3. No Sacrifice Too Great

Part 1: The Price Of Loyalty

Emperor Giotto

By Johnny Casamassina

“There is just no damned way around it, Zera!” bellowed Lord Dagon, as several crackling arcs of white-hot, golden electricity darted and danced around his extremities to further emphasize his position on the matter at hand. The Life essence embedded in the chest of the imposing Seris was glowing so brilliantly at this point in the discussion that it forced Headmaster Zera to cover her eyes to avoid being stung by the blinding rays. “Giotto must face the Trials of Anointment in the coming days and sanctify his right to rule or he will be challenged!”

They had been arguing over the current situation for several hours already. Realizing that her counterpart’s display of bravado was not anger towards her stance on the matter, but more so to mask his own growing concern over the situation, the arcane Keymaster spoke calmly, “You have prepared him for these trials with the highest degree of honor, great battlemaster. However, I fear that a darker, more insidious danger lurks beyond the formidable challenge they already pose,” she decreed while placing a concerned hand on Dagon’s sword arm.

Recognizing the gesture, the prime eternal made his best effort to calm himself before his anger accidentally damaged any of the priceless relics in the Headmaster’s office. As he sat down to ease himself, his mind became flooded with the same sorrowful, grief-filled thoughts about the recent murder of his former lord, Emperor Calogero, and the responsibility he felt for not thwarting the assasination. As a Seris, his natural instinct was to keep his thoughts and emotions buried deep, just as his people have locked away their wealth and culture within the bowels of Mt. Searstorm. Over the course of his life, Dagon’s electrified blood had healed countless wounds that would have spelled death for any other living thing, but this damage was different and it left a scar that even his godlike abilities could not restore.

“Your grief is not a weakness, old friend… Nor is your rage unwarranted, but the line of Calogero needs our guidance now more than ever,” Zera reassured him.

Keymasters pride themselves on their ability to breach the strongest walls and unlock the deepest kept secrets, but Zera did not need to call upon her powers to understand what ailed her counterpart. Over the last several years, the pair had formed an unspoken bond. It was built upon the common goal of preparing the young Emperor to survive the Trials of Anointment, three unique, deadly challenges designed by the ancient ritualists of the elder houses to ensure only the worthy of the line of Massina would sit on the throne as Emperor.

The successful completion of these trials was required to sanctify the next Emperor in the eyes of the Houses and their imbued champions, thereby preserving and upholding their allegiance. Many elders allege that by surviving the trials, the Emperor’s spirit is imbued with the raw power of the titans, allowing him to transcend his base nature as a human and rule with impunity over the seven houses. They were meant to test all aspects of the candidate’s aptitude to ensure only those who possessed supreme physical prowess, a keen intellect, and an impenetrable spirit could survive and claim the great honor to rule Massina.

Dagon and Zera had spent the last several years sharing the great responsibility of preparing Giotto for this. His success or failure would be seen as a direct reflection of their tutelage, and considering recent events, it also came with the added pressure that Calogero had no other heir, leaving Giotto as the only hope for the line of Vulcanus to live on. Sadly, with the loss of his father, Giotto had no other living relative except his adopted sister, Althaia, whom Calogero took in when she was only a small child.

Dagon offered: “He is the last. Failure is simply not an option.”

“I believe our efforts to prepare him will prove worthy. Even with a head as thick as his, I trust that enough of our lessons took root,” Zera said jokingly as her thoughts fondly drifted back to her sessions with the young Giotto. She added, “In fact, the only time he even seemed to pay attention was when we were discussing the glorious adventures and exploits of our history… The crusades of Vulcanus were easily his favorite.” She recounted the hours spent reviewing the legends of old with her young student, and his fond predisposition towards the tales of his great ancestors.

“But his training is by no means complete,” she admitted. “His father was taken too swiftly.”

“Nevertheless,” said Lord Dagon. “The Trials must be taken by any who would call himself Emperor.”

Each of the trials was fashioned to symbolically recreate an aspect of the crusade of the first Emperor, Vulcanus, which saw him free Massina from the vile grip of Maiax, the Shadowalker. Of course, these events led to the first Cataclysm and the birth of the Empire itself.

“Even though it was so long ago,” Zera lamented. ‘The Reign of the Shadowalker has left a lasting impression on Massina. Most of the lesser beings believed him to be one of the titans, who convinced some of his brethren to join him in the domination of the planet, but you are far more informed on his true nature– considering you are a Seris, and originally not of this world either.”

Lord Dagon nodded slowly. “Aye, it is true that the Shadowalker infected many of my kin in the same way he took the titans of Massina. It was eons ago when our high herald, our equivalent to the elder ritualists of Massina, summoned him to our world from some godforsaken dimension.”

Zera had never really spoken with Dagon about his life before the dragonkind arrived in Massina, seeing it as a bit of a taboo subject. But considering they were already discussing it, she carried on. “Do you miss your homeworld?” she asked.

Dagon sighed. “My memories of that time are all but extinguished. It is sufficient to say that our anger towards the Vitra, who stole from us and fled our world, blinded us to the foolish actions that led to its destruction. We meant to follow them here and retrieve our sacred riches. And to do so, our high herald completed the ritual that summoned… him.”

The old Seris spat in disgust. “And although the Shadowalker did not possess a material form, his power and lies were enough to tempt us, and he convinced us that we could follow our enemies here to Massina, punish them for their actions, and rule over an even richer world.”

He continued. “Through the desire for power and revenge in our hearts, we accepted him as he inhabited the form of our high herald; and together they opened a portal here to carry out his true agenda.”

Zera interjected, almost apologizing for Dagon. “It was natural for your people to want revenge against the Vitra. Maiax was a far more mysterious and powerful being than you or any of your kind could have imagined.”

Dagon agreed, scratching his dragon chun. “And it did not take him long once he reached this world to seduce the strongest titans with his dark powers in the same way, who then assisted in the subjugation of all else, including many of their own brethren, imprisoning them within Mt. Vulcanus.”

“Aye, and since those dark days, many of my kind have found penance in service to our new home, but many others can never trust again.” Dagon reflected on this in silence, and then added: “But, that is why the Trials are so valuable. They are a true measure of worth… Something the vile Shadowalker never could truly offer.”

The Trial of Courage was the first test and was meant to represent Vulcanus’s perilous descent into the great volcano that served as the Titan’s prison. Even after realizing that his chances of surviving the journey were non-existent, the courageous warrior pressed on into the magma drenched chambers and so, the elders fashioned this test to be an evolving gauntlet of perils wrought with death at every turn.

It is said that even the most physically fit and agile would-be Emperors would still find their mettle tested by daunting, seemingly impossible obstacles that only blind faith could overcome. The charred, broken, and shredded corpses of many of the line of Massina were left littered along the path of the course as an added visage to enhance the trial’s primary function… testing courage in the face of despair.

Emperor Tigon, who lost his left eye to this trial centuries ago, transformed his experience into a special event for the Colosseum known as the Bone Grinder, which challenges a group of champions to race their way through a deadly track of perilous instruments of death. It has become a fan favorite since its inception.

Perhaps the second challenge, the Trial of Blood, is the most straightforward of the three. It is hard to argue that the inevitable outcome of all conflict is eventually paid for in blood, and so was Vulcanus’ battle against the dark forces of Maiax. Facing impossible odds, the great warrior led a band of heroes through the volcano, cutting down countless foes on his path towards the throne of the Shadowalker. His valor in battle was said to be so fierce that it awakened many of the Titans out of the enchantment that Maiax held over them.

The Trial of Blood was meant as the ultimate exhibition… A parallel to the Colosseum Eternal itself where the conflict of the world was celebrated and glorified with resolution in battle. The challenge that the Emperor-to-be would face always changed, but was always designed with the same instruction in mind: kill or be killed.

Finally, there was the Trial of Prophecy, which remains a complete mystery to all except the Emperors who have lived through it. Modeled after what is perhaps the greatest achievement of Vulcanus, this trial is meant to challenge the strength of spirit and conviction of the candidate. For Vulcanus, this came in the form of his final rejection of Maiax, who in the moments before his abolishment, attempted to seduce him with promises of ultimate power, influence, and the fulfillment of his every desire. He was shown a dual vision of possible futures.

