Welcome to Gaia! ::

Away from the lower levels she was herself again, calmer. Steadier for every step she took up that long, spiraling staircase. Her pace was cautious at first, senses straining, but the further up she climbed, the more at ease she felt. Until that first distant hint of crumbling, it had the mare hesitating, turning to peer down curiously, before sight of the destruction that flowed in her wake had her racing forward, faster and faster.

Only then did she fully realize that she was alone. Not just without the comforting presences of those she cared for, called ally, but utterly alone. It had been silent, above and behind. No soft brush of boots along stone stairs, no sound of breathing picking up the further up she climbed. There was nothing, and that seemed wrong.

But there wasn't time to dwell, not with the stairs crumbling behind her, licking at her heels. She raced upward until the ground leveled out and she found herself on a vast platform, circular, with a number of multicolored doorways standing as her only means of exit. "What now?" A rhetorical sigh. She wasn't expecting an answer.

It was easy to assume she was going to have to pick a door, so the priestess did not hesitate. She moved towards the first, small hand reaching outward to brush against the colored front, and immediately pulled away as a wave of something rushed up her arm. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but the hairs stood up at the back of her neck regardless. The color was red, what she felt from just that one small touch was destruction, a means to inspire change. It was...appealing, but she would make no hasty choices.

One after the other, she touched each door, until finally she came back to stand before the pitch darkness of revenge. There was a nice symmetry to it, a certain sweet rightness. She opened the door and stepped through

An altar stood before her, and on it, glowing, an emblem. It's calling to her, beckoning her closer until her hands came up of their own accord, wrapping around that dark glow before she had even realized she was doing it.

And there was no time for second guessing. No time for anything. she was just gone.

-------------------------------------

It was familiar, this rage. It lay in a pit, a seething, all consuming pit, at the center of the priestess' being. Insatiable and bottomless, it had started small, the betrayal of her sister, a catalyst that set in motion the clockwork for things to come. Every hurt, every wrong doing that had ever touched her life, made her suffer. The destruction of the clans, Medea's absence, Charon's passive leadership. Soren....

Eventually she would learn that there was nothing but pain. That everyone left her, eventually. Bastion's death had been unbearable, a finally straw that had finally destroyed what had already been broken.

And she would never be sure what came first. Her heart closing to kindness and driving them all away, or their rejection turning her heart to so much cold stone. That doubt festered, it grew, until that was all that was left of her. Doubt. Doubt and sorrow. Crushing and agonizing.

At the end she was alone, and she would blame herself, and she would blame anyone that had ever proclaimed to love her, but blame meant nothing. Blame would not keep the blood from dripping from her lips. It would not soothe the burn of the arrows as they pierced her body. Blame would not keep her alive.

Nothing would.

Anger consumed her as the light faded. A raw, frustrated anger at anyone or anything that had ever caused her pain, and on it's tail, like a bitter after taste, was doubt. A unwelcome, unavoidable hopelessness, born of every time she had ever second guessed herself. Maybe fate had a design, or maybe she could have changed things. Maybe she could have kept her guardian at her side if she had only said the right thing. Maybe she could have saved her cousin if she had done something differently. Maybe her sister would not have hated her. Maybe. Maybe...

The lights went out. There was nothing. All was blackness.

All was blackness.

Nothingness became something. It fed, and it grew, and oblivion became consciousness.

Nergui opened her eyes, and gold had finally consumed the silver. She looked out at the world around her with the light of Insanity glowing brightly in the darkness of her face. She didn't feel the smoke rising from her body, frame blurred around the edges, or the weight of the crown of thorns on her head. . Her skin, like charcoal silk, patched and cracked like stone. A spider web of cracks painted across her right cheek, down her arm, over her chest. A crumbling whole forming between her breasts, over her heart.

She had no heart.

The voices, they whispered to her. Sweet nothings on the air that pulled at the corner of cracked lips, made her smile.

Home.

She would paint the world black, drown it in sorrow. There would be no salvation, only retribution. Revenge.

