Into the Rift

Once more into the Rift . . .
Led by the elf prince, Adros, a group of heroes returns to the Dead Worlds in a last ditch effort to find the living. But instead of survivors, they encounter beings more ancient and evil than even the foulest of Dead Gods.
Meanwhile, the Goddess Alana begins her own quest -- a journey back to the world of her greatest failure, the elven home-world, the land where she left her true love die. There, she must face her greatest fears -- and an enemy more powerful than anything she has ever known.


16. The Dreams of the Gods

The ages passed as a dream . . .

Time was unfathomable, reality unimaginable . . .

The slipstream of yesteryear played out before them as if the highlights of another’s life.

A future bright, infinite potential their very birthright.  Life was a toy, and they were children spoiled, buried beneath their parents’ gifts.  Death, a boogeyman they were threatened with.  But like any unruly child, they didn’t listen.  No, they didn’t obey.  When finally their punishment came . . . it was far too late.

And so they sailed the abyss; flesh so frail it fell from their soft white bones; veins thick and black, rising to the surface as it was expelled from the dying flesh, to then shrivel and grow cold, hardening like their obsidian hearts. 

A millennium of memories stretched to eons as the universe continued to inexorably unfold . . . without them.  Without its gods, its so-called “conquerors”. 

The dream . . .

The man of many faces, some cruel, some compassionate, some utterly callous.  The Father.  Many was his name.  To one, Jaku.  To others he was the Maker.  Heaven’s Gate taking him to new worlds . . . raw, beautiful lands untouched by the Unification.  His father rent them with his Rift then broke them with the Oneness, painting their worlds in blue flames and blood until their people bowed before him. 

The face of his father became his own . . . the Heaven’s Gate his to control . . . the worlds burning as he left them, one after another. 

Then the unfathomable occurred, Jaku the Maker was dead . . . his father – his god! -- was no more, lost to the very Void he discovered and controlled.

The Unity shattered at his father’s death . . . as did his mind. 

What were they now? 

‘False gods,’ the fallen worlds decried; illusionists at best.  They had conquered the universe but the Void was still coming for them, waiting, the Night Lord was laughing at their hubris, laughing as he spat his father’s bloodied bit from his lips. 

He must have stared at it for days without end; the swirling, pulsating pit of darkness, the Heart of Heaven’s Gate.  The Unity he fought so hard to create crumbled around him and still he watched it . . . longing to catch its secret or catch it coming for him, the Night Lord reaching out through the abyss. 

His hair turned grey, his body decayed. 

Most of his kind were already reclaimed. 

But what did it matter?  They had but one foe left.  One purpose to life . . . to survive.  What was the point of such power if it failed them in the end?  All their accomplishments, all the worlds they held, their precious gems . . . turned to baubles they stuffed in a sack, trinkets that littered their shelves.  All of it, trash their descendants discarded the moment they left.

He wouldn’t end his days that way; his children snickering as they riffled through his life in search of something of value.  Tossing aside his precious memories to litter the universe he left them . . .

. . . like he had done for his father.

Thus the call went out to all the Makii . . . find a way . . . escape death!

And oh how resounding the reply.  The Night Lord himself came to them.  

What a glorious sight.  Immortality in the flesh.  A TRUE god.

He denied them his gift, spared them . . . or did he?  Was this imprisonment an attempt to damn them for all time?  Drifting, floating . . . dying.  Inexorably dying.

The Night Lord cursed them to their own devices; the old science they once scorned and the Oneness they so adored.  Together, they kept them alive for ages . . .

And they kept them alive still.  If you could call it such . . . life. 

Or was this madness?  What was life without flesh? 

They were phantoms, ghosts haunting a ship.  The dream was all they had left. 

Time passed . . .  the gods slept.

And they were forgotten. 

Until . . .



‘She is coming.’

‘It matters not.  We can activate Heaven’s Door now, leave this place.’

‘Yes leave?’ 

‘Hahahah . . .’ he laughed, the cackling of a broken mind.

‘Leave as what?’  What are we now?’ he questioned.  ‘We are nothing without her . . . without the gift we are nothing.  So it has always been.’

The will of the others withered beneath his madness, his rage.  He was the strongest . . . so it has always been.

‘Let her come,’ he continued.  ‘Let them all come.  We have all we ever wanted now, the Oneness, the Dark Gift . . . this ship.  It is our destiny to be bound to them all.  First we claim them, then we face the Night Lord, and reclaim our worlds . . .’ 

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