Underland

Vernburg.

He was dreaming of Vernburg.

Valdemar never went to this place, but the dream around him fit Marianne’s description to the letter. Crumbling old houses surrounding the well under a ceiling of stone. Was this the false village that Valdemar had dreamed into being or a mere mimicry?

Whatever the case, it was slowly falling apart. The village’s houses collapsed one by one before sinking into nothingness. The ceiling above the summoner’s head cracked like an egg as thin red lines spread in the very fabric of the dreamscape.

It’s him, Valdemar realized as he looked at Lord Bethor. The Dark Lord’s magic poured out of his spirit like lava, his power dwarfing that of the Lilith’s. The creature that had led Valdemar’s spirit astray so easily was now at his mercy. His mere presence destabilizes the dreamscape.

“This is not a dreamscape,” Lord Bethor said as he restrained the Lilith with the mere power of his mind. “This is the other side.”

Valdemar shivered as he looked up through the cracks in the sky. He peered at the biggest rift and gained a glimpse of the universe beyond. A red light shone through it, and the roars of the Qlippoths echoed from the other side.

The Outer Darkness.

No wonder Valdemar’s link with Ktulu felt so weak. Multiple planar boundaries separated them.

“It seems that when you closed yourself to the Primordial Dream, you instead strengthened your connection to your progenitor’s nightmares,” Lord Bethor said as he telekinetically moved the Lilith above the well. The creature wearing the face of Valdemar’s mother struggled against her binding, something crawling beneath her skin as if threatening to burst out at any moment.

My Painted Field prevented me from dreaming and created a mental buffer, Valdemar put two and two together, his eyes fearfully gazing up at the fragmented ceiling. Instead of manifesting in the material plane, this place reformed on the other side.

And by doing so, Valdemar had left himself open to psychic attacks by Qlippoths. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, the sorcerer thought before glaring at the Lilith. She had lied about being unable to influence him, all to make him lower his guard and fall into a trap.

Even though Lord Bethor choked the life out of her, she was grinning ear to ear.

“Lord Bethor, we have to go back to reality now,” Valdemar realized as the cracks spread to encompass the entire ceiling. This place, whatever it was, kept the Qlippoths outside at bay for the moment… but not forever. “If I don’t wake up—”

“You will, but not before we get what we came for. Answers.”

Tendrils appeared behind the Lilith, binding her legs together and expanding her arms. The sight of his mother being crucified like this sent shivers down Valdemar’s spine, though he quickly suppressed this feeling. This wasn’t his mother, just a monster copying her.

“Will you kill her?” Valdemar asked the Dark Lord.

“It won’t stick unless we destroy her personal vessel,” Lord Bethor said dryly. “But I sense a connection between her and a dark force at this demiplane’s core. We can at least find out what it is.”

A demiplane? So this was indeed the false Vernburg. Even as this false reality fell apart, the well remained undisturbed; the evil within scared away even the Qlippoths. Since Liliths were the handmaiden of the Nahemoths…

Don’t you want to know who is at the well’s bottom? the Lilith had said the first time he dreamed of her. He is in great pain, my prince.

The creature sealed in the well was obviously a Nahemoth, but the way the Lilith spoke of it… a doubt wormed its way into Valdemar’s mind.

The illusion of his mother tossing him into the pit flashed in Valdemar’s mind like a dire warning. The secret inside would hurt him, maybe even destroy him. Something in his subconscious told him to look away from a truth he was never meant to know.

But Valdemar had gone too far to back out now. He gazed into the well, and found the pit deeper than anything he had ever seen. It made him dizzy simply to look at it, and his eyes couldn’t see far past the darkness at the bottom. Symbols covered the stones, though most had become blurry and indistinguishable.

Wards.

Valdemar recognized some of them, having used similar inscriptions in his summoning circles. A few of the symbols, representing eyes, stuck out from the rest. They were in my grandfather’s diary, Valdemar thought as he recognized some of the runes. His True Sight had revealed them on the pages.

But not all of the runes were meant to keep summoned creatures imprisoned. Others were wards against the undead and corrupted ghosts. Why would anyone use them to bind a Nahemoth?

As Valdemar asked these questions, he heard a crack above his head and the noise of shattered glass.

And as he looked up from the well and watched the ceiling collapse entirely, the sorcerer finally got a good look at the Outer Darkness

As it turned out, it wasn’t dark at all.

A swirling vortex of crimson light swallowed the dream’s ceiling and covered the skies as far as Valdemar could see. It was a whirlpool of magic whose eye was a blistering nuclear chaos, a burning abyss of light and flames. Countless Qlippoths, from the lowly Gnawers to mightier Collectors, emerged from this cradle of nightmares and floated in the void above the demiplane. They roared and screamed as they descended towards the well, crossing the impossible distance separating it from the abyss.

But it was the vortex itself that made Valdemar stare in shock.

For it was not made of water or blood, but of souls.