His steps were slow and methodical, and Waits quickly suspected that the dissolving stairwell would keep in time with him and not press ahead, leaving him to fall. There was no need to be in such a hurry, even in such pressing matters because it wasn't like anything was bound to happen and end that quickly - not with the nature of those corridors. Besides, if he missed the action, oh well.

Which did not seem to be the case when he reached the top, it still intact even as the rest seemed to crumble away beneath them. But yet, it seemed devoid of those they had been led to seek - perhaps elsewhere - and simply left with doors of varying color neatly placed in the circular room. They were meant to go through them, it was obvious and Waits cast an eye upon each one, considering before moving on to inspect.

His bony hand almost pressed against the soft glow of Red, its promises akin to his desires. (That Golden one too...) It was the embodiment of his kind, was it not? To seek such chaos? But one of the others doors spoke to him more clearly, his hand retracted from Destruction and he set forth across the room back to that of Creation. The opposite, that of knowledge. It held so much power. Waits pressed upon the door of Green and walked through.

He lingered still on the other side, peering upon the altar that was presented to him and beckoned him closer. Still, he studied it before he approached and grasped it like it wanted him to, to take hold of what he would show him. Waits did not falter.

- -

He hadn't wanted to share, had been unwilling but in the end he had been kind and in the end he had been respected for what he had brought upon the worlds. They flocked to him for guidance, for explanation and for his knowledge. And he gave, even as little as it was because his efforts and energy were precious but they gave him more and more. They soon came to realize how magnificent he was, for he studied how the way the world worked, how slow a process everything could be and he was able to fix it, fix everything- and their pesky human problem.

Life got easier for all but life also had its limits even to something so old. And Waits both hated but respected it, for it was a law of the universe and he must also abide to it even if he was so angry to see the end. But he would be remembered and honored and his knowledge would be passed down through the generations; knowledge was always so much a greater power than those of steel and might after all.

Though, had that really been enough for him? For his bones to simply turn to dust and be carried off the back of the wind? It was expected yes but he had so much more to do, so much more to watch happen. So much more to gain, his essence would not see to it. So, something else sparked from his bones. Something far greater.

And it took its time to do it, as was the nature of his being. It trickled and collected like pools of water from the rains, or the colonies of ants upon the left over crumbs. It was patient and waited as he was so aptly named but it grew and flourished - mostly without notice with how slow the process seemed really - until it - he - finally sprung forth like the might he was. A new life from death. Creation itself.

And oh the wonders he brought, all that he could see. All his own desires he could fulfil now as he gave the peons their pennies for the efforts of seeking him out (and his iron fist for those who dared anger him). He could watch the universe now as it played its dance.

He had forever now.

- -

Bony hands turned to an ashen grey tightened as eyes more brilliant and flashing opened. What stood there might not have been Waits per say but it was still Something. And Something felt the powers of the universe within himself, his mind open yet chaotic but free. And odd clarity had awoken within him through the Insanity as his form had become something new.

Shadows clung to him, became his new cloak - tattered all the same with the small hints of fringe and dangles that he once were. The beings he once housed now shades of what they were meant to be, moving across him in the same dull hue - it was as if he were simply made up of them now. A colony of creatures and hints of bone forming one silhouette and clothed in shadows.

There were voices, so many voices that whispered to him of home. To find it. To avenge it. His throat rattled, he responded and gripped the mirror that he held within his hands even a little tighter; even enough for a small crack to appear. But Waits did not seem alarmed as he watched from within the glass surface, staring up at Something that had been created.

She climbed because it was the option left, because if she stayed behind and dwelt on what was going on around her she would simply crumble with the rest of the tower. Despite everything she did not wish for that because it was not going home, she was prone to giving up but giving up on life in such a manner could never be an option. She had reached one conclusion, reiterated through this though.

She jackin' hated stairs! (Why were there always stairs?!)

Life though still reigned supreme on her list of dislikes when she found herself pulled into the circular room. Maple recognized those doors, realized exactly what each and every single one of them meant and couldn't help when her worried eyes turned directly towards the Black door first. Because she knew exactly where this would lead, there was no question in her mind which one she would be drawn towards. Even though she was so timid and scared, the least likely to befitting of a door that held such power and such descriptions; even though she was a creature of Halloween, of nightmares and terrible stories. But it always called to her, always and so she walked towards it with no hesitation.

