Into the Rift (Fantasy, Reverse Isekai, IC)

[Wolfenium]

Epithymia, the world of desire. For centuries, the denizens of Epithymia had lived together in a world of bounty, seeded by magic by forces unknown, and graced by the presence of unearthly Celestials from the world of Mu. From the floating cities of the Otavan theocracy to the underground mines of Triglav, the myriad peoples of Epithymia had lived a tense peace, and often, brutal conflict in between. But this delicate balance of power was suddenly shattered as the enigmatic and powerful demons invaded the realm. Overrunning all that they see, Epithymia and all its people were pushed to the brink of destruction.

Fortunately, with the combined effort of the Alliance, a hastily-formed coalition of nations and peoples from across Epithymia, the demon threat was vanquished for good. Its cities laid to waste and the Demon Lord Yama slain in mortal combat, the Alliance had put paid to the sinister realm of Naraka. However, just when final victory laid within grasp, his daughter and successor, Mara, escaped through a portal to a realm unknown, harvesting the souls of all who strayed too close to the ritual and taking what few supporters she had left with her. With no way to pursue, the Alliance was forced to devise a way into the unknown realm. It had been seven years, but the time has finally come to finish the job.

We can hope it is not too late.

OOC Thread

Dadu, Empire of Naraka, Epithymia
Seven Years Ago

Dadu, or Great Capital in the Narakan tongue. Built on the ruins of an Eyranian colony, Dadu was the beating heart of the demon hordes, the centre of a concerted campaign to seize an ill-prepared world from its denizens as their own. Shrouded in thick, dark miasma from decades of terraforming, the atmosphere of Dadu reeks on unearthly darkness, bathed in an eternal night by its arcane mastery. Those days are coming to an end, its massive walls breached by a coalition of unlikely allies from all corners of Epithymia.

"HWOOOOH," howled a large knight in a full plate of armour as he sank his hammer into a horde of imps in the heavy rains. Pouring into the shattered gaps between the walls, the assaulting Alliance warriors found themselves in pitched, hand-to-hand combat, coming up against the last remnants of the great enemy they once faced. From young demon spawns to ageing sages, not much remained of the fearsome demonic horde that once breached even the gates to Mu. Its vaunted elite guard, holed up in the royal palace, were the only people capable of challenging the best of the Alliance. But even they were few, abandoned by their orc mercenaries and heavily outnumbered. Forcing their way deep into the city, there was little stopping the Alliance's thirst for revenge. And while some tried to stay true to the Lord-Commander's order to spare the civilians, many more caved into bloodlust, a rain of screams clouding the air.

"Onward, valiant knights," hollered a blonde paladin, parading the banner of their Celestial overlord, as his men charge forth into the fray, "the Demon Lord awaits at his lair, cowering for his imminent demise! You, who have suffered under the malice of the Great Evil, now have a chance to end this madness! Go forth, noble knights! Go forth and AARGHHH!"

"Shut up and fight, you screeching baboochka," a dwarven warrior growled at the Otavan, pulling him aside as he brandished his blade, "the lewdies can't hear you with all the screaming right now!"

"Lewd," blustered the confused princeling, "this isn't the time for fornicate-AHH!"

Shoving the paladin forward, the dwarf simply yelled, "get to it! Bloody boyyer..."

Looking around the devastated city, the dwarf could hardly hold his lunch down. Everywhere, bodies of demon civilians laid in a mess, often in untold states of abuse by the attackers. Men, women, children, it mattered little to the Alliance soldiers. So many were drawn into the ranks out of hatred that few hardly believed that their world had a place for demons at all. The dwarves, so far from the fighting, and often had cordial relations with the demons, were only in it to protect their trade interests in the Alliance countries. As such, they were among the few who agreed with the Aryavarsan leaders to extend clemency to any demon who surrendered and put pressure on the other Alliance members to do the same. Of course, the ongoing massacre was evidence of how little that could be enforced, even more so for the Eyranians and Mu-Otavan dominions who have an immense stake in the post-war occupation. In the end, there was little to stop them amidst the chaos, and few would likely be caught and tried in the aftermath.

"Who the hell is that?"

"A child?"

Making his way over at a couple of loitering knights as they leaned over a tiny figure. Checking over, the dwarf yelled, "what the hell are you two doing! War's not over yet!"

"Oh, Sir Bernstein," blurted one the confused knight, "we just found this child lying among the demon bodies. Looks like a slave, but we can't tell if she's... y'know..."