The first vision cast him as a Sovereign of Shadow, draped in opulence, where his every whim and selfish craving would be catered to– including the resurrection of his family, who were slain during the dark years preceding his crusade. This offer was very much in line with the temptations the Shadowalker found most persuasive, who at this time was simply a slave known as Adrianus, who wanted more than anything to have his family returned to him.

The other outcome portrayed him as a warrior king, who would spend the remainder of his life fighting one battle after the next, under constant threat of death, hands bloodied and dirty as he built the foundation of a new empire, brick by brick.

Each prophecy is unique to its candidate, and on many occasions, these visions have proved to be too much to bear. While the life of an Emperor is thought by many to be privileged, it is often also fraught with impossibly hard choices and impending calamity.

Adrianus, who lived most of his life as a slave, rejected the evil offer of Maiax, and instead dedicated himself to the hardships of building a lasting legacy, for all of Massina, eventually taking on the mantle of Emperor Vulcanus! The Sacred, as he called the imprisoned titans who were so inspired by his furious battle into the volcano, offered him the last drops of the blood of Alteus, which they had somehow managed to keep hidden away from Maiax. The act sanctified his bloodline and allowed him to lead them into the final battle that ended with the eruption of Mt. Vulcanus and the end of the Reign of the Shadowalker. Many titans perished in this battle, but some legends say that a few still remain buried in the bowels of the ancient volcano.

In actuality, the Trials never truly end, serving instead as a constant temptation for its victim to knowingly second-guess the chosen path of his deeds for the remainder of his life. The magic used to craft the Trials was borrowed from the Keymasters themselves, as staring into their foreheads for too long provides the viewer with a glimpse of their best and most fruitful life… a gift that has been known to drive even the most devout to the depths of insanity.

Lord Dagon took a sip of wine, musing on something. “Champions are forbidden to aid the candidate through the trials, are they not? Is that the law?”

“The law is irrelevant,” Zera shook her head. “Only a member of the bloodline of Vulcanus can even pass through the gate at the end of the Trial of Courage. The ancient magical wards enchanted on them will destroy all other living creatures– Champions included.”

“And does the enchantment extend to those of us who are ascended? Surely a Prime Eternal could survive the passage?”

Zera bristled. “This is ancient magic, established by the grand house elders themselves. You would suffer banishment from our world if you attempted to breach it!” Her eyes betrayed pain. “Yes, even you who have ascended.”

Lord Dagon did not mean for his question to demean his trusted friend, but from the tone of her response he realized his mistake. “I did not mean to offend you, Champion Zera. Your valor in the Colosseum deserved to be rewarded with ascension, and if not for the cowardly acts of a heretic, I trust your prowess would still be on display to this day.”

Although she appreciated her counterpart’s respectful amendment, it did not come close to rectifying the injustice that led her to her present state, which had robbed her of her nearly earned immortality and instead, confined her to a push-chair.

She had directly tasted the deceitful blade of an agent of Shadow, a Gatekeeper named Astralath, who had opposed her as an adversary since the end of the Great War of the Third Age. Their rivalry would finally reach its climax in the Colosseum Eternal, where Astralath decided to use unsanctioned magic cast by the acolytes of Shadow against Zera to provide an unfair advantage.

It wasn’t until the killing blow was about to befall her, that the cheat was discovered by the officiating battlemaster, Primo, who promptly halted the exhibition and restrained the offending gatekeeper. Although Astralath was disqualified and sent to the Imperial dungeons for her crimes, the wounds suffered by Zera crippled her lower extremities and marred her path to ascension. Even to this day, the accomplices of Astralath have never been brought to justice.

“The agents of Maiax never act alone, Lord Dagon. Like all shadows, they spread and creep their way over our land, attempting to convert and consume even the strongest of us… As I am acutely familiar with,” Zera said stoically. “They will strike again.”

“And they know Giotto must enter the Trials… alone.” The Seris gritted his sharpened teeth, and breathed a small plume of smoke. “The cowards will take him then.”

“Dagon,” Zera said, her eyes looking up in sudden thought. “The boy cannot be aided by Champions, true… but perhaps he can be protected. Giotto should be escorted to the Trials by a full contingent of your finest Champions by his side.”

“A contingent, yes,” Dagon said, his mind grasping her logic. “Not to aid, but to protect him. Yes. A praetorian guard.” The ancient Seris stood. “Will he allow it?”

“If I know my pupil, he will not accept any unearned advantage,” she smirked, thinking of Giotto’s pride. “But we must convince him. There are those who would go to any lengths to see him fail.”

“And who would seek to prevent my success, dear Headmaster?” Giotto said firmly as he surprised his mentors with his abrupt arrival.

Dagon quickly stood up from where he sat to salute the young Emperor and offered, “Sire, the Headmaster and I have been discussing the details of your journey to the Trials of Appointment. Considering the recent attempt on your life, we feel it would be prudent to…”

Giotto interrupted him with a resentful tone, “I am more than capable to undertake the journey alone– like every Emperor before me. Besides, the protection of your Champions did nothing to shield my father from his fate… Nor did they protect me. For I will remind you that it was my blade that cut down the traitorous Jhezz.”

His words stung Dagon deeply. The playful charm and good natured antics that had once filled these very halls of instruction seemed but a distant memory to the deliberate, grave demeanor displayed by the young Emperor since witnessing the murder of his father.

Although his mentors often found his youthful behavior maddening, it had a magnetic and endearing effect at the same time. It was completely understandable why the man before them now seemed such a distant memory from the boy they had grown to love, but it didn’t make it any easier. Regardless of how quickly he assumed command of the Empire and his father’s duties, his suffering was deep and playing out in real-time. The wise mentors knew that this fragile emotional and mental state was not remotely ideal for someone who was about to undertake the trials.

Zera conceded and addressed him officially. “Lord Emperor, we fear that we must prioritize your safety as you depart for your journey to the grand trials. The enemies of the Empire will surely attempt to strike at you again if they are provided an opportunity.”

“Fear is not an emotion that I will let seep into my decisions, especially now. Both of you taught me this lesson time and time again. Courage in the face of adversity is the path I must traverse,” Giotto stated flatly.

“So, you did listen every once in a while?” The Headmaster risked trying to lighten the mood with the sarcastic quip.

And for a rare moment, since the tragic night of his sixteenth birthday, Giotto laughed alongside his trusted mentors, allowing them all a much needed affirmation of each other’s efforts and worth.

“I have always listened to you both… Well, almost always, but if I am to be accepted as Emperor, I must make my own decisions with confidence.”

“Then listen now. Your enemies lurk in the shadows. We know you do not wish to be coddled, but Emperor… please,” Zera bowed her head.

The young Emperor watched her for a long moment. Then he spoke. “I will agree to be escorted by your chosen brigade,” Giotto said, almost convincingly.

Zera alone noted a ripple of cunning in his eyes. A rebellious streak, all too familiar from their days as teacher and pupil.

Dagon embraced him and proudly affirmed. “You are ready to face the trials, Lord Emperor. You are the most gifted man we have ever had the honor of training. You will succeed in your quest and return as the sole, sanctified ruler of Massina where you will lead this Empire into its glorious future!”

“Lord Dagon will be able to prepare his chosen Champions by the fall of the next moon. Until then, we offer our gratitude for trusting in our council,” Zera carefully added.

As he took his leave, the Headmaster wondered what clever plan the young Emperor had already concocted prior to speaking with them. After years of successfully laid pranks, she could sense when Giotto had a masterfully genius, yet dangerous strategy already locked into place.

— —

That night, Giotto slipped away from his guards at the Palace. It had been many weeks since he had left the confines of the Imperial Palace, but he deftly moved through the market streets and down to that unlit spot behind the Sleeping Karkodon. Given the length of his absence, he wasn’t sure if his longtime friend would have officially written him off by now, but he was willing to give it a shot.

After all, he had already made the decision to forgo his mentor’s insistent offer of assistance, prepared a disguise to leave the palace unnoticed, and make his way to the Trials on his own terms.