- -

Maple should have seen it coming, she was always prone to such misfortunes and bad luck and karma. Even when she thought things were going to come around, even more so when things were going her way. That little bit of hope, why did she try to cling onto it? It never served her much good. Why could she never just reach into that darkness that lingered inside of her, that she knew was there - always knew was there, why else would she be drawn to the Black. But she still did, because maybe at some point something would go right.

But of course it didn't and now there she was, her breathing growing heavy from the pain that rattled and shook her body. Her pulse strong and rapid as her body went into shock. And they just watched here there, didn't act upon their eldest daughter laying there dying. Could it be betrayal though, in its fullest when they had cast her away so long ago and had given up on her? They still maybe showed an ounce of caring from time to time but they had given up taking her really seriously, mostly pity.

Or maybe it was the others who weren't there. Aunt Rose wasn't present to make them stop. AJ was responding to her frantic text messages that had turned into garbled messes of words because she had no time to actually spell out words. Simply didn't pick up her phone when she was running. Neither Andrew or Marosa, or anyone she had thought maybe to be a friend. So she was left alone to die. No one cared.

She hurt so much; her heart and her head felt heavy and burdened. This was such a mess. Everything was such a mess, starting with her life. And the more she thought about it in her last moments, she felt so angry. At them and especially at herself. Maybe it was her that she mostly betrayed, because she had never given herself a chance and never listened to what others were trying to tell her, help her. She never got past her own failures and learned from them.

Maple screamed. She was just so angry. At herself mostly, her heart felt heavy and burdened with her own failures and her own stupidity to not do something about them. Her last breathes would be filled with anger, mostly upon her self and bitter tears.

Perhaps because she was so small and so weak that it took hold of her, transcending her into something greater because it had such a pitiful little vessel that was easy to mold and make anew. Or maybe it actually did find what was deep in her core. Or simply, bitter irony that something that felt herself so weak would be given such raw power. Vengeance dwelt deep even if it wasn't acted upon. And confidence was something she had always lacked, yet here she was. Its toy and plaything, its avatar to reap upon others.

She could finally make others pay for what they had done to her, even if she was really the one who never listened. But that didn't matter now because this was the results of her pain and their actions and her lacking.

- -

Maple gasped, pulling away with a start when she awoke from the vision. Her thoughts cloudy and muddled, reeling from what she had just seen. That power, such power. It had been her's - it was her's. It surged within her even though her eyes stung from the mere idea of how she had obtained it. That anger and that pain. But how right it was, that path... that...

Her body stilled as she heard a soft click, metal against metal as if heavy chains were becoming undone. Her broom remained unsummoned but somehow she knew it was the source, it was apart of her after all and it was almost like she could see them clatter to the ground as if the weapon was right before her eyes. They were falling to pieces from the base of the bristles and the lock became undone.

And that was when they flooded in, all those lost memories that had been locked way - some for her own good but returning caused a pain in her core tenfold. Maple crippled to the ground, her hands upon her head and her mouth open but no scream could be found.

It was especially for one particular memory that she had forgotten.

She had hoped not to encounter stairs in this tower, having had her fill of them in another world, in an alternate life. The corridors had really seemed like test enough, and she had made her way through each, with the fervent zealous of one who was incredibly committed to her cause. This was a path she had set herself on months ago, and she would see it through to it's conclusion, whatever the outcome may be. She was prepared for things to go either way, after all. Medea might have been who she'd thrown her support behind from the very beginning, but even Shaheen knew that the high priestess wasn't immortal, and they were going up against an ancient, one who had yet to even show his face, instead sending his little lackey, Charon, to do his work for him.

But stairs. Really?

Despite her annoyance, however, the elder chieftain did not hesitate to climb. With her wings behind her, lending her speed, her footfalls barely seemed to touch each step, winding up and up, into that darkness, up and up, as each step crumbled behind, a spiraling path that she climbed alone.