Staring down at the dark-haired, twin-tail girl, the dwarf could see fear written in her clear blue eyes. Dressed in rags and with a pair of broken cuffs on her, she looked the part of a slave in a demon household, coated in the blood of her former masters. Gripping what appeared to be a Celestial pendant, it was hard not to pity her. But Goran Bernstein had seen one too many tricks from the demons, well-versed in subterfuge and disguise. The slight taint of demon energy in her had already raised his suspicions, though far from conclusive, given the extent of demon corruption in humans as well.

Staring down at her eyes, the burly warrior questioned, "what's your name, devotchka?"

"Ma-..." blurted the trembling girl, trying to avoid his gaze, "-my master never named me, he just calls me 'girl'..."

Pursing his lips, the dwarf could not tell if she was lying or simply traumatized. If it had been anyone else, they might have already opted to slay her for the taint. Glaring at the dumbfounded knights still around, he angrily barked for them to move on. Bearing down at the little girl, he had to wonder what he ought to do.

"How old," he asked, relaxing his stern face. This time, her answer was far more convincing, stating almost immediately, "eleven. Eleven winters."

"Oh dear..." he went, looking away for a moment. Perhaps there was no point in asking something so simple. Had it been a trained demon trying to conceal his true age and abilities, the magical power leaking out would have almost given him away. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if she was a human slave or something far more sinister. Gripping his axe nervously, Goram Dragovic had to make a gamble, and decide from there...

---

Triage, Alliance Encampment
Outside Dadu, Empire of Naraka, Epithymia
Seven Years Ago

In the crowded, muddy tents overlooking the city, the healers and physicians of the Alliance were at breaking point, its beds filled to the brim with scores of wounded of all kinds. Many were ill-versed in the physiology of other species, hampering their efforts as more and more dead started to pile outside the triage. It was such situations that the immense skill of Otavan physicians and priests became far more accepted. Despite their dubious alignments with the equally otherworldly Celestials, few doubted their power and those of their benefactors. Fortunately for the patients, the dire situation had left little time for the usual preaching and persuasion employed by the hospital staff. Unfortunately for them, such annoyances were the least of their concerns.

Carefully removing poisoned arrow tips from a wound as she regulated her healing spell, Myrrha was clearly under severe strain. With dark-rimmed eyes and a sickly complexion, the often-touted beauty was looking a bit ghastly from all the work. Forced to take on the extra load due to her expertise and medical knowledge, she had no time to consider protesting her disappointing rear-line assignment. As much as she took her job seriously, she felt that her skills in barrier magic and smiting were being wasted. Still, the desperate situation in the triage seemed to lend credence to the importance of her current duties, as the elven ranger she just patched up fainted from the pain.

"Myrrha, didn't I tell you to take a rest," a fellow, elder priest stated as he carted more potions through, "you look ill."

"I can still go on, Father Malchos," she protested, "there are too many patients here. I can't leave my post yet."

"We don't need you to join them," the priest ordered, rushing ahead, "back to your quarters. You can come back once you rested for a few hours. They're not going anywhere."

Biting her lip, the priestess winced at the thought of leaving her post. For her, a few hours off duty could mean life or death for many people in the triage, something she dared not contemplate in the slightest. Still, it was clear she was beyond exhausted, and fainting in the triage would likely add to everyone else's burden. Resigned, she staggered out onto the front door in front, holding her hands out in the rain to wash away the accumulated grime from her face as she prepared to rush over to the nearest test.

"Help," a voice bellowed in the storm, "I need help!"

Spotting the stout Goram carrying the 'slave' girl over, the priestess paused for a moment. Greeted by the dwarf, she heard him bellow, "priestess, this Devotchka needs help!"

Taking a brief look, the priestess raised an eyebrow as she noted, "she looks fine to me, even healthy. Slight demonic energy poisoning, but it should dissipate naturally."

"A-are you sure," the dwarf bellowed in a slightly exaggerated voice, "she looks like she's going to faint at any more. Can't you let her rest inside?"

Pursing her lips, Myrrha was not sure if that was wise. The triage was already crammed, and she had no idea if they could spare a bed for civilians. Still, she felt tempted to try, if only to give herself an excuse to continue working. Looking inside the curtain, she stated, "ok, follow me. I'll look for a place."

Moving their way through the crowded tents, the duo soon found a seat beside a grievously wounded demon soldier, wrapped shoddily in bloodstained bandages as if left to fate. Noticing the pendant on her chest, the priestess could not help but mutter a brief prayer in thanks, a bit relieved to see a follower rescued. A quick checkup confirmed the lack of injuries or even physical abuse. Her brief work done, she told the dwarf, "she can rest here for a bit. You should get back to the front. Don't worry, the doctors will take good care of her, the demons here are too badly injured to try anything."

