Event 13 Archived by: Arthur INGO

Event 13 Archived by: Arthur INGO

In the fractured haze of consciousness, Theodore found himself jolted from his dreamscape by insistent voices and urgent hands. The world swirled around him, shapes and colors coalescing into a chaotic scene. The voice, distinct and unrelenting, pierced through the fog in his mind. “Theo – Theo – Theo – Wake up, wake up.” The words echoed like a frantic chant, a desperate plea to rouse him from slumber.

Blinking against the harsh intrusion, Theodore’s eyes struggled to focus on the source of the commotion. A figure with a cascade of blonde hair leaned over him, her expression a mix of concern and urgency. She didn’t hesitate to douse him in water, his senses jolted to life by the unexpected compound. He groaned, his head throbbing with a relentless drumbeat.

“There’s no time,” the voice persisted, and the urgency struck a chord within him. Memories began to assemble themselves like a puzzle, and Theodore recognized the woman before him as the same one who had intervened on his behalf once before. “They are going to kill her,” she declared, the words a stark revelation that cut through his confusion.

Theodore pushed himself into a sitting position, his grogginess a heavy shroud he struggled to shrug off. “What’s going on?” he managed, his voice a raspy whisper.

The woman turned, her gaze fixing on a companion who stood nearby—a striking figure with the gate of a warrior, who wielded a familiar jeweled spear with deadly precision. It was then that Theodore noticed her face was that of calico cat, its eyes embers burning with focus, observing the scene with an intelligence that seemed trans-human.

“Um, there’s a problem,” the cat lady interjected, her words laced with a mix of anxiety and determination.

Riley, the blonde-haired woman, pivoted with a grace that suggested an innate awareness of her surroundings. “We missed our jump… we’re on the wrong side of the wall,” she explained, her words punctuated by the resolute strike of her spear against the unyielding stone door.

The plan, woven from desperation and courage, unfolded as Riley produced a silver metallic ball and a seemingly ordinary quartz stone from her satchel. The exchange between Riley and the cat carried an unspoken weight, a testament to the gravity of their circumstances.

“That’s our last starportal, Riley,” the cat voice held a note of trepidation.

“I know…” Riley’s reply was both a confession and a declaration. Their options were limited, and it was a race against time, not faction.

The intention was set, the air seemed to crackle with a palpable tension. Theodore’s heart pounded in his chest, his senses heightened by the impending urgency. He could feel the adrenaline and cortisol coursing through his veins pushed aside the remnants of his fog.

Riley called Theodore and the cat to step close, and in one swift motion, Riley shattered a clear stone against the floor at their feet immediately followed by the spherical starport contraption. The ensuing eruption was a symphony of colors — a collision of green and purple that split the fabric reality and fused two places in time and space into one. Theodore shielded his eyes, a reflexive response to the brilliance that engulfed them all.

Emerging on the other side was a disorienting whirlwind of sensations. Theodore’s body spiraled through the fused matter, his disoriented mind struggling to piece itself back together once again. Nausea clenched at his stomach, and he curled into a fetal position as his body rebelled against the unnatural experience.

He was not alone in his suffering. Riley and the cat lady were similarly affected, their forms contorted in discomfort as they weathered the aftermath of fusion travel. The ordeal had left its mark, a testament to the physical toll it exacted, but their determination propelled them forward.

As their disorientation began to subside, the trio found themselves in a small cove, an oasis of tranquility juxtaposed against the storm of their surroundings. Birds chirped outside, and the rustling of leaves spoke of a world untouched by the chaos that now consumed them. They had arrived at the backside of the monastery, a momentary respite before their next trial.

Theodore and his companions fought against the residual effects of fusion, battling nausea and fatigue as they made their way toward the source of a haunting cry that echoed through the air. The urgency was palpable, a shared understanding that time was not one their side as they slid from shadow to shadow.

That is when they saw her — Rose, bound to an altar, her struggles feeble and her movements slow as if she was ensnared in a web of lethargy. Every cry required maximum effort. The scene before them was a nightmare woven into reality, the dark underbelly of human obsession and malevolence laid bare.