She reached the top, intense gaze taking in the circular space that lay at the top. Seven doors. Seven colors. Her eyes lingered on that of gold for a time, the significance of it's hue, on what it meant, not lost upon her. The door of pride. She had been it's follower once, and a part of her would always belong to that particular kingdom.....

But no. No longer hers to follow. The mark of destruction burned brightly upon her hand, a calling to a new path and a new goddess. Her gaze moved on to the door that stood beside pride, and it called to her. Oh it called to her, to the very depths of her insanity tainted core, it called.

She could not show hesitation here, and she would not. She strode towards the red door of destruction, she chose to embrace power and violence, a chaos that would rend the earth asunder. That was her new course.

This was the better choice.

On the other side of the door, an alter stood, with an emblem that burned, one that precisely matched the brand on her hand, and she knew that her choice had been the correct one. It called to her, much as the door had done, and she stepped forward, her gaze wide and expectant, her marked hand reaching, her lips parting as she inhaled.......

------------

It was war. War was who she was, with all of it's upheaval, pandemonium and disorder. War was what she lived and breathed, which was what could have made her one of destruction's most perfect creatures. War was all she had, and all she had really been. That need for strife, for absolute chaos, was what drove her.

What had driven her. Now she lay on the ground, bleeding, broken, and dying. Every breath rattled shakily in her lungs as glowing, golden eyes, half lidded in pain, stared to the side. Destruction ran rampant, creatures of the goddess, doing her bidding. Shaheen reached towards them as her eyelids fluttered closed, as her breathing shuddering, halting, as her life simply ceased to any longer be. She was just another fatality in this war, expendable, fodder, a simple pawn that had been played. All of her resentment, her anger, her desperate need to destroy all things meant nothing anymore as her life faded away.

But that wasn't the end. No, something still lingered. Strong feelings that overcame, but lay dormant for a time, building, festering, and finally, igniting into something more.

Destruction. Power. Fear. What she had become, the concept of what she could potentially be, grew from the empty husk that had once been her physically binding form. No longer subject to it's confines, she was able to become so much more. There were those who would flee from what she had become in terror, and there were those who would come to worship her, both of which only elevated her further.

Insignificant no longer. Empty no more. She was destruction. She was power and fear. She was filled with purpose, a pillar of strength, a god, more then a god, an ancient. She had, without a doubt, reached for the very heavens in what she could achieve, and had succeeded. She was the creator of her own legacy.

Transcended beyond all discernible reason. The Ancient who's Fear was born of failure and neglect, of those who were afraid to lose, to be unsuccessful, to never achieve satisfaction.

Those who would come to naught.

Shaheen wore her title like a cloak, the Fear that elevated her coincidentally now the one she herself had not succumbed to. A goddess adorned with the crown of thorns, who's body was grey and incomplete, and broken, and forever shifting, her piercing gaze a glowing golden set in eternal darkness.

---------

She was spat back into the world, a visage of the self she had just experienced. Thick tendrils of fog rolled off of her body as she moved, her smile a vicious thing to behold. She was beautiful and she was deadly. She was a harbinger of destruction, and she had work to do.

With this gift of change, with this power she had so sought, she was more then ready to heed Meada's call and join the battle against Death. With her mount summoned, she climbed aboard, it's crackling, fissured, grey and black hide a match to her own. She urged it forward, and summoning her sword, she rode away.

[ Hanna Nowicki / Green Door of Creation / Ancient of Metamorphosis ]

When the rooms dissolved, Hanna did not find herself in a familiar place, but instead within another riddle. This should have scared her. It should have made her pause. Instead, she smiled. The situation that stood in front of her now was, more or less, why she had come to Deus in the first place. Normalcy was poison to her. Feeling ordinary was a curse worse than death. Standing in a mysterious room after surviving four other mysterious rooms with the fate of humanity, sort of, in her hands? Sign her up.