A familiar voice cracked, “Well, well, well… Let me guess… from the look of your weird outfit and your depressed, long face my guess is that a lovelorn il’gra swept you off your feet and entangled you in a month-long romantic escapade that inevitably ended in tragedy?”

For a moment, Giotto’s first instinct was to backhand the man responsible for the verbal assault. For the last several weeks, most of his thoughts and actions led to these types of rash actions, lashing out at everyone and anything that challenged or questioned him. Luckily, the jeering from his long time friend, someone who knew nothing about his royal identity, was a welcome offering.

And as he saw Vitus emerge into view, clearly happy to see his friend for the first time in a long while, Giotto knew this was someone who accepted him without an obligation to do so… a true friend. This was someone he could trust, who he could be more like his actual self around without having to play the part of a ruling monarch. He let the formalities and responsibilities of the Palace drop, and the smirk returned to his face.

Giotto clapped back. “Seriously man, where do you come up with this shit? But, I have to say, the effort you put into that one only shows how much you really care. It’s obvious your life has been empty without me around to make things interesting. Have you actually just been waiting around for me in this dank ass alley for the last month? I think you are the lovelorn one.”

This reunion wasn’t without purpose as Giotto agreed with the basis of his mentors’ concerns about his journey to the Trials… chances are he would be attacked. But, as he could not trust a battalion of well armed Champions to safeguard him from the backstab of a covert assassin, his friend Vitus, who was the most crafty and capable person he knew, would make a far better companion.

Giotto realized that this would probably be the most serious conversation they had ever actually had since the fateful night they met. This time though, he was the one who needed aid from an overwhelming threat. As he prepared to fill Vitus in, he couldn’t shake the feeling of that threat beginning to close in on him.

Part 2: Plight of the Pilgrimage

Crocammit first look

By Johnny Casamassina

“The Cauldron of Fire isn’t what I would describe as inconspicuous by any means!” Vitus proclaimed after Giotto told him where they were headed. He added, “If you’re right, and the assassins of The Shadow are looking for you, we’re gonna have to try to take a more discreet route.

Up to this point, Giotto had told Vitus only that he needed to reach the Cauldron, and he had caught the unwanted attention of The Shadow, a murderous cult who followed the ways of Maiax. He concealed his true identity, but made sure to reassure his friend that if they succeeded, there would be a reward– many fresh fire Essence shards waiting for them. He knew Vitus was always eager to get his hands on Essence shards, and saw danger as nothing more than a challenge.

“I won’t ask why you have The Shadow on your ass, but you must’ve really pissed someone off. Let’s get moving and keep an eye out,” Vitus explained.

They chose to head northwest through the market bazaar to circumvent the Colosseum, using its massive size to block out the moon’s light and help them stay out of sight. The tactic was working fairly well, but once they cleared the market area, they noticed a shuffle of motion in the rooftops above.

Giotto said to Vitus, “Did you just see that?” His friend nodded calmly and then picked up his pace.

“They have a good vantage on us,” Vitus said tensely. “We need to get off the street– now.”

Vitus made his move and Giotto followed as they sprinted down the street and the Shadows above gave chase. “Down here!” Vitus yelled to Giotto, and he dove into a small dark hole.

— —

As the old cast iron lid was rotated back into place it produced a low, gravelly sound that reverberated throughout the tight corridor Giotto was now climbing down. The sound was strangely pleasing, as it seemed to conjure feelings of a massive stone tomb door being grinded open only to reveal the endless treasures glowing brilliantly inside. Sadly, for the two friends who were now descending down into the dank, humid underbelly of the city, nothing could have been further from the truth. The sewers of Massina were a dizzying network of interconnected thoroughfares that served to drain away the wastes of the massive city for several millennia, and although they had served their purpose masterfully, the putrid stench that emanated around Giotto and Vitus actually actually seemed to have physical weight to it.

Once Giotto reached the bottom of the ladder, he immediately gagged. “It fucking stinks down here!”

Smiling wryly, Vitus pointed upward and said: “Yeah but the Vitra won’t be so quick to follow us down here. They like the high ground and would find our present surroundings to be a bit too claustrophobic.”

Giotto covered his nose and coughed in agreement, “Well, hopefully, we won’t die from the stench down here either.”

They continued down the main stretch of the tunnel, taking care to avoid stepping in any of the clumps of grotesque matter littered on the path. A stream of green bioluminescent liquid trickled across the cobbled floor stones and winded its way through the whole grid, sofly illuminating their surroundings.

Once they had reached a slightly more stable patch of footing near a large bend, Vitus slowly turned around and said, “We need to keep heading north to get outside the city walls. Keep away from any pools of water down here… The crocammits like to conceal themselves in those, and if one of those grabs you, they aren’t letting go. Especially a fresh piece of royal meat like yourself.”

Royal! Flabbergasted, Giotto reared back and quickly drew his gladius ready to defend himself. In all their years of friendship, he knew that he had never revealed his true identity to Vitus. First, Jhezz and now, Vitus! Clearly, I have been surrounded by spies and assassins my whole life!

Vitus softly raised his hands up and said, “I’ve known for a long time, man. Outside of the fact that you always had a bunch of coin and Essence to throw around– you’re too stiff not to be a royal. So, considering I was the one that just showed my cards instead of knifing you in the back, you can probably sheath that poker.”

Giotto recoiled and returned his sword to scabbard as shame and embarrassment crept its way across his face. He calmly stretched out his arm. “Well,” he said, “I suppose you’ll be expecting some kind of extra reward for your assistance now?”

Vitus smiled. “Why else would I have remained friends with you all these years?” Then the two locked arms, each gripping the other’s at the elbow, in the traditional Massina bond of true friendship.

The gesture of camaraderie distracted them for a moment and they failed to notice the slight rippling of a stagnant pool near their position. A flashing glint of yellow, crescent eyes was the only warning they had right before the creature lunged forward at them with its massive jaws open wide enough to swallow a baby karkadon whole. Giotto, who still had his arm locked around Vitus’, reflexively yanked him out of the way of the crocammit’s forceful bite. Missing its target, the beast smashed head-first into the thick walls of the sewer, stunning itself in the process.

The opening allowed the young Emperor to thrust his blade downward into the craterous spine of the beast. Reeling in pain from the heavy blow, it thrashed violently into a deathroll and as it spun, it managed to dislodge the blade from its hide. Once it was free of the steel, the beast curled back and right-sided itself, slamming its strong tail into the knees of Vitus knocking him backwards onto the disgusting sewer floor.

With its prey in a defenseless position now, the crocammit reared up and prepared for another strike. Without his weapon, Giotto grabbed the beast’s tail and wrenched it with all his might. The desperate maneuver prevented Vitus from being bitten, but it was only a small victory as Giotto’s hand felt like they were being burned in acid and he screamed in agony. The barbed spines of the croccamit sliced into the young Emperor’s hands, injecting a painful venom.

Having a moment to recover thanks to Giotto’s intervention, Vitus sprang up and spun two well-hidden hooked daggers out from his sides. He quickly slammed them both into each of the creature’s exposed eyes and then wrenched them backwards into the deep recesses of its skull.

“We better keep moving…” Vitus remarked as he scraped some bits of brain and eye off his blades and flipped them back around his waist. “The poison in those spines will do a lot more damage if you aren’t treated soon. Luckily, I know someone who will have just what you need.”

— —

After a few more hours of walking through the corkscrew maze of the fetid underbelly of the great city, Giotto’s senses were dulled from the overwhelming onslaught they were facing. They approached what seemed like just another exchange gate at the end of the tunnel, but as they got closer it seemed to get brighter and they could also hear the sound of voices and commotion grow.

As Giotto grew tense, Vitus informed him, “Well, I can promise you this next stop will be something no other Emperor of Massina has ever seen with his own eyes… a part of your Empire that you never even knew you had… welcome to Dross!”

As they walked into the large chamber, Giotto was shocked to see a bustling slum before him, filled with what seemed to be hundreds of inhabitants from all parts of Massina. Humans, Whisperers, Grondals, and exotic races he didn’t even recognize had packed themselves into ramshackle style compartments that were nestled into multi-story scaffolding that stretched high up into the vaulted ceiling of this section of the sewer.

