Chapter 1

  Stone, Sword, and Spirit

  A lone stone rested in the grove forgotten to time, hidden away in the depths of the Eterna Forest. It sat alone in this place, where the creatures, monsters, and spirits of Iagorothi dare not step; accompanied only by the ash resting on the earth around it.

  The stone in the forest was meant to be alone, and since the Plane was forged had seen a spare few entities. Since the Erasure of History, throughout the Age of Heroes, the Era of Adventurers, until the Broken Times there were no visitors. One day a curious scholar arrived, perished, then stood up and departed.

  Over a century later, another person entered the forgotten grove.

  Standing in a daze was a white haired man unaware of his surroundings. A young adult full of vigor, yet staggering along without purpose. His odd eyes were empty of pupils, and violet in iris. Strange. The stone didn't know what to think of this man.

  Then again, the stone didn't think at all. It was just a stone.

  Looking up at the curious stone, the man wondered why such a place contained such an odd boulder, never stopping to consider that he did not know his own name. Even more curious was the large black chain wrapped about the stone and through the enormous archway that looked like a doorway for a giant. The chain was blacker than an empty night sky, like a void beyond the reach of the Planar Paths.

  There was something even darker than these darkest of chains amongst the metal loops; A straight, solid piece of craft held to the stone by the massive chains. It was a sword.

  The man stepped forth, drawn in by this curious sight. Why was there a sword chained to a stone out here? Maybe if he just took it. His finger twitched as he approached, wondering why anyone would leave something so strange out in the middle of the forest. His feet drew him closer without prompting, his empty violet eyes unwavering from the sword chained to the boulder.

  Without pausing to think the man climbed the chains to reach the sword and tried to pull it free. The chains were tight, clamped hard around the stone as if there was nothing else in the world, but the man was persistent. With mindless endurance and zealous drive he pulled at the sword until it came free.

  Pulling the sword with such force threw him to the ground, and the sword flew up into the air above. Alarm flashed across his face as the sword plummeted towards him, threatening to pierce him! The man closed his eyes.

  Clinking crystal clattered into the ash as the sword landed beside him, banishing the feeling of uncertainty. His death averted, the man stood up and let out a sigh of relief. Then, having succeeded in his task, he knelt down to grab the sword by its hilt.

  Pain shot along his arm, burning his blood and twisting his muscles. He could feel his bones rattle, his skin split, and dull pressure press in around his head. His howl of agony drowned out all else in the world, and he dropped to the ground a moment later.

  A void of white cast neither shadow nor light above an endless murk of rolling mists. Here there was no pain, no pressure, and time itself seemed absent. With nothing else in the world to distract him, the man with white hair asked himself a question.

  “Who am I?” He asked. There was nobody to respond. The world around was as vacant as his eyes. He could see himself, as if reflected by the mists. Black scars adorned his cheeks, white hair his head, and violet eyes blinked as he examined himself. His clothes worn and ratty from hard travel, shadows of their former selves.

  He looked around, but there was nothing around him. “I need a name.” He said, “I need a calling.” He was certain of his words. “Without them, I will never take a step.”

  “My name... My calling. Mine...” He looked around at the silvery mists that surrounded him, “Mists. No...” He closed his eyes to focus, something stirring deep within.

  The letter he sought stood out in his mind, “M.” He said, “My... calling. My...” it called to him. “My call.”

  “Michael.” He opened his eyes.

  Michael stood up, looking around for the first time. The ashen clearing around him seemed familiar. Had he been here before? Yes. It was here that he found the sword, he pulled it free, and it was now in his left hand.

  What was he doing before? His feet were sore, had he been walking? From where? Michael rubbed his head, a dull ache throbbed without end. “I can’t remember.” He complained.

  Michael felt his ear, covered in fur, and it twitched as a sinister sound rose in volume. Something was stirring near the stone.

  Ash swirled and rose from the ground, becoming a reflection of a person. Crackling nebulous energy held it together, like black and blue lightning. The creature made from the ash looked at Michael, eyes full of rage and envy. It leapt forth!

