Bullshit!
This is completely wrong.
How did this occur?
Darkness cloaked everything, and there were no other sounds. Ethan Cole thought something had pierced his chest like a sharp knife. He had the impression that a sharp instrument was making every effort to cut through his flesh.
Like Vitruvian Man in a nightmare, Ropes bit his wrists and pinned him spread-eagle on a stone table. Candles flickered as six figures in black robes loomed, their ceremonial knife slick with his blood. The altar was marked with Greek and Italian runes that echoed the texts he had spent three months hunting down from the Order of the Veiled Dawn.
It wasn't a dream. It was real, unadulterated, and lethal.
"Is this actually happening right now?" he asked himself. "Why me, in light of everything I've learned?"
Am I supposed to prepare to die here?
The Order's blade carved a jagged rune on Zorathys's chest, his mark from his case files, which glowed crimson. His chest filled with blood that pooled across the table and gave off a faint red glow. They all lowered their candles and raised their hands to the sky. The occult group's apparent leader approached Ethan while brandishing a ceremonial knife.
This demonstrates that we are difficult to capture for anyone who attempts to do so.
Ethan was unable to fully understand the cult leader's meaning. Ethan's pulse roared, but he forced his gaze steady, scanning for escape. The big ritual knife was then thrust into his chest, peeling out the Zorathys's mark engraved on his body.
"Squelch."
Ethan let out a painful scream, and his vision became blurry. The thought of his sister flashed in his mind. Tears trickled down his eyes, the sounds of laughter echoing in his ears, blood splattering on his face.
"Sarah, I apologize. I will not be able to survive to witness your smile.
The ritual knife pierced his chest, and he was engulfed in darkness, his heart stopping, his hands immobilized. The laughter faded from the air. He ceased to breathe.
Just when it seemed hopeless, a flash of violet light appeared. Ethan's lungs were as raw as if he had been pulled from death when he gasped. He was in excruciating pain. His breath caught in his throat. He felt the liquid against his hands, which were extremely uncomfortable. His fingers, slick with something gooey, scampered against an ancient stone, trying to make sense of what was happening.
"Blood?"
Metallic tang-ozone and something obscene, like starlight laced with rot, burned in the air.
He blinked, trying to concentrate on what was happening, but the violet light pulses that flashed across a cavernous chamber appeared to break his vision.
Ethan stumbled to his feet, his body feeling lighter than before, and he heard the crunch of metal boots on broken mirrors and crystals. Glancing around, the room was in ruin, with towering arches of white stones that were cracked and toppled and veined with starlight.
Before him were bodies…
Clad in silver-threaded robes, they sprawled on the floor, their faces twisted in silent cries, their chests ripped open by claws that, to be exact, left wounds for any beast. The head was severed, eldritch ichor pooled beneath it, and a creature that was vaguely humanoid but wrong—skin like oil, limbs too long, eyes glowing with violet malice—lay dead nearby. The churning in his stomach made Ethan cover his mouth with his palm to prevent vomiting.
It wasn't a hallucination. This was a massacre.
"Where is this place?"
Ethan kept walking, stepping on more broken crystal and a couple of mirrors. Ethan knelt and picked up the mirror, cutting his finger as he did so, and saw himself—his present self—in the mirror.
Blue eyes, black hair, silver-threaded robes, a rune off the left side of his arm that reaches slightly towards his shoulders, and an ordinary-looking body with a small beard growing. For a few seconds, the rune turned light blue and muttered something before disappearing.
"Locate the tenth gate."
"What—?" Ethan gasped, appearing perplexed by the plethora of ideas he was processing. The tenth gate? What the hell does that signify?
Foremost, Ethan understood that this location was not like Earth. Furthermore, he appeared more rugged than he had previously been. He didn't think there was such a thing as an alternate world because he was a detective. These people died and went to another world, according to his younger sister, Sarah, who was used to reading comics. Did this also happen to him?
To confirm his suspicion, Ethan took off his robe, then rubbed his fingers over his exposed chest. Not a thing. Not a single mark or scratch. Was it all just a dream?