“Probably not the royal procession you were hoping for, eh?” Vitus said. “But, don’t fret, these dregs are harmless enough. Besides, they have no idea who you are. Our exit out of the sewers is at the far end of the hall.”

What Giotto saw was far from the well-orchestrated zoning plan of Massina. It was clear from the disorganized assortment of market stands, domiciles, and other makeshift compartments that Dross had grown organically over a great deal of time. The poison was really starting to have more of an effect on him now and he had trouble keeping pace.

Vitus noticed this, and comforted him, saying, “The pain will be dealt with soon. We just need to go a few more steps.”

As Giotto marched through main drag, his gaze darted around in all directions, taking in the menagerie of sights. On his left, a large Il’gra with soot-caked skin was flipping skewers of rattska on a makeshift grill and grinding the juice out of fermented porberries to make some homemade rot-gut at the same time. On his right, sat a one-eyed, scraggly looking Fenrir who was smoking a large goba-pipe as he leaned slowly back-n-forth in a decrepit rocking chair. He had to swerve around a group of human and Vitra children who were playing tag near the city square.

“How long have they been down here?” Giotto said cautiously to Vitus.

“I don’t really know,” Vitus shrugged. “But some of the older members of this community have been here for centuries. I’d wager that it’s been here as long as there was a prosperous city above it. As you can plainly see, Dross is a haven for the discarded and forgotten… Those souls that cannot find a way forward in the grand Empire.” Vitus gave Giotto a pointed look.

The ceiling shook a bit as they continued, dropping little bits of loose soil down onto the ashen heap of a city. Giotto would have thought it was a small earthquake, but it continued at a regular pace for the next few minutes and he looked up wondering what might be causing the tremors.

“We are directly beneath the training quarter here. Many of the mangled hopefuls who are not found worthy of imbuement make their way down here eventually… their worth as a warrior left wanting, they don’t have much to offer the Empire,” Vitus continued.

“Bah! The city has its own slums already! These people seem industrious enough to manage there. Why would they choose to live in such a squaller laden hell-hole such as this?!?” Giotto rebuked.

“To live on their own terms away from the expectations of the Empire.”

“So they reject all that the Empire has to offer?” Giotto crossed his arms. “Perhaps they deserve to live down here.”

“As you well know, those who do not revel in the glory of battle often come under the accusation of being heretics. I assure you though, you will not find any followers of Maiax here… just simple folk, who want to live out the rest of their days peacefully,” Vitus explained.

“You seem to know a great deal about them,” Giotto said inquisitively.

As the duo approached a mid-size flat strewn together from various sheets of fabric and fibrous thread, Vitus motioned to the humble domicile and gave a dry laugh. “Probably because I grew up here.”

Giotto had to bow his head a bit as he entered the dwelling, which was faintly lit and surprisingly tidy. Once inside, he saw a frail figure whose face and arms were predominantly covered in wrappings. Based on their frame, he determined that it was most likely a human woman, but between the coverings and dim lighting, she could have also been a Keymaster or Gatekeeper. Either way, based on the warm embrace offered to her by Vitus once they entered, Giotto could only assume this was someone close to his ever-more-mysterious friend.

“Mother, this is my friend Giotto. The one who helped me fend off those ruffians a few years ago.” Vitus said. Then he added, “Giotto, this is my mother: Naeemah.”

She bowed slightly and said, “Thank you for what you did for my Vitus. He is no stranger to finding trouble, but it’s nice to know he has a strong friend to help pull him out of it now and again.” Then she noticed his hands, which were heavily inflamed at this point. “Poison from the spines of the croccamit is a serious matter. If left untreated, the poison will almost always result in death. Luckily, I have a decent supply of the antidote on hand as the people of Dross must commonly deal with this nuisance from time to time.”

She gestured for them to sit at a small table in the center of the room, and then retreated to the small apothecary table she had set up at the far end of her home, where she began to pull small vials and jars into view.

After they were seated, Giotto looked at Vitus with disbelief, “Death?! You didn’t say I would die from this!” as he held up his pulsating hands.

Vitus chuckled slightly and said, “Relax, man. You’ll be fine. Naeemah is an experienced healer. She used to work at the Ministry of Bone.”

Checking to make sure she was out of earshot, Giotto leaned in and said, “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t excited to talk about his home life. Have you always lived here?”

“More or less,” Vitus answered. “I was abandoned at the Ministry as a baby, like so many others, but unlike them, I was lucky enough to have Naeemah adopt me. She’s never really told me why she chose to take me in and care for me, but I wouldn’t be alive today if she hadn’t. As she grew weaker with age and her duties at the Ministry became difficult for her to perform, we found our way down here and have been so ever since.”

Naeemah returned with a steaming kettle and two mugs for them and said, “Targenroot tea… Excellent for curing the poison of the croccamit, but also has a delightful flavor.” She poured for both Giotto and Vitus.

Giotto stared at the cup suspiciously for a moment, remembering how his father met his fate.

Vitus gave him a look of disbelief. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Giotto, but he did not drink.

Vitus leaned in, with a jesting grin. “You’re already poisoned, man. Here, I’ll drink from your cup.” He took a solid gulp, and then sat back, with a smile.

Giotto, taking care to not insult the kind woman any further, raised his cup in the form of a toast and proclaimed, “Well, to Naeemah, then!”

Vitus returned the gesture, tapping his cup to his friend’s. Then he said in a low voice, “At the edge of Dross, there is a secret path that leads up into the courtyard of the Cauldron of Fire on the shelf of the volcano. I’ll take you there but… Do you mind telling me what we’re getting into?”

Feeling comfortable here amongst friends, Giotto decided to let his guard down once again and tell Vitus of the Trials of Anointment. Once he got through the bulk of it, Giotto added, “But the Cauldron is where you must leave me. Only a member of the bloodline of Vulcanus will be admitted past the Barbican: an impenetrable barrier kept by the Guardians of the Sacred Fire. They have sworn their allegiance to the Cauldron and, by proxy, the Empire.”

Vitus laughed and said, “Sounds like some pretty heavy shit. Are you ready for what’s on the other side?”

“I’ve been preparing for it my whole life,” Giotto proclaimed as he drank the last drop of targenroot.

— —

Once they squeezed through Vitus’ secret exit from Dross, they were only a short winding hike away from reaching the courtyard of the Cauldron of Fire. The Cauldron itself was easily one of the most unique marvels in the landscape with its tremendous gaping orifice that bubbled up magma-infused air pockets large enough that when they bursted, would rain fiery death down on the cliffs below.

The pair kept as low a profile as possible as they approached the imposing gate known as the Barbican. Once they were at the base of the giant structure, they scanned up the face of the central bulwark and spotted the guard post which was prominently positioned as a warning for any who would dare attempt to come any closer. Giotto recognized one of the guards as a Gatekeeper, but the other being was strange to him.

“Those are the Guardians,” whispered Giotto to Vitus. “Headmaster Zera says they are not to be fucked with.”

The two Guardians stood stoically atop the ramparts at their station and they seemed to move ever so slightly in a synchronized manner. Giotto and Vitus continued their approach, prompting the strange Guardians to boom: “Halt!”

The Gatekeeper by his side added, “State your business or you will face the full wrath of the Guardians!”

Giotto quickly proclaimed in his official voice. “I am Giotto, son of Calogero, heir of the line of Vulcanus! I have come to face the Trials of Anointment and claim my sanctification within the Labyrinth of Fire!”

“Hold while I verify your claim,” said the strange being. From his rampart, he gazed intently at Giotto, his eyes boring into the young man’s face. Then he took a deep breath and gave a deep bow. “I am Cefaphro the Vigilant. Servant and ally to the Imperial line.”

Giotto nodded. But suddenly the Vigilant took an alarmed stance, and his face became severe with concern as he squinted into the dark. “Lissa– I see many Vitra, Whisperers, and other members of The Shadow out there– blades drawn, closing fast.”