"I... hope so," the unnerved Goram admitted, peering at the seemingly motionless demon, "mind if I tell you something? Outside?"

"I don't see why you can't tell me, I..." Myrrha questioned for a bit, her words trailing off as she felt a bit dizzy for a moment. Relenting, she agreed, "ok, I'm heading back to my quarters. You can tell me on the way there."

Nodding his head slowly, all the dwarf was able to say was, "right... right..."

Outside Triage, Alliance Encampment
Outside Dadu, Empire of Naraka, Epithymia
Seven Years Ago

Stepping through the muds as the rain started to clear, the priestess felt a bit discomforted leaving the child inside for some reason. The dwarf's behaviour has been odd if anything. And something about the 'slave's miasma poisoning was bothering her quite a bit. It was faint, but it seemed deep. If anything, it seemed like it came from within rather than externally...

"What is it you want to tell me," she queried, feeling uncertain.

"Um... well... do you promise not to tell anyone," Goram blustered.

The suggestion was... odd, to say the least. While she was quite fine with keeping secrets - confessions being a part of her job scope as a priestess - she could not help but suspect the dwarf of harbouring much darker information. This was not an attempt to absolve himself of sin before her Celestial gods. Dwarves did have a contemptuous relationship with the higher beings of Mu. For a moment, she was tempted to refuse, fearing the revelations. At the same time, however, she wondered if it was too important to reject offhand, lest they impact the war effort itself-

"That's odd," she soon blurted, sensing a dangerous spike in dark energy behind her, looking back with dread and curiosity, "where's that demonic power coming from?"

Looking back at the triage, the two could feel an inky black aura building within, a malicious power draining the very air of life itself. Without warning, the two were suddenly blasted back, as the tents in front of them were ripped apart in an explosion. Slamming into the mud, the disoriented duo scrambled to get up, slipping back down as they felt an unnatural, rushing gust of wind pulling them in. Witnessing what now stood over the remains of the triage, a black, sphere-like vacuum had emerged in the open. But the black hole was doing more than sucking air, as guttural screams began to ring in an ethereal echo.

"D-Dolan's beard," Goram yelled, watching aghast as the patients and staff of the triage were sucked dry of life by the black hole, flailing hopelessly for escape. Stricken with horror, the priestess could not even utter a scream, as the people she had been working with just mere moments ago were reduced to lifeless skin and bones. And standing right before the black mass was a bonafide demon girl, blood-red eyes and silver hair in full, draped in the same rags of the human slave girl he had rescued...

---

Cathedral of the Fallen, Nikaia, Nikaia-Andrasta, Liberated Zone, Epithymia (formerly Dadu, Empire of Naraka)
Present Day

Playing: Significance (Nothing) by Keiichi Okabe - Nier Automata OST

Nikaia, or Andrasta as the Eyran-controlled section of the city called it. Built on the ruins of the former demon capital of Dadu, Nikaia-Andrasta was not so much a city as a massive refugee camp. Seven years after the final victory of the Alliance over the invading demon hordes, the thorny issue of splitting the spoils remain largely unresolved. Overlapping claims by the various states, many of which had been in dispute long before the demon invasion, had led to stalled talks on all fronts. In fact, many fear that war between the Alliance members would soon become a reality, or perhaps, would have become a reality, had the threat of the escaped Demon Lord not hang over their necks like an albatross.

The city outside the chapel, with its hodgepodge of burnt-out Narakan stone, Eyranian wood and Otavan marble, was emblematic of the frictions now plaguing the allies. Even with masses of freed human slaves, many of whom were born and raised in Naraka itself, in need of shelter, the elven authorities had steadfastly refused to yield claim over 'their lost colony' to the Celestial Church. The result was a massive wall splitting the city in two, with the refugees forced out of the Eyranite-controlled zone into the Otavan-one. Overlooking the divided city on the site of the horrific massacre at the triage, the Cathedral of the Fallen did little to calm nerves, with Eyranites blasting it as yet another monument to the 'despotic' Celestials, rather than a tribute to those slain in the siege.

Waking up in a gasp on her bed, Myrrha Angelina stared at the ceiling in complete shock, tense at the vivid nightmare she relived before reality quickly set back in. Grasping her head, she wondered if the pressure of the upcoming meeting was starting to get to her, drawing her back to that dark day when the scion of the Demon Lord Yama stole from them final victory amidst a field of shrivelled husks. Mara, Crown Princess of the Demon Realm and successor to her father, was but a child when the Alliance laid siege on Dadu, and its leaders had dismissed her as a middling threat, at best to be captured or disposed of like the rest of Dadu's demonic residents. And yet, that same child had managed to cast a portal with the drained souls of two thousand Alliance soldiers, priests and wounded men alike, taking the few Narakan prisoners being treated there with her. The Alliance had had to waste seven years trying to find a way to pursue, not only taking too long to obtain the information necessary to recreate the spell but also preparing the necessary - and alternative - materials needed to cast it.

