prologue

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The day was beautiful and vibrant. The sunlight shone on the leaves of the trees, while the sounds of the forest mingled in a majestic cacophony of natural sounds, charging the atmosphere with great peace and tranquility.

As I walked, the air felt humid and warm, and the grass crunched under my bare feet with every step. My long tunic brushed the floor, filling with dirt.

Ordinarily, I would resent being here, but today my heart was beating fast with an ineffable joy that filled my entire being.

Amidst chants and choruses, I was chosen by Umbra Mors and the Dark Saints to be the sacrifice that would allow the High Lord to once again rule over this corrupted land.

We walked without stopping for almost two hours until we reached a clearing that seemed otherworldly, contrasting with the landscape we had seen a while ago. The place gave off a sinister atmosphere, and the air felt dry and hot. Decomposing animal carcasses had turned the once-vibrant place devoid of life and soul.

The grass, once green, was now a dark brown clump, lacking in vitality. The large, stately trees were now nothing more than splinters of rotting black wood, and the skies were covered black clouds, only occasionally lit by intermittent lightning.

Six tall, slender black wooden stakes reached up from the top of the dead brush like fingers, forming a perfect hexagon. On the stakes, ancient symbols were delicately carved into the wood.

Around the six stakes, all the members of the Umbra Mors, dressed in elegant black robes, stood up and began to stamp their feet leisurely. Then they began a chant in a language as old as civilization, so old it would make any mortal's eyes bleed and urge them to cover their ears.

As if the world itself heard the heretical and profane words that came out of their mouths, lightning began to fall from the sky, being intercepted by the wooden stakes, forming a pentagram with the symbol of Bael.

Each of the members gave a deep cut to his right hand with a gold and bronze ceremonial knife, covered in esoteric engravings from an ancient language, and without any pause, they poured their blood onto the stakes at the same time, causing the lightning bolts to turn crimson like spilled blood.

In front of the sacrificial table, one of the Dark Saints - the most ancient of all, whose name was almost impossible to pronounce in any current language, "𐌸𐌴𐌹𐌳𐌰𐍂𐌹𐌺" - had been one of the High Lord's first followers during his conquest.

"Valamir of the seventh house of Mortiferum," his voice was clear and deep. The mere fact that his voice had called my name sent a chill down my spine, and cold sweat began to fall from my forehead. The longer his eyes lingered on me, the more primal instincts screamed for me to run and not look back, but I stood my ground. "Come closer."

With slow but steady steps, careful not to show any undignified bearing in his presence, I approached until I was facing the Dark One. 'Lie down on the stone and serve your purpose,' he said. In the next moment, as if the world itself wanted to prevent it, a bolt of lightning struck, more powerful than any of the previous ones.

But I wasn't scared. All my life I have been preparing for this, and there was no greater honor than to serve as a sacrifice to our Great Lord. So I just followed the Dark One's orders.

His nails lengthened, and his already sharp teeth turned into fangs as large as a bear's claws. His left hand was covered in an evil and ancient energy, which only the Great Lord could possess. Without any mercy, he brought his left hand to my chest and slowly buried his claws until they brushed against my heart.

With great suffering, I felt how the large nails cut upwards from my chest to my stomach, exposing all my internal organs and radiating my interior with the same energy. Despite the pain I felt, my face didn't stop smiling. I raised my last gaze to the Dark One's face, looking inside with satisfaction. With my last breath, I silently prayed, "By the Great Lord."

As Valamir drew his last breath, there was a burst of jade-colored light and the heavens parted. The six stakes rose up like dark pillars, refracting all ambient light and impaling the heavens like shadowy spears.

From them shot six irregular beings like arrows towards the members of Umbra Mors. Before they had a chance to react, the creatures clung to the shadows of some, blowing away any chance they might have had to escape. They killed them in unimaginable ways, as their cries and calls to their Highlord for salvation fell on deaf ears.