Lissa acknowledged him and then she, too, saw the flashing pings of several outstretched swords in the distance. She yelled down to Giotto and Vitus. “Take cover while we get the gate open! The Shadows close in behind you!”

Vitus and Giotto swirled around and spotted several Vitra circling in towards them as they pulled their weapons loose.

Cepharo and Lissa engaged the massive gearwork used to open the gates and a screeching burst of steam plowed out the exhaust pipes as they went into motion. Once they were locked in, the pair of Guardians turned their attention to the attackers and called forth the defenses of the Barbican.

Again, they seemed to move in a subtle synchronization as their movements called forth the jagged, white hot chains that were wrapped around the gate’s spires. As they motioned forward, the chains whipped out into the courtyard swirling violently, but with deadly accuracy as they entangled the would-be assasins. The searing pain that followed peeled the flesh from their bones as they were effortlessly flung off the side of the mountain itself. The might of the Guardians was on full display here as their movements were akin to that of a great conductor, calling forth a fiery symphony of destruction.

However, more and more attackers took their place and Giotto and Vitus found themselves forced to fight. Steel met steel as they slowly backtracked closer and closer to the gate, which had almost opened.

Lissa again called down. “Once the way is open, you may cross safely, my liege! Your attackers will not survive a step beyond the precipice! The wards will only let the royal line pass safely through!”

“I will not leave my comrade!” Giotto protested as he continued to fend off several attackers.

Even with many of them meeting horrible deaths at the hands of the Gatekeeper’s chains, the agents of Shadow were not deterred and had backed both Vitus and Giotto up to the gate, which had now begun to finally crack open.

“Go, you fool! They’ll kill us both eventually if you don’t head in! Besides, you’re probably just going to die during these insane Trials anyway!” screamed Vitus.

Giotto rebuked him. “No! There is no honor in fleeing!”

In the final moments, with nowhere left to go but through the small opening through the gate, Vitus turned his back on the attackers and shoulder tackled his stubborn friend through the opening. As they both disappeared into the glaring portal of light, their pursuers tried to follow only to be incinerated into ashen heaps at the foot of the Barbican gate at the hands of the Guardians of the Sacred Fire.

***

On the ramparts, the Guardians watched as the last of the Shadows were extinguished. Cefaphro turned to Lissa and asked. “Did you not sense it?”

“Sense what?” she stammered. The attack left her shaken, echoing with memories of another battle at the gate, long ago and bitter with betrayal. “The danger was clear for all to see. The Shadow openly sends its agents against the Cauldron, and the Emperor.”

“Yes, but that’s not what bothered me,” Cepharo puzzled. Lissa looked at him in confusion, as worry crept across his face. “Something about the Emperor’s companion. He is not entirely what he seems– but I’m not sure whether for good or ill.”

Part 3: Courage, Blood, & Prophecy

by Johnny Casamassina

Alteus

As he tumbled backward through the opening in the Barbican gate with his friend’s shoulder dug deeply into his gut, Giotto felt the fiery sensation of adrenaline pumping throughout every part of his body. To him, the physical world slowed down considerably, leaving only his mind to continue racing from the events that had just occurred. All his thoughts flowed simultaneously … How did the Shadow find them? The might of the Guardians of the Sacred Fire was incredible! Had they truly made it through the Gate?

But then, in the same moment, as he felt a rush of pain shoot up his spine from his collision with the floor, time returned to its proper pace and he arrived at the real conundrum present. Vitus, who had heroically tackled him through the gate, was there breathing heavily atop him. How did he survive breaching the gate? The Guardian, Lissa, was quite clear when she said that only members of the royal bloodline could pass through the Gate’s wards safely. The power of the Guardians was unmistakably awesome, so it seemed quite improbable that there was a blindspot in their gaze. He was both thrilled to know that his close friend was still alive– and confused as to how this could be possible.

Exasperated, Vitus groaned, “Well, I can honestly say that was the most intense shit I’ve ever experienced! Are you okay?”

As Giotto started to open his eyes, the blinding white light that filled the room they were in forced him to shut them quickly again. “I’ll be better once I can breathe and see again. Can you maybe get off me now?”

As Vitus shuffled off him, Giotto continued to stammer. “Have you… uh, checked to see if you are still all in one piece? The wards on the Gate should have killed you.”

Vitus gave himself a quick once-over and reported, “Yeah, I’m fine. And… you’re welcome by the way.”

Giotto began to thank his savior, but before he could get out another word, he was interrupted by a loud hissing sound from above. The noise was sharp and deafening, and as they looked upwards, they saw a circular panel in the ceiling begin to slide away and open. Considering how they arrived here, they really hadn’t gotten a chance to take in their surroundings much until now.

They seemed to be in a small antechamber type room that had no visible exit, save for the panel that was opening above them. The colorless walls and ceiling soon took on the reflective blue glow that began to emanate down from the opening above.

The men stood in awe as a bright, blue iridescent orb floated down in front of them as the panel closed behind it. Once it was before them, it seemed to manifest portions of itself into the shape of a face. Although it never resolved into something clearly visible when they looked directly at it, the face was there and it was imposingly present. Its most dominant feature were its large, piercing eyes that seemed to scrutinize every single detail about them.

As they began to back away, the entity undulated as it spoke. “Greetings, worthy sons of the royal line of Vulcanus. You are here seeking the rite of sanctification, but first you must successfully prove your worth by completing the Trials of Anointment. As the Proctor of this examination, I will oversee and record your exploits for all time.”

Before they could even begin to respond, the tranquil antechamber dissolved away, revealing a carnival of death all around them. They were somehow now standing on a floating stone pathway above the bubbling lava flow of Mount Vulcanus. Additional pathways splintered off in all different directions from their position and were boxed in and flanked by a countless array of death-dealing traps and devices of destruction. Spike pits, crushing boulders, flame spouts, and razor-sharp buzzsaws were laced into every possible traversable section of the gauntlet. Many of the perils on the course were littered with broken, mangled bits of bone and flesh– remnants of Giotto’s less successful ancestors.

The Proctor continued. “Your first test is the Trial of Courage: a test to see if your spirit is strong enough to persevere against the fear that dominates the weak. To pass, you must successfully reach the exit through the golden door at the far end of the room. The Trial begins at once.”

Fear surged through every fiber of Vitus’ bones, and he screamed out at the Proctor. “But, there’s a mistake… I’m not meant for this test! How can this–”

The Proctor swiftly cut him off. “If you survive this Trial, I will answer your question.”

As soon as this decree was made, an insurmountable wall appeared behind them and began to grind forward. There was no way out but forward now. Even the bravest of Champions would feel terror here.

Even though he had prepared for these Trials his whole life, Giotto couldn’t escape the wave of despair that enveloped his heart. He saw his death at every turn. He saw his friend– who was always so in control, so measured– literally crumble into a pool of jelly. And, as that fear rushed in to drown him, he remembered the words of his father and his mentors. He remembered their faith in him. In these memories, he found the strength he needed to move forward.

And, at that moment, he was able to see it: a giant skull of some Titan, long-dead. It protruded out at the far end of the room with its mouth agape, spewing out lava. But between bursts of fiery death, Giotto spied a golden door, lodged between its jaws. Reaching the door without being melted like wax would require perfect timing, but he knew what he needed to do.

“Vitus! The skull! The door is in the skull!” he yelled out.

“We can’t make it through this! It’s impossible!” Vitus screamed as the wall began to close in behind them.

“We are not meant to perish here! Now, stay close and follow my lead!” Giotto commanded as he clapped his hand onto Vitus’ shoulder, to rally him to action.

And, as he took off towards the goal, Vitus followed, realizing that their only chance now was to go forward. As they made their way down a cracked pathway that was crumbling away beneath their feet, they came upon a section that was populated with rusted sawtooth blades. These obstacles were somehow spinning between the open sections of the path, and the pair of runners had to hurdle them to get past.

They were then met with a section of spiked walls that closed in on the path and were intended to crush and impale them at the same time. They deftly navigated through them and many other scenarios as they approached the section leading to the skull. At one point, they barely escaped being crushed by a gigantic hydraulic press that had definitely claimed a few victims in the past. Giotto even tripped over the brittle remains of a skeleton that was surely a distant relative and sent the disintegrating remains up in a cloud of bone dust that sprayed Vitus in the face as he followed behind.