  Michael pulled the sword up in front of him on instinct. The ash monsters’ talons collided with the black crystalline surface of the blade and bounced away. Michael blinked and didn't know what to do for a second, so he decided to fight. This thing needed to be stopped. He let out a roar and swung the sword with both hands.

  He missed.

  The ash monster struck again, cutting into Michael's right shoulder and sending a spray of blood to the ash of the forest floor. Michael roared and swung again, using only his left arm. This time he clipped the monster, taking off some of its chest. It seemed like too shallow of a blow to matter.

  With a howl of fury the ash monster leapt towards him, so Michael dove out of the way. His heart hammered in his chest, but the pain from his wound made Michael growl with his own rage. The monster tried to attack again, but Michael swung the sword with a roar.

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  Crackling force crawled along the sword as it swung before expanding off the edge of the blade. A wave of dark energy erupted out and cleaved the ash asunder, before the entire form burst apart. Ash dust covered everything in a dull haze.

  Coughing and sputtering, Michael rushed out of the smoke screen and looked around. The clearing was silent, the monster no more. He was alone in the shadow of titanic trees, with the enormous boulder looming behind him.

  “It’s over?”

  Michael checked himself over with his hands. There was no wound where he thought he’d had one, before passing out. The slash from the monster remained, but the pain was fading. He wasn’t in danger of dying. That was a good step.

  The next issue came to mind at once. Here he was, somewhere. No recollection of where he had been before, or why he was here. Where even was here? The question made his temple throb. “I must have hit my head.”

  Something caught Michael’s gaze at the base of the stone while he tried to get his bearings. A simple wooden sheathe. He walked over to pick it up, but something made his ear twitch. A slithering motion, slinking through the ash. Michael dove to the side!

  An ashen talon swept through the space he’d left, along with a lean twisted effigy of ash. The monster, reformed, tilted and creaked as it looked at Michael. An awful sense of calm, a feeling that Michael was caught in a trap. He had cut it, but it just reformed. Could it be beaten?

  The monster lunged again, and Michael reacted. Dodging out of the way of the first attack did not work for the second. The moment the ashen creature landed it lunged again, cutting into Michael’s chest and shredding what remained of his ragged shirt.

  Pain, again, but the lancing heat of discomfort was familiar. Michael pushed past the damage to lash out, striking with his right fist as he slashed. Shearing chunks of ash from the enemy felt useless, but Michael didn’t have any better plans.

  Talons slashed into him, but Michael was not deterred by his own drawn blood. He slashed with the black crystal sword and splattered blood onto his foe. It writhed and screeched, recoiling back towards the boulder. Michael shouted and chased it, but the monster expelled ash and scrambled away.

  Michael avoided the second smokescreen by backpedaling with his eyes and mouth shut. Once he felt the air he swung his sword as he looked around, but the creature had stayed back. He found it across the clearing, huddled over a mound of clumped bloody ash.

  As the ash fell away the being within was revealed. Twisted energy stretched thin and coiled into a haunting simulacrum of a person. Shadowy cables of darkness woven together with deep blue flames. It shuddered and twitched, changing posture in the blink of an eye even without moving.

  “Terrifying...” Michael took a deep breath, “But I won’t lose.” He brandished his sword in front of him and considered what to do next.

  The monster streaked across the clearing like a flash of lightning faster than Michael could react. He expected to be knocked over, but it struck without weight and engulfed him.

  Pain even greater than anything before flared to life across Michael’s body. Every cut, every wound, every inch of flesh seared with heat as the darkness engulfed him. Soreness from his toenails to his scalp, crawling along his skin like needles. It was all consuming, then gone.

  Once again a hollow sense of emptiness engulfed Michael. He felt, but neither pain nor pressure. He saw shadows roiling ahead of him. Then, power.

  Building up within to fill his frame there was power. Energy enough to shatter his skin trapped within his muscles. A sense that he could run, leap, or smash with endless abandon and never tire. More power than he could even think to use, beyond the limits of comprehension. Unlimited power!

