Underland

Frigga’s workshop looked more like a noble’s boudoir than a lab.

It was a bit larger than Valdemar’s own room and far better decorated. Deep red carpets covered every inch of the ground while beautiful tapestries and paintings occupied the walls. Most represented triumphant scenes of dokkars conquering each other in wars, founding cities atop the skulls of defeated troglodytes, or engaging in orgies just barely short of the Pleromians’ depravity.

Only one painting remained hidden behind a velvet curtain: Valdemar’s newest piece.

As the summoner entered the workshop with Marianne in tow, he was surprised to notice workbenches, shelves full of parchments, and strange clockwork contraptions in a corner of the room right next to a king-sized bed. While appearing as a mere dilettante, Frigga seemed to take her studies to heart.

Speaking of the dokkar, she awaited her guests around a table, alongside Iren, Liliane, and Hermann, and a host of strange desserts and pastries. Among the banquet, Valdemar noticed a pumpkin cooked in a cream pot, jelly spiders, and a hound-sized bat stuffed with candies. Drinks included tea, dokkar wine, and cocktails that the summoner didn’t recognize.

“Finally,” Frigga said before offering Valdemar her hand. The dark elf had chosen an elegant spider-silk dress for the day and put a silver brooch in her hair. “I was starting to wonder if you had spurned my invitation.”

“Not for anything in the world,” Valdemar replied with falseness as he kissed her hand.

“Valdy, so good to see you again,” Liliane said as the summoner greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, before shaking hands with Iren and Hermann. The latter looked ill-at-ease with his host’s choice of decoration, glaring at the portrait showing his ancestors’ defeat.

“And I see you brought a friend,” Frigga said as she observed Marianne. Valdemar noticed that the dark elf didn’t offer her hand… and that she had already set a chair for the swordswoman. She is well-informed, he thought.

“Do not mind me,” Marianne replied with formality. “Lord Och asked me to serve as Mr. Verney’s bodyguard until a certain issue is resolved. I will be invisible.”

“Nonsense, take a seat!” Liliane smiled at Marianne before waving a hand at the pastries. “Come, there’s enough for everyone.”

“I cannot turn away the heir of a noble house,” Frigga added with courtesy. Of course, the dark elf would try to strengthen her political ties.

“A disgraced heir,” Marianne replied as she and Valdemar sat at the table. “I am unwanted in Saklas.”

“I know someone who could help with that,” Iren said while giving a wink to Liliane.

“I could always give word to Dad,” the witch admitted. “But it’s considered impolite for noble houses to meddle in one another’s affairs.”

“That is true among dokkars too, but we do it all the same,” Frigga replied before giving a charming glance at Iren. “Dear, please serve drinks to our new guests.”

“I knew you didn’t invite me for my pretty face,” Iren deadpanned before pouring a mix of mole rat milk and herbal brew into everyone’s cups. To Valdemar’s delight, he had completely recovered from his encounter with the derros. “It’s fine. I’m glad our friend here decided to leave his room at last.”

“I…” Valdemar cleared his throat without touching his drink. “I apologize for shutting you all out.”

Iren snorted. “Friend, you don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“It’s fine…” Hermann cleared his throat. “You feel better… that’s what matters.”

“Valdy, it’s alright,” Liliane said with a warm smile. “After what you went through, it’s normal that you needed some time for yourself.”

Valdemar had worried about his friends’ reactions, and hearing their responses filled him with relief. It’s nice to be understood, he thought, without judgment. He resolved to be a better friend to them in the future, especially if they ever faced similar troubles.

“I shall forgive you for your rude behavior if I like the result,” Frigga replied while glancing at the painting hidden behind the velvet curtain. “I will give you this, Valdemar, you did fulfill your obligation on time. I’m still thinking about the other favor you owe me.”

She would never let him forget it. “Sure, but only if you fulfill your end of the bargain,” Valdemar said. “Marianne and I may have found the reason why my dreamscape is faulty.”

“Oh?” Frigga put a finger on her lips while Marianne sipped from her cup without a word. “Do tell.”

“Later, in private.” Better not spread the word to too many people yet. “I would need your oneiromancy expertise to verify our theory.”

While he didn’t like her, Valdemar couldn’t deny that Frigga was a dream-expert; and since she worshiped a Stranger, she was no more friendly towards the inquisition than he was. He doubted that she would spread the information, if only because he knew she would rather use it for concessions and her soul-contract with Lord Och prevented her from acting against his interests.