Seeing his friend coughing on the remains as he struggled to keep up, Giotto reassured him, “Well, at least we made it farther than him!”

As they got closer to the skull and the golden door, the heat and fumes from the surrounding chasm of Mount Volcanus was becoming more and more intense. The lava flow pouring out of the skull’s mouth was also adding to the intensity of the heat. It would soon be too much for either of them. Vitus yelled forward as they approached the mouth, “We’ll only have a second to make it through between bursts!”

Once they were within sprinting distance of the golden door, they paused to look back for a moment only to see that the giant wall of spikes that was pursuing them was still closing, now at a faster clip. There was no more room for hesitation. They gave each other a look of confidence and nodded in affirmation of their next critical maneuver.

“One, two, three!” Giotto exclaimed as the men dove at the golden door just as the lava flow had cleared the opening. And, as they tumbled through it together, they took in a sigh of relief as the door, and the Trial of Courage, closed behind them.

— —

Thankful to still be alive, Giotto patted himself down to check if he was also still in one piece as Vitus frantically patted out the flames scorching his pants.

“They ought to rename that to the Trial of Goddamned Insanity!” Vitus said through exhausted breath.

“Ha! Now, we know what it is to feel as a Champion does! I’ve watched many brave gladiators fall in the Bone Grinder event over the years! But we have faced an even fiercer test and we stand here victorious!” Giotto boasted triumphantly as he beat his chest with his sword arm.

Vitus rolled his eyes a bit at his friend’s bluster, but couldn’t disagree that he also felt a level of exhilaration from overcoming the incredible challenge. He had to admit he’d never truly understood the Empire’s fascination with glory in the face of death. To someone like himself, who spent most of his life working to deftly avoid situations that could end in his death, those who welcomed it seemed a bit ridiculous. He really didn’t have much time to waste at the moment, as the room that he and Giotto were now in began to shake and transform almost as if it were trying to adjust itself into focus.

After the strange visual shifting ended, the two men found themselves standing in an arena that was similar, in many ways, to the Colosseum Eternal. The skeletons of several warriors lay in piles throughout the area– Giotto and Vitus recognized a few of the races and families, but others were foreign to them. Once again, they heard the familiar hissing sound above them as another circular panel opened to reveal the Proctor floating down to address them.

“Well done! You have survived the Trial of Courage!” the Proctor announced. “Before I initiate the next Trial, you have earned the right to ask a question. I’m sure you both have one.”

Giotto and Vitus gave each other a cautious look, both suspicious and wary of what disclosure might be laid bare by this strange being. Each of them rose up a few times to speak, but then found a different reason to stop each time.

“Well, where has all your courageous bravado gone now?” the Proctor declared. “Out with your question! I will not give you either the chance again!”

Giotto could contain himself no longer. “You said this man is of the Royal line of Vulcanus!” he blurted out, gesturing at Vitus. “How is this possible?”

The Proctor’s eyes gleamed as he began to speak. “The possibilities are endless, but he IS a member of your bloodline!”

Vitus, suspicious and confused, added, “That’s not an answer! What makes you so sure of this? Simply because I survived the wrath of the Guardians?”

Now the Proctor turned his gaze to Vitus and paused before speaking. “I know my own blood! In ages past, I was known as the Grand Creator. My blood… My Essence was the seed which produced the roots of this world and the Titans that rose from it! That blood now resides in both of you!”

Giotto fell backwards aghast and whispered the name reverently: “Alteus.”

Even as a lingering spirit, the Grand Celestial’s presence was awe-inspiring.

“Yes, and my spirit now remains to ensure that the line of Vulcanus is worthy to carry on in my name!” the Proctor decreed. “Fittingly, you will now face the Trial of Blood. In this, you will prove your worth in battle and sacrifice, which provides the fuel for the creation of tomorrow.”

The Proctor looked up towards the ceiling which began to rain down droplets all over the arena. As he and Giotto were caught in the sudden downpour, Vitus watched the strange liquid hit his palms, and then recoiled. “It’s blood!”

The Proctor continued, “My blood will now bring forth your opponents just as it bore the both of you! To pass this test it must be spilled again!”

With this last statement, some of the skeletons on the arena floor began to regrow their flesh and muscles. Giotto and Vitus instinctively positioned themselves back-to-back and drew their blades– Giotto wielding his gleaming xiphos, and Vitus holding twin hook-shaped daggers.

On Vitus’ side, a large corpse that looked somewhat like a Karkadon began to take shape, but instead of a horn on its nose, large tusks protruded down from its top jaw. It held some sort of a large two-handed sickle that it was preparing to swing.

“What the fuck is that thing!?!” Vitus gurgled as he was now completely saturated in blood.

“I don’t remember seeing it in any of my history books, that’s for sure! He doesn’t look like he wants to be friends though,” Giotto said ruefully.

Already puzzled by the sight of their first challenger, Giotto was horrified to see another mystery creation forming in front of him. It had the frame of a large Whisperer, but its face was far more insectoid. Its giant clawed hands each clutched onto a spiked flail, and it began to whip them around in a Flemish bend pattern.

The Proctor found some enjoyment in their bewilderment and chided them, “Meet some of Massina’s great Champions from eons past. Even I don’t know where these challengers originally came from, but once they fell in battle here, their blood was added to the battle-worn tapestry of this world! Once forgotten by the sands of time, they rise again to fulfill the ritual of battle! I call upon you Champions Izz’ Septimus and Varltusk to put these hopefuls to the test!”

As he finished his words, the ancient gladiators saluted him and then proceeded to attack.

The insectoid champion continued to swing his flails again and pushed his position forward towards Giotto. The tactic was strategically sound, considering that Giotto’s back was pressed up against his companion’s. He couldn’t back up more without sacrificing Vitus’ position and he couldn’t spring away without leaving his flank vulnerable.

The other opponent demonstrated a far more direct and brutish style against Vitus, as he simply raised his sickle high above his head. He charged tusks forward, clearly hoping to swing downward and cleave the young warrior in half.

Vitus leaned his head back a bit so that his friend could hear him and said, “I think we should introduce these two to each other.”

“Agreed, they are made for one another. I’ll go left!” Giotto replied, and dodged the advance of the spinning flails.

Vitus rolled to the right at the same time as his attacker predictably swung his giant sickle down into the flails. The propeller-like momentum of the flails caught the sickle and sent it flying to the far side of the arena leaving the tusk-brandishing champion to smash all of his forward weight into his teammate, knocking him down onto his back, hard.

Giotto seized the moment and slashed the broad back of Varltusk, landing two well-placed strikes in a cross-pattern causing the Champion to writhe in pain. He pulled his blade back and prepared a forward stabbing thrust as a killing blow, but his opponent quickly spun around and swatted the sword out of his hands in the same motion. The Champion, who easily towered a few feet above Giotto, proceeded to grab him around the neck with one hand and lift him off the ground as his legs kicked and dangled below him. It reared its head back and prepared to gore the young Emperor with its giant stalactite-like tusks.

As Giotto gasped for air and prepared for the end, he noticed Vitus creeping behind his would-be killer with his dagger hook-blades poised at his sides. Going low, he swung both blades into the tender backside of the large Champion’s knees; and once the hooks had dug into its flesh, he tugged them back with all the force he had, tearing tendons and muscles free. The savage attack brought the big Champion down face first into the ground– its tusks propping its head up off the floor. Giotto was released from the chokehold and tumbled to the ground hard, clutching his throat from the suffocating pain.

Finally starting to recover from the hard hit it took a few moments before, Izz’ Septimus was now back on its feet and preparing to engage again. Vitus turned around to meet the threat, but realized his daggers wouldn’t be matched well against this champion’s spinning flails and armored carapace.