Each door hummed with energy. Some called to her immediately, others felt cold to her. Booted feet moved slowly toward the Red Door. Hanna tilted her head to the side and placed her hand flat on it, felt the pulse of blood and fury. It whispered to a part of her that was there beneath the skin, that was strong, but was not something she loved about herself. Hanna wanted to be different and, in some ways, took joy in certain situations when others were miserable, but she didn't want to destroy for the sake of carnage.

A voice whispered at her, and she turned. A green door lingered off to the side. Though her eyes could see nothing tangible, Hanna felt as though tendrils drifted out of it, beckoning her over. This door manipulated her like the other, but it called to the good in her, to the desire for change and improvement. It whispered of the things she could do and the way she could grow. The harmony part? Whatever. That might be for other people.

And in the end, it was Hanna's desire for change and evolution, not power, that had her pushing through the Green Door of Creation. She probably should have hesitated, but instead, the Death Hunter marched across the room and grasped the emblem. Electricity raced up her arm. Her fingers jolted, but could not break free. Her free hand flashed out to grip her wrist, to pull away, but she was locked to it.

In her mind, she saw flashes of a life that could be: the inventions she builds for Deus, how she revolutionizes the Death division, how her efforts join Life and Death on projects that forever change how Deus Ex is run. With her help, thousands of Hunters find themselves better prepared to fight the darkness, prepared to survive it, prepared to study it in ways previously impossible. A statue, gleaming, is erected as her human life pushes to oblivion -- and it is her, not Caelius or Allan or any head of the division -- but her. Hanna Nowicki, immortalized for her mind, her contributions, her innovation.

The scene played out before her, a euphoric high spreading across her behind half-lidded eyes. From the emblem, fine strands had begun to creep out, encasing her arms first, the strands thickening and darkening from an unknown source. Hanna was bound to the altar, but seemed utterly unaware, the smile spreading wider across her face as her chest was encased. She dangled from it, legs slumped, held by the strength of a bundle of woven strands chaining here to the altar. The creeping strands wound around her thighs, covered booted feet, until all of her was cocooned in the dark strands, leaving only her face exposed, mouth open and breath steady.

Then the silken began to creep up her throat.

The statue that stood in her mind swelled and grew larger. It was her, only... different. In life, her creations brought untold knowledge to Deus Ex, but then, she had become more. People flocked to her for the strength to accept change, to be changed. She heard them, those voices full of worry and fear, and it fed her. They came to her for solace; she brought them something else.

Those who feared change were like a drug to her. Her hands sharpened, became clawed. When they reached out for strength, she consumed their energy instead. She fed off that fear and held them in stasis, absorbing the potential for change that they refused to embrace. Her entire body soared with potential energy. She was force. She was force of change -- and they would be changed. There would be no other option before her.

Strolling over broken bodies and dead fields, her lips curved upward, eyes a constant swirl. "Evolution is inevitable. Change or die," she hissed, in a voice that was her but not hers. "We don't always get better... but we always change." And if they didn't change, she changed them.

More statues were built, but this time they were wards. Voices didn't pray to her. They honored her to spare themselves. Accept the unpredictability of life, adapt, be flexible -- or she would arrive, the Ancient of Metamorphosis, to breathe change into your lungs and steal what breath remained.

"Even mountains must erode under the river's flow," she whispered.

"All flowers must bloom; all flowers must rot."

"Show me a fetid pond. I will give you a typhoon."

Power surged through her, and it was so pure, so beautiful that a deathly peace stilled her pounding heart. In the room behind the Green Door of Creation, Hanna Nowicki had disappeared. All that remained in her place was a blackened cocoon, barring all air, all light.

For a moment, there was silence. And then... a silver of light.

A single hand pressed upward through the cocoon, splitting the hardened strands and releasing a pale green stain of light. The hand was paled to a dusty blue, the fingers sharpened to points. Straining, the case that held was quickly parted, sloughing off like dead skin. When the final piece was peeled away, Hanna Nowicki was there... and not there. No, this was the Ancient of Metamorphosis.