Amidst the chaos, a few cultists managed to react quickly, drawing their curved swords that gleamed in the gloom, and moving at high speed to fight off the creatures. One cultist, who still had a chance to escape, turned to look at his brothers in despair, realizing the severity of the situation.

The cultist closed his eyes, allowing his instincts to take over and unleashing his power in the form of a bolt of energy. The shot struck the back of one of the creatures, ripping it to the bone.

The creature moved to look at him slightly, cocking its head in amusement. Then, he disappeared and the cries of despair from his brothers began, who were still around him protecting their backs. With his two eyes, he saw how one by one they fell dead in such a grotesque and horrible way that he could not help but spill his bile on the ground.

But before he could try to help one of his brothers, they were all already lying on the ground, dead, their souls about to be sucked into the jade-colored spiral in the heavens.

Reacting fast, he managed to jump back, dodging a sword made from the same abyss. Ahead of him loomed a hideous creature, half spider, half worm, with the head of a man whose eyes held unspeakable evil.

The cultist quickly gathered his power and fired another energy attack that slammed into the creature's face. However, before he could celebrate his victory, he found himself being dragged along by his legs, suspended upside down by the thing's pincers.

The cultist tried to muster the last of his power in a desperate attack, but before he could do anything, the creature sent one of its legs into the cultist's mouth and, as a simple show of power, inflated the cultist's body to which exploded in an explosion of blood and guts.

The Dark Saints watched from the side with depraved satisfaction and sadistic delight as members loyal to them and their lord died in unspeakable ways, all the while screaming in agony.

When all the cultists were dead and their souls sucked into the spiral, the creatures dissolved into a black slime that trailed across the floor toward the center of the hexagon where Valamir's body was still spread out.

The black slime covered every inch of his body. A few seconds later, a crimson energy pillar, like blood itself, fell from the spiral, impacting Valamir's body. The pillar ascended into the sky while undergoing a metamorphosis, transforming the young man of 25 years into a handsome 30-year-old man dressed in a crimson robe. The unconscious man was carefully placed on the stone table as if he were a child. With an explosion of colours, the light disappeared.

The three Dark Saints watched with admiration and fanaticism at the man on the stone table who was starting to wake up. Seeing how he slowly got up, they couldn't take it anymore and fell to their knees, looking at the man in front of them like some kind of god.

The man put his feet on the ground and took a couple of steps before falling to the ground, because he was still weak, The Three Dark Saints rushed to help his lord, but he stopped them and got up on his own.

"My lord," the oldest Dark One said with great devotion. "More than a thousand years have passed, but I always trusted that you would return," he said, kneeling. "I remember you, you were 𐌸𐌴𐌹𐌳𐌰𐍂𐌹𐌺." As if it were no big deal, he said the Dark One's name with such perfection that he made the Dark One's soul tremble with joy.

"What time is it?" the High Lord asked his faithful servants, almost in a whisper. "It is 2006 of the Gregorian calendar, my lord," said one of the Dark Ones, a woman.

The Great Lord gave a light laugh for a few seconds before falling silent and looking up at the sky in contemplation. "It is time for me to take back what is rightfully mine and rule again as I once did, I Cain, the firstborn and progenitor of 𐍅𐌰𐌼𐶻𐌹𐌷𐌹𐌷, decree before the world", as if the universe itself heard his words, the reality trembled accepting his words as a promise. If he was not able to fulfill it, he would be forced to return to hell and would be eternally tortured.

The Three Dark Saints listened to his words with great devotion and knelt before their lord. "It's time to go. It's been over a thousand years since I've tasted human blood," one of the Dark Ones said, nodding at her words and snapping his fingers, causing the four of them to transform into shadows and disappear from the clearing in a few seconds.

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I have reissued the entire story, because the old one was complete garbage with this new version I seek to disturb and terrify you, make you feel afraid but also excite you and make you become fond of the characters.

I hope this prologue has given you a taste of what is to come...

See you in the next chapter!