The dark elf chuckled. “In private? My, are you inviting me for a secret tryst?”

“No,” Valdemar replied flatly without taking the bait.

“Valdy is above that kind of thing,” Liliane added with a happy chuckle.

“Not with everyone,” Iren said with a playful smirk. Liliane, in an eminent show of maturity, answered by sticking out her tongue.

Hermann, always insightful, immediately put the two and two together. “Is it linked… to our experiment?”

“Or the wererat cultist running around?” Iren asked.

Valdemar sighed. “Does everybody know about the last part?”

“The Knights of the Beast issued orders and a bounty,” Marianne said before glancing at the pastries with apprehension. She looked like a house pet glancing at dinner, but unsure if she would take a bite.

Frigga smiled before taking a piece of jelly spider, wordlessly inviting everyone else to do the same. “I can’t even use the Earthmouths without a health check-up,” she complained. “Even though I am a dokkar and immune to diseases. The sooner your Knights catch this animal, the better.”

“Is it going to be alright, Valdy?” Liliane asked with a worried face. “I mean, I don’t doubt your abilities Lady Reynard, but…”

“Call me Marianne,” she replied. “Your friend has nothing to fear.”

“It is only a matter of time,” Valdemar insisted, though he didn’t truly believe it. He started with a piece of the cake, delighting at the aroma and swiftly changing the subject. “Liliane, is this yours?”

“You like it?” Liliane beamed with pride when he answered with a nod. Good. He knew she would start to feel anxious for his safety if they kept talking about Shelley. “You better. I don’t think you’ll get any cake in Sabaoth, so it’s your last moment of joy for a while.”

“Don’t expect meat either,” Iren mused as he assaulted the pastries with relentless culinary brutality. “The soldiers in Sabaoth all eat the same protein-vitamin bars, while the workers must do with gruel.”

“Surely officers have privileges?” Frigga asked with a raised eyebrow. Valdemar noticed Marianne listening in silence as she took a bite of the pastries.

“Those who try to skirt the rules get punished in front of their units,” Iren replied. “Lord Bethor doesn’t tolerate insubordination. Any form of insubordination. To him, overlooking any form of corruption leads to lack of discipline down the line.”

“It sounds like you visited the place,” Valdemar pointed out.

“I did. Lord Och often uses me as an intermediary to deliver goods to Bethor’s army. I’m sure I’ll get to say hello before the end of your stay.”

“Maybe I will visit you soon too, Valdy,” Liliane said while biting into a jelly spider’s leg. “Dad owns many of Sabaoth’s foundries. I’m sure I could sneak in to say hello.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Valdemar replied, “but you should focus on your studies.”

His friend smirked. “That’s the best part, I can do both! Lord Bethor commissioned many projects to Lady Mathilde, especially about reverse-engineering derrotech alchemy bombs.”

“How are things on that front?” Valdemar asked, shivering as he remembered the trapped brains and skinless corpses in the derros’ underground labs.

“The inquisitors still don’t understand how the infiltrators managed to fool psychic scans,” Iren explained. “It’s one thing to disguise oneself, but the Knights of the Mind routinely peek into the minds of people to detect heretical thoughts. Derros have an innate resistance to mind-magic, but they aren’t immune to it.”

“Maybe they use special dreamcatchers?” Liliane suggested. “If a magical item can protect dreamers from oneiromancers, another could block mind-magic.”

“But derros can’t use magic,” Iren pointed out. “Where would they have found these hypothetical magical items?”

“I dunno, they could have stolen them?” Liliane asked. “It’s just a theory.”

“The dwarves do not need dreamcatchers since they cannot dream,” Frigga said while snickering. “They have no more connection to the Primordial Dream than to the Blood.”

This piece of information caught Valdemar’s full attention; Marianne, who had been reserved so far, turned her head in the dark elf’s direction. “I thought all sentient life shared a connection to the dream world?” the swordswoman asked. “As a defense system.”

“Ah, you heard of that theory?” Frigga smiled ear to ear. “This is true of all natural life with a nervous system in our world.”

Valdemar didn’t miss the implications. “Natural?”

“There are theories…” Hermann cleared his throat. “That derros started as… artificial lifeforms.”

“Let me tell you something,” Frigga said, eager to retake the spotlight. “We dokkars descended into Underland long before your kind did. In this era, we found Pleromian ruins, the troglodytes, even the occasional talkative dragon or mindworm. Each of these races, lesser or greater, left clues of their presence.”

Valdemar noticed Hermann squinting at her last words, a subtle jab against his own kind.