Large wings -- more moth than butterfly, unfurled behind her. Her hair had changed, become vines that seemed to shift from spring to summer to fall to winter blooms as it traveled down her back. At first glance, her appearance seemed demure, but one eyeblink -- and suddenly, aggressive. Her entire body seemed to be in a constant state of shifting. Patterns swirled beneath her skin, even her eyes. They were empty orbs reflecting light, but flickered with color, changing as fast as breath could leave her body. She was, in a word, unsettling.

Change lived in the Ancient of Metamorphosis and so she did just that -- flickering in appearance and seeming more like a chimera than anything human. And, perhaps more unsettling, was the constant transition of her skin back to grey-black, the yellow pulsing in her eyes, the shifting smoke around her -- the Insanity that resulted from so much change. With her mind muddled and identity in constant flux, the Ancient of Metamorphosis had no allegiance to anything except the force that existed within her to push all creatures toward evolution, regardless of the consequence.

All things must change.

Eye made up way up the crumbling floating steps, at least now they were moving forward again. Once she reached the next area she was quickly drawn to the green door of creation, the door spoke to the heart of who Eye was. She went through the door and saw the alter. There before her was the top of the alter, that called her to grab it.

With little other choice, she grabbed the green and black symbol and found herself in a different place and time. She saw before her, her dream of inventing. Creating glories magical jewelry and weapons, she saw her death and heard the recount of the life she lead and the greatest of the things she had created. A scythe of such frightening power, and jewels glowing with power. Crafting beautiful pieces, Eye held the metal in her hand as she worked the metal, shaping the piece into a silver crown, with spaces for many dark stones. She felt that the crown was meant for the future leader of her people.

Eye moved on, into a being of creation, when she finally created the perfect weapon of all consuming power. She stayed in a mostly humanoid form creating seeking to share her knowledge and being a source of guidance to others wishing to learn her art. Many began to fear the things she was able to created, fearing she would finally create a weapon that would destroy all. Ancient of Failure, making humans shiver in fear that they will never live up to the legend that Iounn was. In Eye's future and her mind it was still unclear who she should stand behind. Eye felt that neither Medea nor the representative of Death had the right answer for the future of their people. She feared what Medea dreamed their future should be.

A strange shadow overtook Eye her whole body became dark and shadowy, her eyes ice blue. She struggled to hold on to her sense of self, enough to decide what to do next. She still had to decide where she would enter the battle, if she was going to enter the battle at all, she was so young. but she had felt the power of an ancient in her state when she touched the alter. Yet she still did not know what to do, she did not feel like a leader in the slightest.

[ Hamika | White Door of Grief | Loyal to Self | Ancient of Worthlessness ]

She had not found Kae. She had not found her hat. She had, however, found a series of doors. Two reminded her of Wonderland. One whispered destruction, the other grief. Ah... yes, she remembered the Queens of Destruction and Grief. Grief had won, Grief had over powered Destruction and threatened to consume everyone.

It was only fitting Hamika give herself back to Grief, perhaps it was cheated out of a husk. She had openly given herself to Grief in Wonderland, why should she not do so again? No other door would fit her, no other end would be sensible. With a dead gaze, she stepped through the white door. The altar in the middle called to her, whispered to her, guided her closer. She gave a small smile. "Yes, my dear. I am here..." she whispered quietly to it, before laying her hands on the altar.

She saw Kae and her crow dead at her feet, hundreds, thousands of Halloween and Horsemen and Humans littered the ground. They did not move, they did not breath. They had passed so determined to destroy the other, and Hamika had felt it all. She had watched from her perch of safety as those around her fell and vanished from existence. The screams, the cries, the anguish and grief swallowed her whole being. Her core trembled and fractured, and she too passed with the rest of them. A coward, a worthless piece of rotting flesh. Nothing more, nothing less.

The more she compounded her grieft, her self loathing, her thoughts of worthlessness, the larger she grew. She found scraps of Fear and consumed them, and still she grew. As more feared her, feared worthlessness, she was able to grow from her remains into something more, something greater. She who had watched everyone die continued on, a legacy of debilitating thoughts and destroyed personas.

Grief was there, Grief was always there, but the voice was quiet, hushed. She was no longer just a puppet.