Still gasping for air, Giotto knew that he would need to act fast– and without his weapon he was at an extreme disadvantage. Then he noticed the fallen Varltusk at his feet. It wasn’t dead by any means. It was just disabled and in extreme pain. Giotto jumped as high as he could and brought his foot down with as much force as he could muster into the upper lip of the champion, just above his right tusk. The weight of the stomp came down at just the right angle to violently break off the giant tooth, as its rightful owner howled in excruciating pain. Giotto claimed his deadly and unorthodox new weapon.

Vitus had been knocked down onto his stomach by a vicious side-winding swing from the insectoid attacker. The force of the blow would have likely killed him, if Vitus hadn’t deftly spun along with the momentum of the swing, reducing the damage it did considerably. The Champion pinned him down by placing a foot on his back and leaning his weight into it. It then proceeded to raise up both of its flails to bring them down into the back of Vitus’ head.

Giotto, tusk in his hands like a snapped-off spear, charged at the soft, exposed underbelly of Izz’, driving the tooth deep into its flesh. An eruption of blood exploded from the wound and as the Champion fell backwards from the blow, the viscous fluid continued to spew out.

“Impressive! Now, let’s not waste that,” The Proctor said with undisguised approval, as a golden chalice magically appeared. The chalice then floated its way to the blood geyser, and drifted underneath, filling itself up halfway. He continued, “Now, finish off the other one. His valor today deserves an honorable death.”

After recovering his xiphos, Giotto ceremoniously drove it down into the back of the helpless tusked Champion’s neck, killing him instantly. Once again, the chalice appeared to collect the offering of blood from the fallen warrior.

“Well done! You work well together!” applauded the Proctor. “You have passed the Trial of Blood.”

— —

Giotto helped Vitus to his feet and they exchanged looks of respect to one another, each realizing that the outcome could have been very different. But, a short moment later, the arena around them started shaking. The tremors grew quickly in intensity as the walls, ceiling, and most of the floor began to crumble away to reveal the inside of the volcano that surrounded them. As they used one another to steady themselves, only a small circular platform remained, and they found themselves in the heart of the great magma-filled mountain.

“The end of your examination is nearing its end. All that remains is for you to undergo the Trial or Prophecy,” explained the Proctor. Then his orb-like form began to shift and stretch. More defined features began to emerge, as a large frame began to unravel itself down from the being’s neck.

Giotto and Vitus stood in awe as the Grand Creator assumed his true form, even if it was just an echo of himself… A Celestial spirit still helping to forge the future of the world it created through the administration of these Trials.

The pedestal the men were standing on was about level with the Grand Celestial’s waist as he towered over them inside the volcano. It was still too hard to make out any of his features, but his giant eyes along with their piercing gaze still remained as dominant and imposing as ever.

“Take heed, descendents of Vulcanus,” he spoke. “Once initiated, the Trial of Prophecy never truly ends. The other two Trials, once accomplished, are over. But the revelations of this Trial will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

The golden chalice that collected the blood of the fallen champions swirled towards the men as the Proctor continued. “Drink my blood as your great ancestors have and you will be sanctified with my power. But with that power, will come the knowledge of what was, what is, and all the possibilities of what could be. Are you prepared for this privilege and curse?”

Giotto quickly stepped forward. “I am ready Lord Alteus!”

Vitus hesitated, realizing his only other option was probably to just throw himself into the volcano, finally stepped forward and reluctantly agreed. “I am ready.”

They looked at each other for a moment, recognizing that they were at the precipice of something much larger than either of them could fathom. Giotto took the initiative and drank from the chalice, handing it to an uncertain Vitus to follow next. The blood was thick and took effort for each of them to gulp down. They both clutched their guts as the pain drove them both to their knees and, as their eyes rolled back into their heads, the prophecy began to reveal itself.

— —

Calmness… Stillness… That was the only way to describe the initial sensation they felt when they began their journey in the prophecy. It was a welcome departure from the twisting agony they endured to gain admission here. They were in transit, floating somewhere.

They seemed to move, feel, and sense in a slower, more deliberate fashion than normal while the world around them whirled by at speeds much, much faster. It was clear to both that they were experiencing this moment together, and they could feel their first destination approaching.

As the fluid motion around them stopped abruptly, they snapped into place softly and began to take in the scene before them. They were in a royal bedroom chamber in the Imperial Palace. Many servants were bustling around the room, clothed in white tunics, each performing a different duty. Near the large bed, Giotto immediately recognized his father, Calogero, even though he appeared as a much younger man. His young father wore a face of extreme concern, and he was clearly in distress. He was holding the hand of his wife, who was straining and weezing as she laid in the bed.

Giotto knew instantly this was his mother– but before this moment, he had only ever seen her likeness displayed in paintings and other forms of art. A lone tear spilled out onto his cheek, and he leaned into the moment intently as a lump of sorrow rose in his throat. Vitus, seeing his longtime friend react this way, guessed who this couple must be. But strangely, he also felt close to them as well for some unknown reason, and his concern for them was growing with each passing moment.

One of the nurses approached Calogero and whispered into his ear, and from his irate reaction it became clear that it was not good news. More of the servants crowded around the bed with different tools and the Emperor clutched his wife’s left hand with both of his and they prepared for a desperate effort.

Screaming, the Empress pushed with all her might as the midwife wrenched free a baby. It was not moving and it was also completely silent. Both were dire signs as the baby was presented to Calogero. It remained motionless, and the Emperor raised his fists to the sky, cursing the gods in desperate anger.

“My son!” cried the Empress, hoarse with effort. “Let me hold him!”

“There is no time, my lady,” the nurse cried. “There is another. You must continue to push!”

The Empress groaned in anguish as she was forced to once again brace for another push. And as she collapsed back into the bed, her screams were quickly replaced by those of the new baby that had come into the world. But the great queen was in desperate trouble– blood poured from her, and she began to convulse.

Calogero raged in helpless frustration, as the servants quickly sprang into action and tried to resuscitate the Empress. But with each heartbeat, her life ebbed away. As her son Giotto emerged into the world, she passed out of it, like the moon setting as the sun rose.

When it was clear the Empress was gone, the twin sons were brought to Calogero by a high priest who spoke quietly to him. “The eldest is a stillborn, your Majesty. This is a bad omen and will clearly be used against you by your enemies.” As Calogero tried to hold back his rage, the priest hurriedly continued. “Luckily, the other son lives to carry on your line. If you act quickly, we can discard the first and ensure all those present here are sworn to secrecy.”

“Discard?!” Calogero looked as if he were about to slap the man, but then hesitated and looked at his lost wife. He then looked upon his two sons and then back to her in calculated, painful thought.

He spoke to the priest in a low voice. “Dispose of the first. My line must remain un-marred by this tragedy. I make this decision for the benefit of the Empire.”

As they watched on in horror, Giotto and Vitus had no words. There was too much to process… Too much to manage… But, they weren’t given anytime to grieve or think or breathe as the world around them sped up again until it brought them to a dark, dank room in the Ministry of Bone.

— —

A cloaked figure hugged the shadows with a bundle in his arms. As his face moved through the ember glow of a torchlight, Giotto and Vitus recognized him as the same high priest who had advised Calogero– and a glimpse of a pendant on his chest betrayed him as a member of the Shadow cult of Maiax.

The priest handed the deceased infant to a tall, slender being with a gaunt, cerulean-shaded face. He wore dark, ritualistic scale mail and he wielded a long ebony staff with a pronged tip. The Necromancer was not evil per se, but his mere presence was enough to make even the bravest of Champions feel uneasy. Of all the services provided at the Ministry of Bone, his was the one that was considered the most provocative. His methods have always remained shrouded in mystery, but he specialized in reviving the dead for a hefty price of essence. Many grieving Maestros who had lost their prized champions in battle found themselves seeking out his dark methods.

He spoke in a cultured monotone to the priest. “It’s not often that I’m asked to bring back one so young. The price for this resurrection will be quite high, but I’m sure that won’t be an issue for an agent of the Shadowalker like yourself.”

The priest grew more nervous as the Necromancer identified his affiliation effortlessly. Still, he proceeded to draw a large sack of Essence from his robes and place them, somewhat nervously, into the obsidian bowl in the center of the room.

Without even glancing at the sack, the Necromancer affirmed, “Ah, I see the Shadowalkers want to buy my silence on this matter as well. I can sense some sizable Death shards in your payment. This shall be sufficient!”