The were going to sacrifice her.

The three did not wait.

Weapons drawn, Riley and the cat moved with a purpose that spoke of practiced skill, their weapons an extension of their will, and the universe was submissive. The path they carved was a testament to their prowess, an awe-inspiring dance of death against insurmountable odds. Their journey had led them to this pivotal moment, the culmination of battles fought both within and without led to the moment.

Theodore’s heart pounded as he followed in their wake, his own determination echoing theirs as he stepped over bodies and avoid conflict just long enough for his companions to clean up. The scene that unfolded was a symphony of chaos — the floor adorned with relics and effigies, symbols etched into every surface, and Rose’s groans a constant haunting melody that pierced the air.

As the ritual master’s chant rushed into a crescendo, the air seemed to thicken with an almost tangible darkness. “Apollyon I SUMMON THEE,” the words resonated like a thunderous curse as Theodore reached the alter.

With a desperate cry, Theodore lunged forward. Pain seared through his knuckles as he was caught up into the sword that descended into Rose’s bosom. His body moved before conscious thought, driven by an instinctive need to protect, a testament to the sacrifice he was willing to make.

But the universe, it seemed, had its own plans. Despite Theodore’s efforts to divert the blade it found it’s way into Rose’s flesh, and a deafening explosion burst forth with Theodore at its core — a cataclysmic force that shattered the bond of the material world. The entire world was razed as flames engulfed every single living thing on the planet, the air vibrating with a furious energy that defied comprehension.

Theodore succumbed to darkness as the eternal flames licked at the edges of consciousness.

Event 12 Archived by: Arthur INGO

Event 12 Archived by: Arthur INGO

In the hushed embrace of the shadowy abyss, Damien and Oscar awoke, the weight of their dreams lifting reluctantly, giving way to a more surreal reality. The very air felt heavy, laden with secrets yet to be unraveled. Their surroundings whispered of forgotten tales and whispered echoes of lost souls, and it was uncharacteristic of Damien, ever the pillar of fortitude, to appear even remotely startled. He clambered to one knee and bowed his head — a reaction emblematic of reverence and fear.

Oscar, however, remained still, his senses aflame with awareness. Amidst the enveloping darkness, a solitary glimmer of light traced a path along the jagged contours of the chasm’s walls. There, upon a makeshift throne fashioned from a peculiar coffin, the figure emerged—a haunting enigma, perched betwixt decay and reawakening.

As the figure shifted, a faint light caught the contours of its visage, casting an eerie illumination upon skinless features. The eye socket, an underdeveloped cavity, teetered on the precipice of fragility—Oscar mused that a sudden motion might just dislodge the eye, leaving it to tumble into the abyss.

“Look at me, Damien,” the figure commanded, a voice as ancient as the bones that supported its form.

Damien’s head ascended, compelled by a force greater than mere obedience. His eyes met the figure’s, a master-subject dynamic infused with a mystical authority.

“I came as soon as I could, sire,” Damien’s words trembled, weighted by the immeasurable gravity of the figure’s presence. “Finding the ark proved a more treacherous journey than anticipated.”

The figure, draped in shadows, stood, stretching languorously, revealing the extent of its decayed form—a body caught betwixt dissolution and regeneration.

“I believe you, Damien,” the figure declared, allowing an undercurrent of weary forgiveness to waver in its tone. “You may rise.”

The obedient servant ascended, and with a gesture, introduced Oscar—the unsuspecting pilot—to the presence that commanded his utmost allegiance.

“He’s our pilot,” Damien murmured, eyes averted in deference.

Drawing nearer, the figure extended its decrepit hand towards Oscar, fingers curling around shoulders with an almost fragile grace. Gently, it lifted him from his supine slumber, standing him upright like a marionette just liberated from the whims of its puppeteer.

“I’m starting anew, Damien,” the figure spoke, a renewed vigor now palpable in its timbre. “This time, everything will be different.”