It wasn’t lost on Liliane either. “Don’t say that,” she scolded Frigga with an angry glare that Valdemar had never seen her use.

“Say what?” the dokkar asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That there are lesser or greater races. It’s wrong. Everyone can do great things.”

“My dear Liliane, you cannot put a dragon and a rat on the same pedestal.”

“Are you the rat or the dragon, Frigga?” Valdemar asked coldly, causing Iren to burst into laughter. The dokkar glared at him in response, her mask of affability faltering for a moment.

“Who cares?” Liliane asked as she raised her voice. “They are both successful in their own way, just not by the same metrics. Dragons can breathe fire and live for thousands of years, true, but there are ten million rats for each of them. Mice colonized every corner of Underland, while we’re pushing the dragons further and further down. Which of them is better?”

“I understand your point, my dear Liliane,” Frigga replied though Valdemar doubted that she meant it. “But all civilizations are made of hierarchies. Even this Institute who welcomes all species has a lich at the top and everyone else at the bottom.”

“Your species… is as endangered as mine,” Hermann spoke with eerie resignation. “There is little place for us… in the world the Dark Lords are building.”

Frigga opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out of it.

Instead of arguing further, the dark elf fell into a deep, sullen silence; for Hermann had beaten her with the truth.

And as he observed Frigga’s thoughtful face, Valdemar suddenly wondered if her arrogance and cultural posturing took root not in her pride, but denial and insecurities. The dokkars were an empire in decline; and might very well suffer the same fate as the troglodytes if they couldn’t turn the tide.

“Alright, I see your point,” Frigga conceded when the silence became unbearable. “Each of these species left clues of their presence.”

“But not the derros?” Liliane asked, eager to put the argument behind them.

“No, my dear,” Frigga replied slowly, regaining a little of her previous confidence. “We knew you humans existed and your push below ground, while unexpected, wasn’t truly surprising. The derros though? They poured out of unexplored tunnels without warning like savages. They hadn’t developed the toys that make them dangerous today, so we thoroughly crushed them.”

“But they still took you by surprise,” Iren guessed.

“We missed an opportunity to exterminate them.” Frigga sighed. “I believe the Pleromians are to blame. I’m sure the derros are the mongrel descendants of a slave race they left behind in stasis, woken up when the Whitemoon disturbed our planet’s tectonic activities.”

“But they can still be affected by spells,” Valdemar pointed out, having telekinetically thrown derros around in Astaphanos.

“Of course,” Frigga replied with a hint of smugness. “Like your warbeasts, the Pleromians always made their thralls unable to fight back against their control. The fact that derros lack the ability to dream makes it harder for a mind-mage to target them as they appear thoughtless at first glance, but a truly talented magician always finds workarounds.”

“Like you, darling?” Iren asked with a sarcastic tone.

“I have picked derros minds open in the past, though I wouldn’t recommend it. Their emotions are as dull and gray as their skin. They’re natural slaves drawn to a strong leader.” The dark elf chuckled. “Maybe that’s why they steal others’ brains.”

“Has anyone figured out why the derros needed them?” Valdemar asked, remembering Lord Och’s discussion with Master Loctis.

“Not yet…” Hermann admitted. “Master Loctis is… investigating though.”

“Maybe we’ll get to explore the subject in Sabaoth,” Liliane said. “It’s the frontier with the Derro Kingdom after all.”

“I… I will pass,” the troglodyte said. He alone hadn’t touched any of the food. “I am sorry Valdemar, but… another project requires my full attention.”

“The Painted World?” Valdemar guessed.

“Yes,” Hermann rasped with a nod. “The Silent King showed me how I might… create a true pocket dimension. A world for my kind.”

“Truly?” Frigga asked with a sly smirk. “If you succeed, would you kindly share your findings? I know a few people who would pay a great deal for a private universe to… indulge themselves.”

Hermann glared at the dark elf with a hint of disgust. “No.”

“Come on, my scaled friend, don’t be so close-minded. Certainly making a new world will need resources you cannot get on your own.”

“I have all the necessary tools… except one.” Hermann glanced at Valdemar. “I would need your help in the future… if you agree.”

“Of course, Hermann,” his friend replied. “I suppose you want to summon a Qlippoth as fuel?”

“Yes, but…” Hermann shifted in his seat. “Not any of them will do.”

Valdemar sipped his drink and shivered as he put the two and two together.

A Nahemoth.

His Painted World needed a Nahemoth to work.