“After the child is resurrected, he is to be delivered to his new guardian. A woman named Nameeah, in the city of Dross.”

“A fine place to raise a child,” the Necromancer said, with bitter sarcasm.

“Do not concern yourself with our methods, Necromancer, and we will not interfere with yours.” The priest bowed, and began to leave.

Noticing this, the Necromancer halted him. “Before you slink away, there is something you and your masters should know. The process of resurrection is never straightforward and those who return carry a mark. This is not something that everyone can see or feel, but it is there and it can be unpredictable.”

“Will this mark affect the receptacle?” the priest said, with suspicion.

“Hard to say,” said the Necromancer. “I make no guarantees.” Then he motioned towards the exit, in a signal to the priest that he was now invited to leave.

Once he was gone, the Necromancer carefully placed the tiny infant on the ritualistic table in his chamber, and proceeded to knock the end of his staff into the floor three times. On the third strike, the braziers surrounding the table ignited with azure flames.

As the top of his staff began to glow, he pounded it one final time into the floor and the table began to lower down into the chamber below. There, a giant worm-like beast was waiting, curled around the dias that the table was now resting in. It had no eyes, but it sensed the presence of a new offering and began to position its head near the infant. As it began to open its humongous mouth, it revealed thousands of giant teeth that were dripping with sticky, ectoplasmic slime. The rebirth beast was used to consuming whole Champions, so the task of ingesting this tiny baby was hardly challenging.

“This is just an appetizer for you, my beloved pet,” cooed the Necromancer. “We are certain to have more fresh Champions for you later today. A few favored ones fell in the Colosseum earlier this afternoon.” He gave the slimy beast a reassuring pat.

As the body of the infant passed through the beast, it was digested slowly, and coated in miraculous restorative juices as it snaked through the intestines. As it neared the end of its task, the rebirth beast rested its tail and anus on the table. And as that portal opened wide, it slowly spewed forth a few gallons of viscous ectoplasm and a screaming, live baby onto the table.

“Well done, my pet.” The Necromancer gathered up the baby in blankets like a ghoulish midwife. He mused at the infant, who now bore a new birthmark on its chest in the shape of a double-pronged fork. The brand, which only appeared after the resurrection, caught his eye. “I do not know what the importance of this child is, but I can sense it nonetheless. It may be advantageous to keep this one close as the years go on. ”

Vitus was shaking as he witnessed his rebirth. His mind raced through every thought and doubt he had ever had about who he really was. He didn’t need to since he knew it was there, but he pulled down his collar anyway to reveal the double-pronged birthmark. He had been discarded and forgotten and reborn via the hand of an agent of Maiax… But, for what purpose? To what end?

Giotto could only grasp at his own thoughts as he stood next to his older twin brother. They weren’t identical by any means, but neither was their upbringing. Fate had brought them together and they had always been close in their own way. But now, here they were… Even as a resurrection case, was Vitus the potential rightful heir to his Empire? Giotto wrestled with the feeling of guilt for him alongside the reality that he was also now a very real threat!

Again, they felt as though they were shooting forward in time and space…

— —

When they opened their eyes again, they were back in Mt. Vulcanus on the floating pedestal where the Trial of Prophecy began. The voice of Aleteus cracked like thunder. “You have witnessed what was. Now, you will foresee the possibilities of what is to come.”

He stretched out his left arm with his palm open, facing upwards. Above it, a vision began to appear. It showed the brothers leading an army of Champions against the hordes of Maiax, with an older Giotto hoisting his blade forward towards victory and Vitus, wearing the garb of the Emperor, at his side. As the vision continued, it showed the brothers victorious on the battlefield, with Massina finally cleansed of the Shadowalker’s threat. Giotto clenched his teeth as this vision continued on.

Alteus then stretched out his right arm in the same method and a new vision began. It depicted Vitus, in a strange laboratory filled with strange devices and experiments, building a dark army, and holding a giant book in his hands that was entitled “The Tome of War.” As the vision progressed, it depicted him and his army of shadow consuming the land and finally beheading the fallen Emperor, Giotto.

As they witnessed these possible futures, the brothers turned to face each other, but before they could speak, Alteus proclaimed, “The Trial of Prophecy has revealed itself to you. Your fates are intertwined and each choice you make will draw you closer to one of these futures. You have both been sanctified by my blood and now possess the power to determine the fate of this world.”

Unable to control his emotions any longer, Vitus erupted, “This is not my destiny! I will not be forced to follow either of these paths!”

Alteus responded, “These are the paths…” but stopped abruptly. The Grand Celestial’s eyes fixated on Vitus. “It seems we are not alone,” he said. “I sense a familiar presence. It is one that I would have hoped to never feel again.”

In that moment, Vitus seemed to curl over on himself as his body emanated a darkness that cast itself in all directions. As he reared up in a crooked, but relaxed posture, he spoke in a voice that sounded friendly, almost pleasing, but certainly diabolical. “It has been a long time Alteus.”

“Maiax!” Alteus proclaimed in disbelief as Giotto instinctively dug his heels into the ground beneath him.

“I must thank the both of you for your help in getting my vessel safely here. Oh, and of course, by allowing him to partake in your blood. The power of this world is quite impressive, Alteus… It’s been so long since I had a chance to wield it. The fact that he is a son of the line of Vulcanus only makes this moment sweeter for me!” The Shadowalker shared, with a malicious happiness.

Maiax, now in control of the freshly sanctified Vitus, called forth his power and channeled it through his outstretched arms at Alteus as he cackled, “Your spirit will be stricken from this world and replaced by my loving embrace!”

As the grand form of Alteus was seemingly consumed by shadow, Giotto watched in horror as his friend… his brother… was puppetered by the Shadowalker. He thought of the visions he had just witnessed and couldn’t understand how this outcome could possibly fit into one of them. He thought of their journey together and all they had witnessed and experienced. But, in that moment, he realized that he had to act immediately in the chaos, as Vitus– no, Maiax– was eradicating Alteus.

He pushed off and threw his weight into his brother’s back and knocked him clear off the edge and down into the volcanic flow of Mt. Vulcanus. Giotto dropped to his knees and watched the body of his brother flail in anger, as he wailed and fell down out of sight into the magma field below. He looked around, and found he was alone in the chamber. The ghost of Alteus was gone, vaporized by the power of Maiax.

The Emperor felt sorrow and loss turn into rage and boil up inside him. He would return and claim his throne now– a sanctified Emperor– and use his power to purge every last lingering shadow from this world.

— —

Epilogue

The healer knelt at the foot of the bed and unwrapped the bandages from around her patient’s face. It had been a few weeks since he was brought to her, burned badly and nearly dead. He lay motionless on the bed, breathing ever so softly as she tended to him. His face was horribly scarred and misshapen and it pained her to see him this way.

Naeemah caressed him lovingly and whispered, “You are a survivor, my son. You will recover from this as you have overcome so many other challenges. You will rise and claim your rightful place in the world.”

She continued softly, as she placed an emotionless bronze mask carefully down onto his face. “This disfigurement is a gift. Through it, you may survive and hide in plain sight.. and fulfill your destiny.”

— —

Emperor Giotto sat upright in his throne as he motioned for his court to take their leave. His coronation ceremonies now over, only Lord Dagon and Headmaster Zera remained at his side.

“Summon the Master Inquisitor and prepare your finest legion of Champions, Lord Dagon,” the Emperor commanded him.

“At once, my liege,” Lord Dagon respectfully replied, and then turned to leave and carry out the summons.

As he neared the door, Emperor Giotto turned to Zera. “Prepare an Imperial proclamation for the city to be posted at once.”

“And what shall be your first decree, my Emperor?” asked Zera.

The Emperor chose every word with a simmering precision. “Every last remnant of the Shadow shall be eradicated from this world. There will be no safe haven for it to hide in… No dark corners for it to call home. It will be snuffed out with ruthless persecution by the glory of the Empire. Any citizen who is a sympathizer, sycophant, or otherwise complacent in the knowledge or protection of the Shadow shall be put to death.”