Gorath's footsteps echoed in the void. Each of his footprints left no trace, as if this place rejected the existence of anything—even him.
The gate grew closer.
It towered, perhaps a hundred meters high. Its frames were made of something that resembled bone, but too symmetrical to be organic. Between them, liquid metal flowed slowly like silver blood, forming ever-changing patterns—as if alive, as if… observing.
Gorath paused.
He was not the type to hesitate. But this time, his chest tightened. Not because of fear. But because his own body did not recognize this place.
This was not a world. This was not a dimension. This was something else.
Something that should not exist.
Suddenly, the voice sounded again.
"Do you want to come in?"
The voice was like a child's.
But there was no innocence in it. Only hunger.
Gorath looked around. Empty.
"Who are you?" his voice was soft.
"I am… the guard."
"I am… the door."
"I… am the one who remains."
The voice came from the gate itself.
Gorath frowned. "What is this? Where am I?"
"On the border. In between. In the place you awakened."
"You opened the gap."
"And the gap… responded."
Gorath remembered the cloaked figure. The voice. Cold. Emptiness.
He clenched his fists. "I was called by a dark power. I answered. I conquered."
"You stole. You were not given."
"You took… something that knew no owner."
"And now, you are asked to pay."
Gorath stared at the gate again. The metal flowing inside it began to change shape.
Forming faces.
Hundreds of faces.
All screaming.
All familiar.
Victims. Soldiers. Kings. Demons. Humans.
Their faces emerged one by one. Merging. Writhing. Smiling.
Then vanished.
"Enter," the gate whispered.
"Or… run."
Gorath grinned. Though his body was still not fully recovered, his arrogance returned.
"I never run."
He stepped forward.
His hand touched the surface of the gate. Cold. Slippery. But also like touching something that was breathing.
The gate opened.
Silently.
A blinding white light greeted him.
Not the light of life. But a kind of… memory.
As Gorath stepped inside, everything changed.
He stood in the forest.
Foggy.
Wet ground. Tall trees. Cold air.
But what made him pause was... himself.
Three meters in front of him, stood a boy.
Thin. Shabby. His eyes were sharp. But scared.
The boy... was him.
The childhood he had forgotten.
This place was not just a place. It was a memory. But twisted. Adjusted. Eaten by something.
"You came from suffering," said a voice from the trees.
"You grew from wounds."
"But you did not heal."
"You rot."
Gorath stared at the boy.
The boy stared back. His eyes... were not human.
"Why am I seeing this?" Gorath asked.
"Because before you are judged, you must be reminded."
The sky began to fall. The trees melted. The boy smiled—a fake, deformed smile, like a face painted on flesh.
"Go deeper, Gorath."
"We are not done yet."
Suddenly everything disappeared.
He was back in the void.
But this time, he was not alone.
Around him, thousands of creatures stood. All hooded. All silent. Not a single one moved.
They stood in a circle, surrounding a large altar.
On the altar... his own body.
But dead.
Crushed. Burned. Melted.
His eyes widened.
"What is this...?"
"Possibly."
The cloaked creature from the previous chapter appeared in the crowd. But now... bigger. Taller. Its shadow swallowed all light.
"You have a choice."
"Return as a vessel."
"Or be destroyed as a warning."
Gorath snorted. "I belong to no one."
"Wrong."
"You belong to the Abyss.
From the moment you touched it."
Footsteps echoed.
The creatures began to approach.
The ritual begins.