As is above, so is below..
Echoing the words of ancient ye olde cultists, the old followers of the deity Serposum lay bare in the underground cavern laid with the relics of their impending departure of this broken plane. Within this sacred ground are the ingredients for life gathered each by the cultists for the creation anew of their perfect gestalt body, where all their powerful knowledge and power would reside as a vassal for the God of Nekrosilia’s will. The purity of their dark master’s essence would finally be fullfilled in this mortal land to act as the hand of Serposum.
Standing aside them, paying as witnesses to this unholy process of creation, are Death and Amun, the heretic of another God that saw visions of Serposum and became the temporary avatar of the omnipresnece of Serposum. Amun knew his own death would come when the gestalt would be created, as Serposum foretold of his return to the Heavens above. Death decided to stay, as it knew that it would be taking many to the depths of Purgatory once the obscuric ritual concludes. The followers called for Serposum’s presence to start the final phase, and he responded by the reanimation of the dead that fills the place. Indeed, they were in the catacombs of the temple of a abandoned hero. The great feelings of angst and sorrow that hung in the ghostly temple were the perfect catalyst for the creation of a entity of the dark. Death was not the end of someone’s journey, much to the joy of Death itself, and Amun felt how the risen skeletons lamented of their God’s forsaking, adding to the dark power that begins to flow in the cavernous dead grounds.
The mad followers looked ecstatic of the sight, their bodies glowing with a ghastly aura of flames. Knowing it’s about to end so soon, they began wailing their bloodcurdling cries of praise and worship to Serposum. Amun felt joyous, knowing his purpose was completed for the scene in fornt of him. Alas, that was not the mere plan of Serposum. He soon realized there was a single spot in the middle of it all blank. As realization dawns on him, two skeletons have already grabbed and bared his form as they pulled him past the followers burning with ecstasy, figuratively and literally, into the single spot. He was trying to protest for a moment, but knew he shouldn’t doubt his new Almighty.
In the distance, infront of the skeletons, Death loomed over them with an empty face. But it was odd, he had not drawn his scythe upon yet. The sacrifices were dozens, yet none were reaped as Amun noticed a growing light glowing above. He looked up, and couldn’t believe what he had seen. A hovering glowing red eye watched them over. The fires and beams of energy came from it. It was his God, yet he only could comprehend of the eye. He saw many things, but they were beyond what his diminutive little mind could understand. He stuttered to try and utter something, but he was not able to when a deafening boom of thunder blasted over the caverns. Skeletons shattered, cultists flew. It was painful, but it was what they had been yearning for. It was not over.
Amun still laid in the middle, having taken a full hit. He felt his soul wavering, but it had not left him. He felt the ground burning beneath him, not like as of flame, but of spite. Skeletons arose, telling of how their God was unaffectionate to them despite the deeds they had down, but ours was doing so much for their unworth. It had fueled the process further, to the deafening voice of Serposum echoing.
Your ‘God’ was a mere scam, a tool devised by your false prophets. All your faith were strong, yet your mind were close to none! Behold, the pinnacle of the shadows! Arise, my child of the dark!
The skeletons only grew more dissonant, but it was far too late already. Amun found himself floating with a cradle of stone towards the infernal God. Suddenly, all the relics and ingredients have begun flying towards Amun. The followers cried with pain and agony as their souls left their bodies. But they did not stop their cries. Amun tried to cry, but was silent with a gentle hand from Serposum, shushing him with a humanoid form manifesting in front of him from fire and darkness. With a flash of lightning, it was suddenly over.
A naked man awakens on the steps of a ruined altar in the middle of a broken down cathedral of rock. He groans of pain, voices shouting from inside his head, fresh wounds on his back and arms like talon cuts. Yet he doesn’t feel… Weakened. Only stronger, and wanting more… He tries to put a hand on his forehead, but finds it obstructed by a single, gigantic horn above his left eyebrow. He seemed shock, unaware of such and tries to remember how he got there and what happened to no luck. He finds a shattered mirror nearby the steps and tries to look at himself. At first he’s caught up by admiring how handsome he looks, but a voice inside him directs his attention back to what was on his head. Slipping past pure white hair was indeed a horn, curving backwards and was about 8 inches long. It seemed to be made of stone and bone, but was far harder than either. He had also noticed his eyes. His right eye was normal, with a grey iris, but his left one was different.
His left eye had stark black sclera and a glowing red orb for a pupil and iris. Running down his horn were ridges of bone like stone that ran through his eye down to his cheek like a scar of some sort. He tries to remember, but fails to have any recollection.
Just as he was trying to get up, he had found his form was indeed attractive, strangely despite having multiple scars on the pale skin. Looking around, the rundown temple was deserted for a mile around as fog had begun to roll in.
It was at this moment he had found a glowing light coming down from the heavens had touched the ground as a tall figure, far taller than he was, emerges from it. He didn’t know why, but he felt suddenly so blissful to the sight of it and went down to his knees and proclaimed his loyalty, a part of himself close to clueless. The figure steps further, emerging behind it were a pair of large black feathery wings, beneath it were several dangling black tendrils and claws. It had two pairs of white eyes on top of each other on its face and a single glowing large red eye on his forehead as a crown of horns surrounds the ridges of its long black hair. It wore a silvery robe adorned with symbols of he had no idea were about. It felt so familiar to him, and he wanted to know answers, but couldn’t do so when a hand shushes him gently. It felt strange with the white finger tips on his lips as it had squatted down to him. It smiled wickledy and spoke softly to his ear for a while. Once he had finished, he knew his purpose was and stood up, the tall being vanishing as the fog clears.
He is Alexis van Serania, hand of the will of Serposum, his Soul Supreme that had made him. He had needed to created a temple of His Darkness on the very steps he awoke to, and set off for glory to his God. Beneath the broken cathedral, behind a door to its basement, was a gaping hole that lead to the catacombs. The tombs had been closed, and there was no mess, but a single crypt was filled. A figure was filling it in with a body. It was Death. He had personally etched the body’s headstone before going away.
Here lies Amun Var , heretic to the cult for releasing the scandalous Book of Mal’akh, Prophetess of the Dark God of the Dead to the world, burned at the stake and had his ashes thrown within a craddle of rock in the Pits of Heresy…
Ressurected, overturned the false cult, served the Dark God of the Dead, completed his purpose.
Part 2: The Cult of the Eye Arises Anew
The beginning of Serposum’s exploration to the ashen region he had born himself from with Alexis. The time comes for the return of his cult, and perhaps a fateful encounter with a Queen of the Night…