Damien’s gaze remained respectfully cast downward. “Your wish is my command, sire,” he intoned, caught within daunting authority and a countless lifetimes of devotion.

“Come, we must make haste” the figure beckoned, its semblance imbued with a strange vitality that belied its years of interment. “Have we not squandered enough time already.”

With the servitude of loyal canines, Damien and Oscar trailed behind Alaxandar, following the figure methodically out of the crevice, to the craggy precipice where the lifeless body of Thomas lay — an eerily serene tableau of bloody destruction.

In the newfound light of the opening above, Oscar could discern Alaxandar’s fleshly regeneration, a spectacle of raw vitality birthing new life from the remnants of decay.

To Damien’s astonishment, Alaxandar bowed before the mangled corpse of Thomas. In a feat that defied mortal comprehension, Alaxandar summoned forces unspoken from the aether, harnessing energy from the space between firmament that surrounded him. His hands became conduits of raw power, a symphony of forces that coursed through the void and surged into Thomas’s lifeless form. The air quivered with an otherworldly hum as strands of energy cocooned around Thomas, and the boundaries between life and death trembled in woe.

Thomas’s body convulsed with the resurgence of life, a dance of primordial forces weaving him anew from within. Breath rushed into his lungs, color kissed his cheeks, and his eyes ignited with consciousness.

Damien stood amidst the oscillation of life’s pendulum, his emotions a tempest of relief and jealousy. He was astonished to see Alaxandar perform such a sacred ritual while still so weak and decrepit. The power of Alaxandar was truly astonishing and Damien knew the passage into immortality was not cheap.

From that moment forth, the chasm became a crucible of brotherhood. Side by side, Damien and Thomas embarked on a journey into the heart of eternity, their paths were now forever intertwined, forged of mysticism, they had become the shadows of a past concealed but never forgotten. And thus, within the embrace of the chasm’s darkness, a tale of timeless bond and hidden truths condensed into genesis.

Event 11 – The Warmest of Welcomes, by: Arthur INGO

Event 11 – The Warmest of Welcomes, by: Arthur INGO

In the hushed shadows of the forest, Annie, Rose, and Theodore embarked on a journey that would forever alter their perceptions of reality. As they walked to the very edge of the woods, their eyes widened in awe at the sight that awaited them: a colossal monastery, its grandeur standing in stark contrast to the once-vibrant field of flowers that had been replaced by its solemn presence.

The monastery, a testament to centuries past, was a masterpiece of stone architecture, each weathered block a witness to the passage of time. It exuded an air of reverence and mystery, its walls seeming to hold secrets that whispered through the winds of time. However, what truly stole their breath away were the meticulously maintained gardens that surrounded the monastery—a burst of life and color that stood in defiance of the stone structure’s stern countenance. Men and women, cloaked in the attire of the ages, moved about the gardens with purpose, tenderly nurturing each blossom and leaf.

As they drew closer, the trio found themselves enveloped in the warm embrace of the monks who appeared as if they had anticipated their arrival. The welcome they received was not simply one of pleasantries, but of a connection that seemed transcended time itself. These monks, guardians of ancient wisdom, possessed an aura of knowledge that stretched far beyond the bounds of conventional understanding.

The journey-worn travelers were ushered into the heart of the monastery, a dining hall that seemed to emanate a tangible sense of history. Polite conversation danced like a gentle melody, the monks’ stories carried an air of old-world grace. The spread that adorned the table was nothing short of a feast, a fusion of flavors and aromas that ignited the senses. “You must be famished,” the monks whispered in their ears, their eyes twinkling with a knowing wisdom and influence, as they ensured that the glasses remained more than half full — a gesture that went beyond mere hospitality, but servitude to greatness.

Amid laughter and camaraderie, the travelers shared their tales, their pasts intertwining with the secrets harbored by the monks. It was as though the walls of the dining hall held a symphony of stories, each note contributing to the greater melody of the universe. Their conversations flowed like a river of sweet honey, and when the meal finally drew to a close, the monks graciously led Annie, Rose, and Theodore to their respective chambers, citing rest and recovery.