It made sense, since these entities had unimaginable control over reality and could create lesser Qlippoths from nothing; including the Collector that the two pictomancers used to fuel their Painted Room.

“You realize no one has managed to bind them to servitude?” Valdemar asked his friend with skepticism. Even though he and Marianne suspected that a Nahemoth was trapped at a well’s bottom, the summoner wasn’t sure if it was truly imprisoned or simply unable to fully manifest in Underland.

“I’m sorry, Hermo,” Liliane said with a frown. “But that plan of yours sounds highly dangerous.”

“Do not… call me Hermo… please…” Hermann pleaded. “The Silent King showed me the way… I can create a special painting that once completed… with the right ritual… will trap the Qlippoth with no possibility of escape.”

Marianne’s eyes glanced at Hermann while Valdemar thoughtfully considered his friend’s words.

“Forgive me if this sounds like a stupid question,” Iren said, “but wouldn’t destroying the portrait release a dangerous creature into the world? Sounds pretty risky to me.”

“Once completed… the Painted World will be near-indestructible,” Hermann replied. “An invulnerable door to a self-constructed Domain.”

Unknown to the troglodyte, Valdemar might very well need to deal with a Nahemoth in the near future; and a trap capable of holding it would come in handy. “Could you translate this ritual to paper?” he asked Hermann. “So I can examine it?”

“I would like to do the same,” Liliane joined in. “I know you are smart and talented, Hermann, but you shouldn’t use a ritual taught by an otherworldly creature without checking it extensively.”

“Yes, of course,” the troglodyte agreed with a nod. “I already showed Master Loctis and… he was very interested too.”

“So you would share that knowledge with a pile of insects, but not me?” Frigga asked with a frown. “I feel disrespected.”

“You are,” Hermann replied bluntly while glaring at the painting showing his kindred being massacred. “I know… you put it on display to mock me.”

The dokkar chuckled. “Fine. I guess it was not elegant on my part.”

“It wasn’t,” Liliane said.

“My dear Liliane, friends support each other.”

“Yes, which is why I’m trying to change your mind,” Liliane replied plainly. “I’m friends with both you and Hermann, and I want you to get along.”

“A lost cause I’m afraid,” Iren said with a chuckle. “They mix like oil and water.”

“I am not… interested,” Hermann said with a sneer.

“Maybe, but I have to try,” Liliane replied with surprising determination. “If I can’t get you two to bury the hatchet, how will our species? It has to start somewhere.”

Marianne smiled, as did Valdemar. “Liliane?” he began.

“Yes?“ she answered.

“You’re a good person.”

Liliane blushed, though Valdemar couldn’t tell if it was out of happiness or embarrassment. “Thanks, Valdy.”

“Aww…” Iren said with an eminently punchable expression. “That is so cute.”

“You shut up,” Liliane said while glaring at him. “How about we unveil Valdy’s new painting before I slap you?”

“Yes to both,” Frigga said before winking at Valdemar. “I leave the honor of unveiling the masterpiece to the artist. I haven’t even peeked at it yet.”

Valdemar rose from his seat, held his breath, and pulled the velvet curtain.

His action was met with gasps as he unveiled The Nocturne to the world.

Finished last night with pigments and blood, the portrait showed a naked Frigga riding a giant dragon-bat with only a sapphire necklace for decoration. Her posture oozed eroticism, her ashen skin glistening thanks to the advanced light and shadow effects, her sly smile and gaze enough to condemn a man’s soul to damnation. But though Frigga had asked for skulls and macabre sights as a background, Valdemar settled on something else as he finished his work in the dead of the night.

He had painted the world’s surface.

Frigga’s mount flew above the frozen wasteland that the Mask of the Nightwalker had shown Valdemar, with the Whitemoon’s ghastly light shining upon the ruins of fallen human empires; the destructive planetoid’s crater-eyes oversaw the dark elf below, as if she were the herald of the end times. Every crater, every star in the dark sky, had been painstakingly reconstituted to the smallest detail.

In a way, The Nocturne was probably one of Valdemar’s best works short of the Painted Door. Though she had a rotten personality, Frigga was a lovely model who perfectly fit the macabre aesthetics of the surface world.

Valdemar glanced at his audience. Liliane’s skin had turned scarlet and she looked about to faint. Iren examined the painted Frigga’s curves with undisguised lust. Hermann examined the portrait’s background with fascination. Marianne covered her mouth in embarrassment.