Ethan inhaled sharply, trying to stop himself from freaking out.
Ethan struggled to relax as a string of memories burst into his consciousness like galaxies giving birth.
Marcus Reed, a senior gatekeeper in the Realm of Eternal Light's Crystal Spire of Aetherion. He was tragically killed, but despite having no parents or siblings, he was the best gatekeeper.
"Gatekeeper?" Ethan tapped his forehead three times as his mind raced, trying to figure out what this Aetherion's Crystal Spire was and what Gatekeepers meant. Before he could decipher the thoughts, the chamber stone shook and dust rained down from the ceiling, making a moaning sound. The flagstone floor had cracks that spread out and widened at a startling rate. With increasing intensity, the low thrum reached a deafening crescendo.
Stumbling toward a shattered altar in the center of the room, a leather-bound journal with burned but undamaged pages was found among the debris. Ethan opened the journal and saw multiple lines written there after blowing off the dust.
Because it was written in English, Ethan found it easier to understand.
The following was written in dark ink:
"The Council conceals the truth."
Ethan's hand began to shake as he leaned against the debris, dropped the journal to the ground, and moved farther away from it.
"What was the meaning of that sentence? What was the Council? Was there a link between it and the host body?
He shook his head, attempting to shake that thought from his mind. With his heart pounding, Ethan crawled over to the journal and picked it up, tucking it into his robe.
A high-pitched shriek reverberated throughout the room as they were deeply considering the meaning of the journal. The debris was sucked around it by tiny whirlpools that formed as something began to move.
Suddenly, the word 'void-tremor' was spoken by an unidentified voice that reverberated throughout the room.
Hearing the word void-tremor, Ethan whirled around, his heart racing. Ethan hid behind the debris, his rune burning. A silhouette emerged from the whirling dust, traveling at an unfathomable pace. Wearing a robe with faint runes etched on it, the figure appeared tall and lissome. Her green eyes narrowed, her silver hair was pulled back into a harsh braid, and her curved sword, its edge glimmering with starlight, was ready to strike. She was feminine. Her features hardened with suspicion as her eyes shifted to Ethan's rune and the journal he was holding.
"Marcus!" she exclaimed, hurrying ahead. "You're still alive! What happened here?" She paused, her eyes flickering suspiciously between the gatekeepers and the Void-spawn corpse before returning to him.
"How were you able to get through this?"
Ethan's throat became constricted. Marcus. Is she mistaken for Marcus? His thoughts were racing as he pieced together the threat. This woman: ally or enemy? In an attempt to mimic the cadence of an unfamiliar person, he made his voice steady.
Lucky? Guess I'm harder to kill than those things.
Before Ethan acted, a name emerged from Marcus Reed's jumbled recollections—she scowled, her hand hovering close to a sword with runes etched on it.
A Void-spawn breach. They entered through the gate after it flared. I stood outside, watching over the perimeter. I heard screams. With her eyes darting to the corpses, her voice broke.
"You were in charge of the ceremony. How are you doing?"
Ethan's heartbeat quickened. Leading? Ritual? He didn't know.
He muttered, "I got lucky," and pointed to the Void-spawn. "When I regained consciousness, that thing was already dying." It bought time, but it was a lie.
"The Council must be informed. Marcus, this wasn't a coincidence. The gates of Aetherion are not breached by void-spawn without reason." She stated.
I can't remember the name. Would you mind jogging it? He ventured, trying to see how she would react.
The girl's eyes squinted, but compassion softened them. " Lirien Thalor. Don't play games, Marcus. How were you able to survive when they weren't? With hesitation, she touched his arm before removing her hand.
A second tremor shook the floor before Ethan could react. Sparks flew from the gate's flickering glow as cracks webbed across the chamber's floor. Lirien glanced back, clicked her tongue, swiftly grabbed Ethan's arm, and yanked him up, shocking him with her iron grip.
Out of the archway came a sudden pulse of black mist, cold and wrong.
With her sword drawn and its rune flaring, Lirien hissed, "Void-tremor." It's an unstable gate. We have to get moving.