Yet, as the shadows of the monastery’s corridors swallowed their retreating forms, a sinister undercurrent began to weave its way into the narrative.

Theodore, unbeknownst to the others, found himself thrust into darkness, worlds away from the warmth and comfort of the warm welcome he had just experienced. The air was thick with foreboding as he struggled against an unseen force, his consciousness slipping away. Then nothing.

In the midst of ancient stones and immaculate gardens, the fates of these companions took a perilous turn — one that would propel them into a labyrinth of mysteries and revelations, testing their bonds and unraveling the very fabric of their understanding. For behind the facade of warmth and welcome lay a hidden world of secrets, a dance of light and shadow that would soon lead them to confront the heart of evil itself.

Event 10 – Into the Heart of Darkness, by Arthur INGO

Event 10 – Into the Heart of Darkness, by Arthur INGO

In the heart of their harrowing descent, Damien, Thomas, and Oscar plummeted into the gaping maw of darkness. It was Thomas who plunged first, his anguished cries merging with the abyss. Following in his wake, Oscar’s terror-stricken yells sliced through the air. Damien, the last to fall, clenched his teeth against the rush of wind and the haunting wails of his companions’ below.

Yet, amid the cacophony of their descent, Damien’s senses picked up the bone-cracking sound of deep fleshly impact. Air rushing from Thomas’s lungs upon impact made a sickening squelching sound punctuated the abyssal symphony rushing through Damien’s psyche . The vile, the holy elixir that was meant to safeguard them, had faltered. Damien’s resolve crumbled in the face of this gruesome truth.

As Damien plummeted further, a dense mist unfurled beneath them, a magic woven into its fabric. It enfolded them gently, slowing their descent until their feet grazed the ground with a featherlight touch. Thomas lay sprawled and contorted, his life instantly extinguished by the fall, his form gruesomely distorted. Oscar, a quiver of horror in his breath, recoiled from the grisly sight of his comrade’s shattered body.

Damien’s descent ended softly, his landing a stark contrast to the fate that had befallen Thomas. He then knelt beside his friend’s mangled remains, his heart heavy with regret. “I thought you had it in you, Thom,” he murmured, anguish seeping into his voice.

Oscar’s silence was pregnant with fear, his perception of Damien forever altered by their miraculous descent. The very laws of nature had been defied, and Damien, in Oscar’s eyes, now straddled the line between humanity and something else.

A narrow corridor beckoned them forward, a seam in the rock that had swallowed them whole. They treaded down the dimly lit passage, each step carrying the weight of an eternity. A hundred yards stretched endlessly within the chasm’s embrace, time itself a mutable force in this arcane realm.

Finally, they reached their destination— the resting place of Alaxandar the Vicious. For Oscar, the significance remained a mystery, but Damien’s pulse quickened as sweat trickled down his brow. A colossal box loomed in the shadows, and Damien’s trembling hands toppled it over with a resounding thud that reverberated through the chamber.

Damien removed the stone like ark from his satchel and placed it in a bowl-shaped crater on the casket’s lid, inscribed with the cryptic word “Resurgimus.”

In the hollow lay a jagged-edged stone, a patient guardian of a long-awaited secret.

Fingertips brushed the carving that decorated the coffin, as Damien then placed the river stone within the crater. He raised the hilt of his sword, and with a calculated strike, shattered the stone. Warm, crimson liquid spilled forth, a libation to awaken dormant power.

An air of anti-climax lingered as the liquid pooled and dissipated. Oscar’s voice trembled, his anxiety palpable in the dimness. “Is that all?” he inquired, his nerves fraying at the edges.

A knowing smile touched Damien’s lips as he sought solace upon the floor. “Now, we wait,” he answered, his words an invocation of change. He brushed a spot clear of dirt, fashioning a makeshift resting place amidst the gloom.

Oscar’s despair-filled gaze roved the grim expanse around them, a reflection of their meager preparation for this journey. A cold and damp floor greeted them, the embodiment of discomfort and desolation. They were unprepared, adrift in this abyss, alone.