Lying on her bed for a moment, Myrrha pondered over what to expect. While she was quite eager to join the upcoming expedition, the memory of that fateful encounter was still stuck to her mind. Most, her friends included, see it as an irredeemable act of murder, and for a while, she thought so too. But there was another side about the triage disaster that she could not help but think, one of a desperate girl doing the unthinkable, in the face of inevitable defeat. Sympathy for the demons was rare among the Otavans and their Celestial benefactors, and even rarer for someone who survived such a disaster. Perhaps it was simply her time in Nikaia calming her nerves, or her commitment to the spiritual salvation of all Epithymians. After all, was forgiveness not a facet of Celestial teachings, so she thought.

"Father Malchos," she uttered, remembering the last person she spoke to before his demise in Mara's hands, "would you have preferred it if I hate her?"

Myrrha, of course, would not get her answer, finally getting off her bed to prepare for the day ahead.

---

Playing: Hunter☆March by Yoshihisa Hirano - Hunter X Hunter (2011) OST

Courtyard, Cathedral of the Fallen, Nikaia, Nikaia-Andrasta, Liberated Zone, Epithymia (formerly Dadu, Empire of Naraka)
Present Day

Gathered in front of the pearl-white chapel in droves, adventurers of all shade and forms have arrived for the chance of a lifetime. Travelling from all corners of the world and beyond, those have heeded the call to arms for the grand expedition now await the word from their Alliance sponsors, representatives of the armies who had crushed the demon invasion just a few years ago. From ageing veterans to bright-eyed youngsters, sellswords of a wide range of repute and infamy now seek fame, fortune and glory in the quest to slay the last Demon Lord. But the grim look on some of the Alliance commanders told a more grim tale. For such a dangerous and important quest as this, the decision to hire adventurers for the task appear risky at best, and insane at worst.

"This is a joke," a heavily inebriated dwarf growled as he drowned himself with booze, staring at the burly young men comparing their swords and armour as they discussed bringing back Mara's head in triumph, "all that talk about preventing the ominous return of the Demon Lord and the Alliance Council decided to throw sellswords at the problem. It's like they want to come back to wipe us out."

"I... I won't say I disagree," admitted a petite elven girl, her long ears twitching as she lightly combed her sea-green hair, "I heard rumours that the various leaders of the Alliance are deliberately withholding troop commitments to the expedition out of fear of attack from each other. You know how heated the territorial disputes have become. If this keeps up, the Demon Lord won't even need to try to invade. We'd have killed each other long before she comes to take revenge."

"Pah," the dwarf spat, "revenge... as if she's the only one who wants to get even."

Pouting a bit, the Eyranite queried, "still want to get even for what happened, Goram?"

"I..." muttered the drunkard, "I don't know... I guess I feel responsible for what happened... I don't know the folks who died there personally, but I can't get over the sight of it. That black mass... that shameless devil... I still hear the screams, it..."

Pausing as they noticed a shadow in front of them, the two saw a priestess clothed in pure white with blue highlights, her blonde hair draped down like a silk curtain, her emerald eyes looking over the despondent dwarf with muted pity. For a moment, an awkward silence fell as Goram hesitated to speak. But before he could get a word, the priestess spoke, her grace as impeccable as it was in that dark day.

"Goram," blurted Myrrha, "is that you?"

For a moment, Myrrha had trouble even recognizing the dwarf. Gone was the lively, boisterous soul who did his best to rescue a lone child found in a burning city. His hair greyed, his eyes drained of spirit, it was almost as if Mara had taken his soul too. In all honesty, this could have been Myrrha's fate, had it not been for her own strength of spirit. For a moment, she was tempted to blame his despondence on his lack of faith, but even she knew better than to torture him, sensing the weight of responsibility he had heaved upon himself for Mara's escape.

"You..." blurted the weary dwarf, "of all people... look away. I have too much shame to face you..."

Biting her lips a bit, Myrrha could tell what he meant. Composed as always, she queried, "do you think me that petty to blame you for that incident? It's not your fault. There was no way you could have known-"

"Haven't you people patronized me enough," barked Goram on reflex, taking the priestess aback. As the elf rubbed his back to calm him, she apologized to the Otavan, "sorry about Goram. I... suppose you heard about him."