Countless hollowed husks were joined together in this mad sea of stitched flesh. Humans, Dokkars, troglodytes, and all the children of Ialdabaoth were gathered in this macabre abyss. They tried to crawl away, fighting and screaming and begging… but they couldn’t escape the nuclear chaos’ irresistible gravity. The souls were dragged into the central furnace, and the steady stream would keep it alight for all eternity.

There were millions of them.

“This is hell,” Valdemar whispered in horror. “An afterlife for corrupted souls.”

“Oh my prince…” the Lilith whispered even though Lord Bethor crushed her throat. “You are wrong. This is not an afterlife.”

Her tongue morphed into a tentacle as it licked her lips.

“This is all there is.”

They all returned to the Blood. Innocents or sinners, they all returned to the Blood and their dark father’s jaws. Mother, grandfather… Valdemar froze in fear as he peered into the burning abyss. Everyone…

“Focus!” Lord Bethor’s voice was sharp as a blade. “She is deceiving you!”

The thunderous voice, and the screams of Qlippoths descending towards them like a flock of bats, snapped Valdemar out of his paralysis. Yes, that’s a lie, he thought. It’s a lie!

And as his mind cleared, Valdemar suddenly noticed an anomaly in this chaos. But even from this sea of chaos, an island of order had risen. A gray spot was growing far away from the maw of the abyss, a cancer of metal rather than souls. Familiar pylons grew out of this surface, the lightning erupting from them zapping the Qlippoths whenever they got too close.

Something didn’t add up.

“Look down into the pit before it is too late!” Lord Bethor ordered as his magic coiled around the captive Lilith like a serpent. “Let there be light!”

The Lilith shrieked as the Dark Lord’s spell took effect. The voice turned from that of Valdemar’s mother into an inhuman, gargled sound that banished the darkness.

And for the briefest of seconds, Valdemar glanced at the thing at the bottom; at the monster that gave birth to this nightmare, the creature that shared his dreams.

It was a child.

A malformed, bloated baby with corpse-like skin, sleeping on a bed of bones and dried blood. It must have been no more than a few days old, malformed and twisted. Black ooze poured from scars on the stunted hands and limbs, while a severed, dark umbilical cord wriggled out of its belly. The corpse didn’t breathe nor did it make a sound. It was as dead as Valdemar was alive.

He thought you were dead, Shelley’s words echoed in his mind, dead like Crétail.

“Crétail,” Valdemar whispered.

The child opened his eyes as his name was called, revealing a gray hue identical to Valdemar’s own gaze.

The corpse looked up at the sorcerer while tentacles erupted from the corpse’s scars. The lips twitched and widened as the creature’s jaw expanded into a fiery maw full of eyes and teeth. The entire demiplane, this cradle of demons, shook with its awakening.

A stillborn Nahemoth.

His other half.

The creature roared and the dream shattered like glass.

Valdemar’s scream echoed the monster’s into the waking world, his body trembling. His throat let out a shriek that could wake up even the deaf, while his hands shook uncontrollably. His heart burned and beat against his ribs in an attempt to burst out of his chest.

“Valdemar!” Marianne’s warm hand squeezed his own, her voice barely audible over his own scream. As he kept howling his despair for all to hear, her fingers moved to his cheeks and turned his head in her direction. “Calm down! Look at me, this is over! You have woken up!”

Valdemar’s screams died in his throat as his eyes met Marianne’s. The visions of the Nahemoth blurred with her face, but he managed to focus on her eyes even as his body kept shaking beneath the bed sheet.

“I’m here,” Marianne whispered, her voice banishing the fearful visions. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Valdemar gathered his breath, his hands still trembling. Marianne held one, and his familiar another. Although his screams had woken Ktulu, the child held onto his partner tightly. “Ktulhu,” it gargled, his tentacles licking Valdemar’s cheek like a dog’s tongue. “Ktulhu.”

They were gone. The Qlippoths, the thing, the abyss… they were all gone like a bad dream.

“It’s over,” Marianne kept whispering as her partner slowly calmed himself. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t alright. His heart was slowing down, but it still hurt in his ribcage. And the dream… this cradle of a nightmare…

“I saw it,” Valdemar whispered slowly as he squeezed back her hand. “Who’s at the bottom of the well. I saw it.”

“The well? Vernburg’s well?” Marianne frowned as she released Valdemar’s hand. She quickly used a healing spell on him and the pain in his chest receded. His limbs were his own once again. “Gather your thoughts. What happened?”

“I’m… I’m not sure myself.” The sorcerer looked at Lord Bethor, who was still sitting in a lotus position on the floor. “Have you managed to track them down through the link?”

“No,” the Dark Lord answered, his eyes closed in meditation. “The Nahemoth’s awakening and the disturbance in the Outer Darkness disrupted the link. You have seen it too.”

Valdemar’s eyes glanced at his Painted Field and the gray spot growing in one of its corners. Since the magical apparatus strengthened the summoner’s connection to Ialdabaoth’s mind and the Outer Darkness, he suspected that it echoed what happened on that plane.

“The metal cancer,” Valdemar muttered. “I've seen those pylons before. It’s derrotech.”