  “Is this real?”

  A spark of light ignited before him. The darkness churned until shapes took form, a mirage of potential. An image of the trees within the clearing, parting to reveal vast canyons and tall mountains. Michael examined the unfamiliar landscape, watching the weight of his gaze shatter distant mountains or crack the very ground. Wherever he looked his power overwhelmed, it was nothing beneath his will. The strength to destroy all at a whim. This was what had taken root inside.

  “I don’t want that.” The power creaked, echoing within him. It could reshape rivers or flatten hills. “It’s too much.” He could do anything, nothing would be able to stop him. “No! What I do is up to me!”

  The pain threatened to return, but Michael rebuffed it. He could feel it now, the power that welled up inside him did not belong. His rejection made it writhe. There was no anger or emotion, just the will of desire. It was power and wanted to be used. “Begone!”

  Lancing pain shot out from inside, churning his body. Michael gritted his teeth to withstand the agony, but could feel his willpower slipping. How could he battle something intangible? Something that had already taken root?

  He was slipping. His grit became panic, the agony was overwhelming. His vision swam with a haze as his muscles withered. He slumped down, unable to muster the strength to curl up anymore. The fear of it all ending before he could even act, surrounding his insignificant miniscule body. There was nothing before that force.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Everything was about to end, and that was too much.

  Fury.

  As the all consuming darkness collapsed around him, a red heat ignited beneath his eyes. Anger, rage, contempt spread through Michael like a tempest. Blood burned his veins, scorched his skin, and tore through his body; but it pushed him to his feet.

  Over the course of minutes, hours, or perhaps a single instant, the fury beat back the shadows and expelled it. The twisted energy rebounded from Michael’s chest and slammed into the chains of the boulder. As it struck the ground Michael let out a guttural croaking of incoherent fury and rushed forth to finish it off.

  The simulacrum lashed out as Michael arrived, but could not match the frenzy of attacks the raging man unleashed. Blow after blow striking down as the monster flinched and shrank with every strike. Michael attacked and roared until his blind rage sent his sword slamming into the ground. Jet black energy coursed along the ground and crawled along the boulder like lines of fractal lightning.

  For an instant the pattern remained visible, then force erupted from the lines and blasted Michael and the monster across the clearing. As he tumbled through the ash, the sword dancing away and thunking into a tree, the anger Michael was holding slipped into naught.

  Sore, bruised, bleeding, and covered in ash and grime, Michael heaved himself to his feet. He was dizzy and deflated, but knew he could not let down his guard. Any moment, the enemy would come and he needed to be ready.

  Michael looked across the clearing to see the creature. It had crashed into the brush, spooking a small fox from its den. Michael glared and inched towards where he thought the sword was, but when the monster lunged it went for the fox instead. “What?!”

  A tiny shriek preceded an awful twisting sound, then the fox changed from a frightened critter to a poised animal. It rolled its shoulders, flicked its tail, then hissed before bounding into the woods. “No!”

  All Michael wanted to do was race after and finish off the monster before it could do greater harm, but his legs gave out when he tried. He lay on the ground, defeated and sore as he caught his breath. He did not notice as the dark lines across his body faded away.

  When he caught his breath he stood up. His headache was gone, but his memory had yet to return. “I don’t know where I am, or why I am here.” He grumbled, walking over to retrieve the sword. “I could just walk away, figure things out.” He grabbed the sheathe from the base of the boulder. “Whatever I do is up to me.” There was no attaching point on his belt so Michael just held the sheathed sword and looked towards the footprints left by the fleeing fox.

  All around him the trees were enormous, with trunks wider around than ten or twenty of Michael with arms outstretched. Immense, but also spread far apart. “I released that thing, I’m the cause. I’m responsible.” Michael strode into the forest and followed the path of the fox, now possessed as he almost had been. “I’ll put a stop to it, if it's the last thing I do.”