7-1. Loneliness and Desolation
Avara, the Queen of Desolation blinked awake.
Confused, she looked around, and all she saw was a frigid expanse teeming with deathly ethera and demonic influence. The stench of rot and death wafted into her nose, but even that was overpowered by the smell – acidic and sickly sweet – of the demons arrayed before her.
Five of them, all with enough power to topple mountains and destroy whole civilizations. Lurking behind them was a curious figure. No less demonic, but tortured and twisted into something less. Something more dangerous. The demon was thin to the point of emaciation, with characteristic hooves and horns that marked his race. Yet, that was where commonalities with the others ended. Around his eyes was a spiked collar teeming with dense ethera that made even Avara flinch away, lest she risk madness. Chains encircled his arms and legs, which rattled with every manic twitch.
Chainspeaker.
The name wrapped around her mind as if she’d always known it, and his history unfolded before her. She shivered in pity and disgust, and if she was honest, she felt no small degree of fear. Avara knew the demon couldn’t even begin to rival her in terms of raw power, but there was just something about him – be it his pervasive grin, clinking chains, or the incessant twitching – that filled her heart with dread.
She knew the others, too. The Lancer, with her long spear and tattered wings. The Bladesinger, with a dozen swords and knives secreted across his body. The Wall, built like an ogre and carrying a massive slab of metal he called a shield. Then there was the Corrupted, a healer who’d fallen to foul magics. She could still heal well enough, but she also carried an air of pestilence that only hinted at her corrupted power.
Finally, there was Filos. Beautiful, beautiful Filos. He was everything a demon could hope to be, with elegant horns and a face that spoke of arrogance and superiority. He was her most powerful underling, and as such, he had established himself as their general.
The Black Blade of Despair remained strapped to his back, practically screaming to reap the lives of anyone who stood before its master. Avara could not argue with its effectiveness. The weapon was deadly, and in the most insidious way. But she never would have stooped so low as to use a cursed blade.
There were safer ways to attain power.
However, she knew her lieutenants were all misfits, cast-offs from the Kingdom of Netherhold. Just like her, they were the worst sorts of demons. Too odd to tolerate, but too dangerous to entirely dismiss.
But above all, Avara knew it was all a farce.
Even as she trained her eyes upon her supposed dominion, she recognized it for what it was – an illusion. A solid one, to be sure, and of a quality that could mean only one thing – she was within a Primal Realm. The ethera was too thick, and her lands far too expansive to be a tower, and the system had no need to populate Ancestral Realms with illusions.
But the nature of her environment meant that she was not who she thought she was. Her memories swirled as she tried – and failed – to poke holes in her own past, but she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that none of it was real. Even if she felt the effects of her past so keenly that the memories brought tears to her eyes.
After all, anything that led a woman down a path that would end with her taking the title of the Queen of Desolation was not a pretty tale. Apparently, the system enjoyed tragic backstories, and even though Avara knew those memories were false, she couldn’t entirely escape their influence.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, she received a notification:
| Primal Realm will re-open in 45 Days. Build your forces, and escape The Desolate Reaches. Spread your influence, and earn a Feat of Strength to add to your Legacy. Quality of Feat depends on performance.
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