But it was Frigga’s reaction that surprised Valdemar the most. He expected criticism if she found the work lacking, or self-congratulations upon seeing her own beauty if it pleased her.

“It’s beautiful,” the dokkar said with a weak voice, a single tear falling down her left cheek.

Instead, she looked sincerely moved.

To his surprise, Valdemar didn’t notice any hint of falseness in the dark elf; a first since he met her. She rose from her seat, her hand trailing against the paint. The portrait’s lighting shifted as she did, the stars blinking in and out of existence, shadows moving between the ruins.

“You used pictomancy…” Hermann rasped. Indeed, Valdemar had merged his own blood with the painting to better represent the vision he saw through his mask.

“It’s…” Liliane trailed off as she recovered from seeing her friend’s naked form and paid attention to the rest of the painting. “Inspired.”

“Haunting,” Marianne added upon clearing her throat, her eyes wandering to the Whitemoon’s terrible beauty. “It’s like you went to the surface yourself.”

If only she knew.

“By the Light, are you genuinely crying?” Iren asked Frigga in astonishment. “And here I thought you could only fake it.”

“It is hard to move me, I will agree,” Frigga said as she wiped away the tear running down her cheek. “But it happens.”

“It is… surprising,” Hermann agreed. “From a tasteless creature…”

“Your cubic drawings are trash, Hermann, and a child could do better,” the dokkar replied while the troglodyte choked on his indignation. “But this? This is true beauty.”

“It’s a masterpiece, but if you show this painting in public I don’t give it two hours before it gets burnt,” Iren pointed out. “Then again, that’s the goal no?“

Frigga shook her head. “I won’t show it.”

Valdemar raised an eyebrow in her direction, after checking if Hermann intended to murder her first for insulting his artistic skills. Unfortunately, Liliane had managed to calm him down with gentle words. “I thought you wanted to cause a scandal?”

“I cannot.” Frigga took a step back to better admire her painted copy and the cosmic darkness behind her. “The plebeians won’t understand. This is true beauty, Valdemar, the kind only an elite few can appreciate.”

“So you will keep it for yourself?” Liliane asked with a sigh of relief. “Good. It’s beautiful, but it will scare people.”

“Her nakedness… would make everyone run away,” Hermann said with bitter disdain.

“Aw, and here I wanted to see how people would react to our favored elf’s naked glory,” Iren complained. “Way to ruin my mood.”

“There will be other opportunities,” Frigga replied dismissively. “But this kind of work is something you change your mind for.”

Valdemar was quite pleased with the result, especially since he didn’t need more public attention with Shelley’s activities.

Still, as his eyes wandered to the Whitemoon looking down on the world below… he wondered if he would have the opportunity to walk on the surface one day. Not see through a mask, but observe the world above with his own two eyes.

Somehow, he had the feeling that many answers awaited him there.

Marianne had thought that they would travel to Sabaoth the old-fashioned way, but Lord Och had other ideas. The Dark Lord personally teleported them all the way from the Institute to his ally’s palace, bending space more than four hundred kilometers.

Marianne didn’t even know that mages could teleport so far. She thought that Lord Och could only do so in his Domain because he had altered it with magic, but such a display of sorcery made her rethink her hypothesis.

“Here we are,” the lich declared as he lifted the veil of space and time and revealed their destination: a cyclopean dome of steel supported by soulstone Reliquary pillars. Enormous phantom projectors manifested hundreds of ghostly visions on the ceiling, each representing a different location across the empire and beyond: from Lord Och’s fortress to Empress Aratra’s palace. Metal statues of gigantic, clockwork humanoids stood watch over a central glass and steel elevator, the only exit Marianne noticed.

“There is no door?” she asked Lord Och.

“This place can only be accessed by teleportation,” the lich declared as he stepped towards the elevator, his subordinates in tow. While Marianne had traveled light, bringing only her rapier and a new rifle to replace her old weapon, Valdemar carried a bag of sorcerous artifacts and the packed-up portrait of his grandfather. “And it is only open to a select few. This teleportation line is available to me alone.”

The fact that it led directly into the heart of Lord Bethor’s fortress spoke volumes about the level of trust between the two archmages.

Marianne knew that Sabaoth’s master had been one of Lord Och’s apprentices and that the two kept a cordial relationship, unlike what happened with Lord Phaleg. Lord Bethor had since then become the empire’s lead general and one of the most powerful magicians in the realm.