"Yes, we... met," Myrrha admitted, feeling unnerved as she recalled Goram's cursed epithet, "look, I know my fellows can be very harsh, but I don't blame you, I swear. The gods have eyes. There's no reason to make you a scapegoat for something beyond our control. You were deceived-"

"Your gods," Goram bantered, breaking into an ironic chuckle, "your gods? Your gods branded me a traitor to the cause! They cursed my very name, called me a demon-worshipper! Every night, I have lived with that very scene in my mind!... I can't sleep!... I can't drink happy!... How in the world can you continue smiling like that after seeing that!... I can't rest until I wring that sooka's skull off her neck! I can only wish I can come with..."

Speechless, the priestess wracked her brains for the right words, her eyes shifting away as she worried over Goram's unstable behaviour. She could not possibly imagine how it felt like in his place, being labelled 'the Treacherous' for one fatal mistake, and forced to bear the judgement of an entire world for allowing the single greatest threat to all life slip past their vice. In sharp contrast, Myrrha was considered a victim, heaped with pity for the loss of comrades she admittedly did not know very well. That the Celestials themselves had joined in on the shunning was unthinkable to her. Surely, there is someone among the gods who would spare pity for a wronged soul.

"The reason you can't go is that you can't control yourself," growled the elf, trying to force her words into his closed mind, "you fly into a berserk rage at every demon you see. You got us chased out of several towns because you unlawfully attacked reformed demons on the fly. This is a covert operation. We don't know what's going on where she is right now. If she's already taken over the other side, we'd give ourselves away when you flip out there. The last thing we need giving her the signal to invade Epithymia again. Don't you understand that?"

Watching the elf berate Goram, the priestess was hardly sure whether to laugh or feel uncomfortable. She could tell they were quite close, possibly friends. At the same time, she felt her scolding was uncalled for on someone who already has a lot to deal with emotionally. Cutting in, she asked, "seems like you've been sticking around for him for quite a bit. I'm glad. I don't think we've properly introduced ourselves, though. My name is Myrrha. Myrrha Angelina. You are?"

"Angelina," blurted the elf archer, pouting a bit, "you sound like a noble... My name is Shia, Shia Ia'Curahin. I was hoping to join in the grand expedition as an adventurer, but it looks like I'll have to wait in line. Is it true they're going to send a select team first."

"I wouldn't know," Myrrha admitted, "I've already been chosen by the curia to join the expedition, but I don't know the details. Seems like the priests have found a way to recreate the portal using Ambrosium from Mu. Even then, it's rare in the divine realm, so it may be difficult to maintain for long. Besides, you said so yourself. We can't keep it open for too long or the Demon Lord would figure out we're here."

"Well, take care then," the elf bid, trying to assuage the despairing dwarf, "I hope you deal with her soon. Poor guy's been tortured too long. He needs some closure somehow."

"Mh..." Myrrha went, "I hope so. I could only wish the gods would not deal with him harshly, but I don't speak to them often, in my lowly capacity."

As the adventurers waited for the herald to bring the news, Myrrha tried her hardest to hide her anxiety. If it came down to it, they would be responsible for taking the life of a teenage girl. Even with the number of lives sacrificed to Mara's rift; even when she had to see her compatriots die firsthand, Myrrha was still not sure if she could deal the killing blow. For an 'easy' choice powered by such desires as revenge, Myrrha found it eerily hard to hate her. Perhaps seeing Goram twisted into a loathing wreck was proof that she was indeed better off staying away from such desire.

Or perhaps, she was just sick in the mind, too desperate to cling on to her teachings, or too eager to demonstrate the power of her faith that converting such a wretched soul to the church of the Celestials.

OOC Notes:

1. Dwarf-Common - A pidgin formed from Common and dwarven languages, essentially Nadsat from A Clockwork Orange
   
   • Baboochka - Derived from Bábushka (grandmother)
   • Lewdie - Derived from Lyudi (people)
   • Boyyer - Derived from Boyar (noble)
   • Devotchka - Derived from Devushka (girl)
   • Sooka - Derived from Suka (Bitch)

[Ameriganastan]

"Come on, you great big women! I drink more than this during breakfast."

One particular adventurer was passing the time in his own way: Challenging any who dared to a drinking contest off in the corner. And challenger #5 had just face-planted on the floor.

"Humans, no stamina. 7 glasses of Dragon's Whisker and he's out like a light. Come on you pansies! I'm still standing over here. You lot wouldn't last past the first day of the festival of Aleyar. Now that'a festival. 6 straight days of drinking and celebrating. You'd all keel over. I bet even that fidgety Elf over yonder could out-drink you weaklings."

He downed his own tankard in one quick gulp.

"Come on, who wants to try me next?"