She was an Ancient. The Ancient of Worthlessness, and she had power for the first time in her existence. Societies fell upon themselves at her decision, people imploded with her guidance. She guided those who wanted a conclusion to it, and gave them the final push.

Now all she needed was an appearance befitting this transcendence.

The tower agreed as such. Hamika was released from the control of Grief, somber faced and an air of power around her. She was Worthlessness, she was allied to no one by herself. No horseman, no hunter, and certainly not Grief.

There there, you shouldn't exist. Let me help you...

The shadows took her by surprise and consumed her in rush of darkness. It stood in front of her, or in her place, or both at once, with a smirk on it's face. It stroked her face as she began to lose herself.

This is your true path, Hamika. Hide behind my power and wallow in your worthlessness. Do not worry. I did not let you die before. I shall not let you die... for now. Hamika recognized that voice. It was hers, but with a slightly different inflection.

Phymi - her doppleganger from Wonderland - stared at her through the mirror. Phymi was not quite the same. She was taller, the high collar of her tunic covering her mouth and nose. Her hair was longer, pinned in an intricate sort of pattern on her head. She was dressed a nomad, as a horseman of Famine.

"You may not hold an alegience, but I do. And our Medea will not be denied her goals." The shadow, Phymi smirked and settled the mirror into her tunic, out of harms way. It was time to go.

[ Bradley | Red Door of Destruction | Loyal to Self | Ancient of Blood ]

He reached the top of the stairs and stared at the doors. Yzalin was quiet in his mind, the scythe returned to her dormant form on his ear. The doors were new. They slightly resembled those pools he'd drank from earlier. They were in all manor of colors and all whispered him things. They promised him greatness and power and sadness and heroism. They all whispered in equal volume except one.

The Red Door.

It called to him like a siren, whispering power and greatness. It was a call he could not ignore, not when the temptation was so strong. His feet carried him to the door long before his mind caught up. He hesitated ever so slightly, to see if Yzalin would protest. She did not. She didn't even speak a word.

He stepped through the door and at the altar inside. If there was one thing he wanted most, it was to differ among the masses. He placed his hands on the altar and Destruction took his conscious.

War had torn everything apart. It was not a specific war, it was not this war or the next, but War had destroyed all. He was nothing, just a foot soldier among the cause, following his division leads because he was told to. He would die here, nameless and unrecognized. Blood pooled around him and the others, mixing and swirling in a thousand different colors. He had nothing to show for it.

No.

He would not be a faceless entity. He would become something greater. Bradley latched onto the one thing that kept him going, a hatred of seeing his own blood wasted on the ground. He fed upon it, fed upon others hatred and violence. It swelled within him, destruction, until it consumed him. Hatred of bloodshed, hatred of losing loved ones to war. Violence and destruction that made liquid red stain the ground and buildings.

More blood. I must have more blood.

More blood ran red across the stones. Destruction was left in his wake as he grew and grew. They feared him and he consumed this fear. A fear of blood you say? It was his doing. He watched as people offered themselves to him in sacrifice.

More blood for the Blood God. His powered soared and soon he was the Blood God. He had become something that people feared and worshipped. He was no longer just a face in the crowd.

I am the Ancient of Blood, and I am aligned to no one but myself.

Destruction released his mind and he found himself within the tower again. Power surged through his limbs and he turned towards the door to leave. It was time to end this. It was time to fufill his purpose.

A shadow stopped him. The shadow was much smaller than he, in the form of a young girl with horns, long hair, and clawed limbs. A tail snaked its way around from the backside of the shadow.

[[ You have aligned yourself with no one but yourself. I am the embodiment of your worst nightmare: losing your weapon to Halloween. ]] The shadow girl - Yzalin - held a mirror in front of him and he wavered in existence. No... that was not his worst nightmare. Why would that... She looked down at him as he looked out of the mirror.

"I will end them for this, I swear it. I am loyal to my Deus masters only out of respect for you, " she said before slipping the mirror onto a chain and around her neck. She stretched and strode out of the room, Bradley a prisoner of his own weapon.