“Some say the most powerful,” Lord Och said, having read Marianne’s mind. The elevator, a complex device of glass windows held together by mechanical arms and cables, opened to let them in. “Though they never came to blows for fear of mutual annihilation, if young Aratra and my former apprentice came to blows…”

The elevator’s door closed behind the group with a squeaky noise and it began its ascent.

“I would bet on the latter.”

Marianne shivered. She had seen a hint of Empress Aratra’s power in the past, and to imagine anyone besting her in battle defied reason.

All of the Dark Lords had visited Empress Aratra at least once in Marianne’s lifetime; all but Lord Bethor. They said he only ever left his Domain for the Dark Lords’ secret gatherings or for war. Nothing else interested him.

“Is that why there are no guards? Because he doesn’t need any?” Valdemar asked with a frown. “I sense blood everywhere, but no undead or living being besides us.”

Blood?

Marianne closed her eyes as she focused on her psychic sight, and realized that her partner was right. She sensed blood in the walls around her, but diffused, like invisible veins coursing through the metal.

As the elevator continued its ascent beyond the fortress’ confines, she received a glimpse of the truth.

The glass windows showed her the outside world and the Domain of Saboath. The elevator ascended towards the tip of a titanic metal tower, bigger than any structure Marianne had ever seen; Lord Och’s Institute and the plateau supporting it would have looked small if put side by side. The building occupied the center of a fortress-city of brass, steel, and obsidian belfries, of burning forges fueled by lava pits drawing heat from the very heart of the world. Volcanic hills vomited rivers of molten metal next to factories pumping alchemical fumes into the air, the smoke purified by trapped wind elementals. Armies of undead toiled on assembly lines overseen by armored knights.

“Do you see that?” Valdemar whispered, as he pointed at a red circle surrounding the metal tower.

Yes, she did.

Rivers of thick blood flowed in the tower’s moat, before coursing through glass veins and pumps. The structure absorbed the fluid into itself, channeling it towards the tip.

“Whose blood is it?” Marianne asked, slightly disturbed. How many hundreds of thousands had it taken to fuel this river?

“All the people my former apprentice slew,” Lord Och replied absentmindedly. “Those whose bodies his soldiers managed to recover. Lord Bethor rarely leaves more than ash.”

The elevator reached the peak of the tower, its gates opening into the Dark Lord’s lair.

Marianne felt his terrible presence long before they reached that point. An invisible pressure had built up as they ascended, similar to the one that crushed her mind beneath Verney Castle; but where the worldwound had been alluring, this one promised only a swift death.

Marianne felt the taste of blood on her tongue, the feeling of doom looming over her. Valdemar sensed it, his fingers clenching as he carried his grandfather’s portrait. They had reached the den of a terrible and fearsome creature. A droning noise echoed in Marianne’s head, while her entire body struggled to stand still. Her survival instincts screamed at her subconscious, telling her to turn away, to turn back. She was a bat courting death by entering a dragon’s lair.

Even the presence beneath Verney Castle hadn’t felt so menacing, so… deadly.

Lord Och didn’t care though. He stepped into the room, his subordinates slowly imitating him.

Lord Valar Bethor awaited them while floating above a lake of boiling blood.

The Dark Lord of Sabaoth had no need for a throne room. His lair was instead a dome of glass housing a pool of boiling blood wider than the Institute’s hedge maze; perhaps the entire tower had been created to channel it to this place. Only a single metal platform outside the elevator remained afloat.

Lord Bethor himself floated above the pool, meditating in a lotus position. It was the first time Marianne saw him in the flesh; she had seen descriptions and statues of the man wearing his intimidating armor, but this time he wasn’t wearing anything.

Not even skin.

The… thing before her looked humanoid, but lacked skin of any sort. His surface was an ever-shifting ocean of dark and red blood, mixing like oil and water. Small tendrils rose in some points before collapsing back into the body. Marianne didn’t hear any breathing coming from the figure.

For a second, she dared to glimpse at him with her psychic sight… only to be instantly blinded by a deadly crimson light. In it she sensed only cold fury and burning rage, so overwhelming that she had to cancel her ability before it could shatter her mind.

This man was a volcano. A burning power stirring in its deep slumber, ready to erupt at the first provocation. She glanced at Valdemar, only to find him gulping in dread and anxiety.

If this… man found them wanting, they would never leave this room alive.

Only Lord Och remained quietly confident, even comfortable.

“Lord Bethor,” the lich said with an emotional tone that Marianne had never heard him use before: fondness. “Forgive me for interrupting your meditation. I have brought you new students.”

Lord Bethor opened his eyes and the tower trembled.