“Rest now,” Damien advised, stretching himself upon the unwelcoming ground. His voice held an undercurrent of promise, “everything is about to change…”.

The impending transformation hung in the air, a palpable electricity sparking between the chasm’s walls. In the midst of shadows and uncertainty, Damien and Oscar lay, their shared destiny poised on the cusp of revelation.

Event 9 Archived by: Arthur INGO

Event 9 Archived by: Arthur INGO

Trudging through the dense thicket, Annie, Rose, and Theo ventured deeper into the woods, delving into the heart of wilderness. Their footfalls were cautious, reverberating through the undergrowth as they stumbled upon an shadowy figure perched upon a fallen tree. The man exuded an aura of mystery, his rugged visage framed by a wild beard that housed a multitude of critters, a living testament to his symbiotic connection with the natural world.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the man’s voice resonated, an unexpected blend of youth and wisdom. His shoulder bore a blue bunting, its gentle flutter mirroring the man’s subtle movements.

As Rose scrutinized the scene, unease gnawed at her. The sight of creatures nesting within the man’s beard sent shivers down her spine, a primal discomfort she couldn’t shake.

Unperturbed by the eerie companionship, Annie’s demeanor remained steady. “Did the Organization call you?” she inquired, her voice laced with a knowing tone.

The dirty man chuckled, his response laden with amusement. “No, my dear. you’ve been stomping through the forest for the past half hour,” he nodded to his feathered friend on his shoulder, “everything knows you’re here…” and with that the man set off, beckoning the trio to follow, his steps leading them deeper into the embrace of the trees.

Annie, Rose, and Theo trailed cautiously behind the man of the forest, a subdued quietness enveloping them as they journeyed onward. Their nimble guide led them to an astonishing sight, a small opening in the canopy allowed a few beams to illuminate a small landing that begot a seemingly ordinary hole in the ground, yet upon closer inspection, one could see a world teeming with life bursting forth from every crevice. Animals of all sorts crawled, frolicked and roamed, coexisting in a delicate balance more benevolent than nature’s design.

Inside the tree man’s den a sumptuous feast awaited them, a table laden with the bounty of the forest. Fruits, vegetables, and mostly edible delicacies adorned the spread, an offering that emanated harmony and respect for the creatures that called this realm home. Animals thrived here, untouched by harm, a testament to the stewardship that governed this place.

The silence between them bore the weight of understanding, questions left unspoken as they partook in the feast. It was Annie who eventually shattered the hush, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

“You know why we’re here,” she addressed the man, her gaze unwavering.

“I know my reason,” he replied with an air of calm certainty.

With a knowing glance, Rose interjected having shined the prophecy, “When the serpent leads the lamb astray…”

The man finished the prophetic statement, “the Hand of God shall emerge.”

Rose’s brow furrowed, grappling with the meaningless words.

The woodsman took the lead once again, his voice weaving a tapestry of truths and mysteries. “This place, this hole… is not just a hole. It’s a gate, a passage to another realm — same place, different space.” He stood up and grabbed his gnarled staff that had been leaned against the wall. “We can manipulate our body’s material frequency, just slightly, and alter when our atoms condense into solids, thus rendering out us out of phase from our current standing.”

“That’s what they meant by phase shift,” Annie muttered, piecing the puzzle together.

“Yes, ‘phase shift’ – exactly,” the druid confirmed, a glimmer of admiration in his eye.

With a knowing smile, he beckoned them into a small corridor. “This way,” he said, his voice resonating like the wind through leaves.

The three friends exchanged puzzled glances but decided to follow the druid’s instructions. They were led around a short bend and into small chamber.

“Oh!” The druid erupted, “I almost forgot the most important part,” he turned and exited the room “I’ll only be a moment,” he said as he left and shut the door behind him.

The three companions stood in the cramped room for a uncomfortable amount of time and their close proximity caused the air temperature to rise.

