grimly. Five of the gods, Abaddon being excluded, sat in their circular room. Lights that drew in the gods’ divine shine floated behind each one. To each god, the room felt incomplete so long as that sixth place remains empty.

“It cannot be helped.” Melandru said in response. “We must find a solution to this issue quickly. A week has passed since Abaddon has betrayed us. He destroyed the-“

“Melandru, enough.” Dwayna interrupted quickly. Balthazar and Lyssa both were shocked at Dwayna’s quickness to cut off what Melandru was saying; Grenth only smiled. “We shouldn’t focus on what has been done but why and how to fix it.”

“What was it that Abaddon destroyed?” The two twin goddess Lyssa asked in unison with herself.

“Unimportant.” Dwayna said as calmly as ever.

“By ‘unimportant’ you mean ‘I’m ashamed of it’ don’t you Dwayna?” Grenth asked, his voice as cold and unwavering as the ice he governs. He glared at the goddess of light and air through his skull mask, as if searching for something.

Dwayna remained silent for some time, just as the rest of the gods did in anticipation. “In its destruction, though, he allowed all beings the ability to use powerful magic, and those talented could easily match us if given the opportunity.”

“And as a result, wars and crimes have become rampant due to people’s newfound power. They think them blessed by us and thus see no wrong in their actions. How foolish.” Grenth responded. After some time, he added “I’ll be busy for a while.”

“While I don’t mind there being wars, these are being fought with treachery and without honor!” Balthazar shouted; it almost seemed as if his beard would light up in fire in anger.

“We must put an end to this conflict ourselves. We should split up and calm each area of the world.” Melandru suggested to the group, her wings twitched in worry.

“Abaddon may be planning something… Three of us should remain here, just in case.” Dwayna said.

“Then who shall go where?” Balthazar asked as he teetered on the edge of fury.

Dwayna looked up for a moment and closed her eyes, thinking of what to do. “Lyssa, would you go to Elona. When you get back, head north to the lands east of here. After that, we’ll figure out what to do next. Grenth, you go to the southern continent; there should be less trouble so you should manage the whole landmass.”

“We’d better leave now then, to end this quickly and make my job easier.” Grenth said just before he and Lyssa left.

Now half of the room was empty. The three remaining gods feeling incomplete while remaining in their meeting room.

“Why did this happen?” Melandru asked, not to anyone in particular.

“Abaddon was not always like this… And he was a god in less time than Lyssa.” Balthazar said, having finally calmed down. He held a face of worry, not for the situation or Abaddon, but for himself.

Dwayna gently placed a hand on Balthazar. “It is our fate – eventually all of us will be driven to insanity of one form or another. Death and knowledge are just the two that goes there quickest.”

Balthazar could see it in her eyes. Dwayna was hurt far more than she showed. Clenching his fists, he stood up quickly and stormed out the door, muttering a single phrase the other two could just barely hear.

“There is something I must do.”


Balthazar strode quickly through the various halls that were built just over two centuries ago. This section of the city was maintained purely through the magic of the gods, not being allowed access to mortals. Normally at this time of day, he would be enjoying the view of his main shrine; having soldiers march in the nearby plaza and gladiatorial contests within the temple all done just to show their dedication to him.

He still remembered when he was a simple mortal like them, though how long ago now escapes him. He and Abaddon had risen to godhood at the same time, the former gods of war and knowledge having turned against the rest. Their plot was unknown to the two; Balthazar was told simply that they intended to destroy the world by using ancient magic that should never be touched, even by a god.

Abaddon was like a brother to Balthazar, and now this happened. If all gods eventually turn to do harm, he could not be far behind. And from time to time, he felt it. Corners of his mind sought to cause chaos and led him into fury. He had killed a simple Canthan due to losing a board game only a few years ago – that was when Balthazar first noticed the encroaching darkness.

Balthazar had just reached the center of his home on Tyria, which held a permanent portal into the Mists – specifically to his realm, the Fissure of Woe. It was a place designed by the first god of war, a place of eternal fire and battles where the fallen rise shortly after death to continue fighting. It was an endless conflict; endless thrill for those who enjoy battle.

He had come to this place for a single purpose: to prevent what had happened to Abaddon from happening to him.

In the center of his realm, Balthazar stood unmoving for what began to felt like hours. Around him the clangs of weapons rang. Using all of his might, Balthazar threw his hand into his head, cracking it open ever so carefully to pull out the darkness that had began to plague him.

As he pulled his hand back, covered with his own blood, he held a single glob of pure darkness. It tore at his flesh as it attempted to escape. It felt like pure destruction was being constrained within his hand, and the second he let it go it would run rampant.

Balthazar laughed as blood flowed from his injured head.

“So this little thing is the darkness that plagues me!?” He shouted to the air. “An unfitting opponent…” He gripped the ball of darkness and chaos, of pure destruction, and hurled it into the closest fires and watched as the fires surrounded it.

But it did not burn, it fed. It fed upon the unpredictability and harm of the fire, and grew until it was the size of Balthazar. Not just the size, but a mirror image of the god – an image of complete blackness and opposition. It laughed silently before fading away.