The orange sun was disappearing off into the horizon, giving way to the Night’s embrace.

  There was a circle of red-robed figures with their arms raised to the sky, chanting in indecipherable language, surrounding the ritual circle lined with crimson and black symbols constantly splintering and reforming, as if the ground – no perhaps it was the reality itself fracturing under the weight of sheer magic. At the center of the circle, there lay the obsidian altar, still dripping blue ichor on all sides with each sapphire-like drop reflecting the light from nearby braziers. On that altar, there was an unconscious woman with formerly pristine white wings matted with her divine blood. The soft golden light around her head was barely flickering, casting the slightest light on her red robes. A single hand twitched, her fingers curling against the cold hard stone, as if she was still fighting even in her unconsciousness.

  Beyond the ritual, war raged. The red-armored soldiers clashed against the converging armies from various nations and organizations, their cries of agony and fury blending into the cacophony of steel meeting steel, magic sizzling flesh, and the relentless thunder of war drums. A soldier screamed as hellfire engulfed his body, his armor melting into his flesh before he crumpled into a smoldering husk. Both armies' hovering mages endlessly cast spell after spell from protective blue light shields to gigantic fireballs. With a single wave of hand, one of the red mages roused the fallen corpses to rise, and in an instant, the dead turned against their former comrades. Across the battlefield, an old man, clad in flowing vestments of gold and white, raised his crozier, summoning a colossal golden statue of a reclining maiden, her hand cradling a pulsing orb that bathed the battlefield in radiant waves, continuously toppling the undead and rejuvenating the weary allied forces.

  Amid the blood and chaos, the legends, the marvels of war, strode like demigods, their blades singing with pure power. One swordsman unleashed a storm of a thousand cuts, slicing through soldiers in a silver blur while another laughed with sheer joy and made a single downward strike, splitting the ground apart and carving a deep wound into the earth as dust and debris erupted into the air. They were here to stop the Armageddon Ritual.

  A woman with an icy expression stepped between the ritual and the living legends. Her fingers curled into a clawed gesture, slashing through the air viciously.

  "Die."

  The word was quiet and indifferent, but it carried the weight of a death sentence.

  The battlefield convulsed. Blood, thick and heavy, quivered across the ground before surging like a living tide. It crashed forward in a monstrous wave, swallowing everything—friend and foe alike. Warriors screamed as the crimson flood engulfed them, flesh sloughing from bone in an instant. Armor corroded, weapons sank, and desperate hands clawed at nothing before vanishing beneath the relentless current.

  When the tide receded, only glistening skeletons remained, locked in poses of agony.

  The woman lowered her hand. Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face.

  As if to hammer the final nail in the coffin, the ritual circle began to glow red ominously. “Finally, the end of times is nigh! Lord Astaroth shall lead us to the glory!” One of the robed men roared. The splintering and reforming symbols began to accelerate into blurs. Spiderweb-like cracks spread through the ground and air. The crimson beam shot skywards, halting the bloody battlefield.

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  For a moment, the hush ushered across the battlefield. Fights came to a standstill with blades still dripping blood.

  The Mallenk’s ritual had finally been completed.

  ___

  “Stand clear of the closing doors please.”

  The train chimed, old gray metallic doors closing. A young man was waiting impatiently for the damn train to move faster so he can get home sooner. Quentin Hall was coming home after studying out of the state for almost four years. He was only 22 years old this year but he already felt so old. He was graduating from college soon. Quentin scrolled through his phone, impatiently passing the time when the train finally came to a stop. He walked past the open doors…

  “....AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH” Quentin screamed, falling through a surreal, electric-blue tunnel, the air crackling with arcs of radiant energy, casting a bluish sheen on his bewildered face.

  Time seemed to stretch endlessly as he plummeted through the luminous abyss, each passing moment a disorienting blur of sparks and ethereal patterns. With effort, he managed to straighten his body and regain his bearings. His surroundings gradually became focused, revealing a fantastical realm of surreal landscapes, a world-sized tree, various planets, four moons, and three suns zipping by.

  “... The fuck!? Am I tripping!?” Quentin was bewildered. He genuinely questioned whether he was really high on drugs right now. “I definitely took it before but I don’t remember taking one this morning!” He tried to reach his arm out to touch the walls of the ‘tunnel’ but he was still falling in the center of the tunnel with no way to move around. “Shit! This is real!” He tried to pinch himself and slap himself awake, but it didn’t help.

  ___

  It began at the edges of the world.

  From the distant horizons, where land met the heavens, the pure darkness rose. Not like smoke, nor mist, nor storm, but something far vaster. It did not billow or churn – it simply ascended, devouring the sky as if the world had fallen into the maws of the Abyss.

  The stars vanished in silence. The crimson moon disappeared from the sky. The battlefield below trembled beneath its presence. Warriors found their breath stolen, their weapons slack in their hands. Magic flickered. Light from various artifacts and spells dimmed. Even the sound felt muffled as if the world itself was submerged in black water.

  For a moment, there was absolutely nothing but pure despair. Then the darkness covering the sky crept away as if it had never happened. Everything in the world was exactly the same except for one thing.

  ___

  Quentin was hurled out, tumbling against the rough cave wall before coming to a painful stop. He groaned, his body aching as he pushed himself up, blinking away the disorientation. The cave was dim, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight seeping through the entrance. As his vision adjusted, he lifted his gaze beyond the cave's opening—there, stretching endlessly above, was a sky dotted with countless stars. He also could see the visible nebulas throughout the sky as if it was a painting.

  “Damn, that’s pretty.” Then Quentin passed out.

  And with that, he was swept into the grand design of fate, guided by the unseen hand, his place in the world was written in an instant. Of course, the cult of Mallenk had only one job. And they completely, utterly fucked it up.