Then, without warning, the chamber door cracked open. They were startled, and as they looked out around the bend they realized something had changed. The once-laden table was now barren, covered in cobwebs and thick dust, as if it had not been touched for centuries.

The woodsman was nowhere to be seen, and the forest outside was markedly different. The vibrant life they had witnessed upon their arrival had vanished. The forest floor was mundane, and the colors of autumn leaves had faded to dull shades of brown. It was as if they had stepped into a different dimension.

“We’re there,” Annie said after a moments pause.

“Where,” Theodore asked.

“You’ll see…” Annie said as she started to lead them back out of the woods.

Event 8 – Betrayal in the Jungle Abyss – Arthur INGO

Event 8 – Betrayal in the Jungle Abyss – Arthur INGO

In the tangled embrace of the jungle, Damien, Thomas, and Oscar trudged forward, each step a testament to the inexorable pull of their circumstances. The air was thick with humidity, heavy with secrets, as the trio navigated the labyrinthine terrain. Yet, even the lush beauty of the surroundings couldn’t mask the tension that rippled through their trio, as Oscar’s frustration swelled, igniting a furious exchange.

“I should kill you right now,” Oscar said to Damien.

“Oh the things we do for money,” Damien quipped, a wry smile dancing upon his lips in a vain attempt to quell the mounting discord.

Oscar was having none of it, his words searing with incensed fervor. “You lied to me, you son of a bitch” he spat, his voice a mixture of indignation and vulnerability.

Damien, the puppeteer orchestrating this tense dance, brushed off Oscar’s accusations with practiced tolerance. His every retort was a familiar parry, deflecting Oscar’s anger as effortlessly as a matador evading the bull’s horns. And then there was Thomas, a silent observer caught in the crossfire, wrestling with his own memories and doubts. Had Damien truly said “field” or had it been “airfield” during their meeting? Even Thomas’s mind was rattled with uncertainty.

As their journey deepened, the trio came upon a chasm that yawned wide before them, a gaping maw that seemed to mock their predicament. Thomas couldn’t help but voice his exasperation, “What now,” his words dripping with regret. His eyes then flicked to Damien, the opaque figure who promised riches, but had led them to the precipice of doubt.

“Ah yes, this is it,” Damien declared, his voice a siren’s call as he gestured to the abyss below. He pulled from his satchel three vials full of dark, thick liquid.

Confusion clouded Oscar’s features as he stared at the vial Damien extended towards him. “And just what is this?” Oscar demanded, suspicion etched into every syllable.

“It’s an old remedy,” Damien replied. “A little something to help with the landing.” He lowered his chin and looked into the dead of Oscar’s eyes.

“You’re crazy if yo-” Oscar began but Damien cut him off.

“If you don’t drink you aren’t good for anything,” Damien drew his weapon. “If you aren’t good for anything, then you’re just, dead, weight…” He gently laid the blade on Oscar’s shoulder, “Am I right?”

The tension danced between them like a live wire, and conviction overcame Oscar’s face. Oscar caught the eye of Thomas and a silent confirmation passed between them. The only way to survive was to follow Damien. If they didn’t play his game, they would die.

Thomas and Oscar kicked back the repulsive vials and swallowed the precious liquid. The empty bottles clattered to the ground like their hollow hopes.

“Come, come closer my friends,” Damien beckoned, his voice now honeyed and inviting. They complied hesitantly, drawn in by fear and intrigue. Their gaze shifted into the deep abyss that loomed before them, a gateway to the underworld.

“Long way down…” Damien murmured, his words heavy as a stone as he peered over the edge. The realization swept over Thomas and Oscar like a tidal wave of dread.

Thomas tried to move back, but the iron grip of Damien’s hand anchored him in place, betrayal manifest in the man’s touch. An agonizing epiphany overtook Thomas. In that heartbeat, the charade shattered and Damien pushed Thomas over the chasm’s edge, and into the darkness.

Oscar, upon seeing his colleague thrown into the sea of nothing, began to desperately fight against Damien’s intent. His struggle was futile as he too succumbed to gravity’s grace and was pulled into the seam of the earth.