“Yes.” Lord Bethor finally opened his eyes. “I suspect that this phenomenon and the thefts of brains in our territory are connected. I cannot say how yet. In any case, I have wounded the Lilith’s essence and she will not trouble you in the near future. However, you will have to disable your Painted Field while you sleep from now on.”

Valdemar winced as Ktulu silently sat at his side, silent as a tomb. “This will bring back the nightmare,” he pointed out. “And let the demiplane creep into our world.”

“A lesser evil than giving the Qlippoths a doorway to influence your mind directly,” the Dark Lord replied dryly. “The wards keeping the Nahemoth imprisoned remain active. We still have time before it breaks out.”

Before it breaks out.

Not if.

“Please,” Marianne said with a frown, as she tried to understand the conversation. “Can you go back to the beginning? What did you see?”

My mother’s violation, a Lilith’s temptations, and Crétail, Valdemar thought darkly. “I don’t know what was true or false.”

“I do,” Lord Bethor said coldly as he opened his dark eyes. “The reason for your malformed dreamscape, Valdemar, is that your soul is intertwined with a Nahemoth since the moment of your birth.”

Marianne bit her lower lip. “They are one and the same?”

“Not quite. Their spirits are…” The Dark Lord considered the appropriate term. “Conjoined, like malformed twins sharing a body. Only one of the two spirits may exist on the material plane at once.”

Valdemar clenched his jaw. “Mortal life created the Primordial Dream to protect itself from Qlippoth intrusions. When I sleep, my mind takes refuge in the Primordial Dream; since it cannot follow me here, the Nahemoth manifests in our reality instead. But if I do not dream…”

“The two spirits converge in the Outer Darkness and the connection strengthens,” Lord Bethor finished. “A process that may permanently damage your soul. If the Nahemoth weren't bound, it could have merged with your essence.”

Valdemar would have undergone a metamorphosis and shed his humanity.

That’s their plan, he guessed. The Lilith was trying to weaken the wards keeping the Nahemoth imprisoned, to break down the barrier separating the man from the Qlippoth until a new horror emerged. A red prince shaped in his father’s image.

And from what he had seen, the wards were slowly weakening.

His fear must have been written all over his face, because Marianne’s gaze hardened. “That will not happen,” she said firmly. “If the two of you aren’t one and the same, then the connection can be destroyed.”

“The destruction of the wards will not cause an immediate fusion,” Lord Bethor added. “So long as you keep your human ability to dream and take refuge in the Primordial Dream, your spirits will remain separate.”

“But it will allow the Nahemoth to fully manifest in imperial territory,” Valdemar said darkly.

“Where it can be slain or sealed again,” Lord Bethor replied with unshakable confidence.

“But how will it affect Valdemar?” Marianne asked with a frown. “If the bond isn’t severed, it could damage his soul.”

To Valdemar’s worry, the Dark Lord had little comfort to provide. “I shall consult my old teacher on the matter. Lord Och’s knowledge of souls surpasses mine.”

He had to know something. As a lich, he had achieved immortality by severing the soul from his body and binding it to a phylactery.

This is all there is.

Did Lord Och know what awaited beyond the veil between life and death? I have to know, Valdemar thought as he shivered. Everyone had failed to call back a soul that had already passed into the Beyond, and now he feared to learn why. I have to know. I can’t… I need the truth.

A detail bothered him. “Who put in those wards in the first place, in the very heart of the demiplane?” Valdemar muttered. “I saw the runes in my grandfather’s diary.”

“You answered your own question,” Marianne said softly. “He was trying to protect you. To prevent you from becoming the cult’s tool.”

Valdemar’s jaw clenched in frustration. Why did she keep defending his grandfather? “My grandfather couldn’t cast spells.”

Marianne mulled over her answer, before asking another question, “Could your mother?”

The words hit Valdemar like an arrow to the chest. His mother, using magic? That was absurd! She died a sick madwoman, unable to distinguish reality from delusion. Valdemar had never seen her cast a spell before her death.

But… he couldn’t forget the horrible memory of the black blood taking a hold of his mother and twisting her. Now, he understood that this violation had caused her depression and illness. But could it have given her powers too?

The illusion of his mother tossing a child into the well

But you cannot die.

Like conjoined twins.

Dead like Crétail.

He is suffering, my prince.

An ugly picture formed in Valdemar’s mind. Ktulu sensed his distress and held onto his arm, his tentacles wriggling in concern.

As Valdemar remained silent, Marianne sensed his unease and changed the subject. “The Lilith only appeared recently even though Shelley spent twenty years praying,” she pointed out. “Nahemoths represent Ialdabaoth’s creative impulses, so we can assume that the one in the well manifested her. This may be a sign that the wards are weakening.”

“Shelley was trying to disrupt them,” Valdemar whispered as he remembered his childhood nightmares and the rats haunting them. “He tossed corpses into the well in the hope that it would feed the Nahemoth as if it were a living beast. He was never trained in magic, so he made assumptions.”

“Since he thought you dead, he probably believed that he could salvage the cult’s ritual by creating another grail,” Marianne guessed before glancing at Lord Bethor. “How long do we have until the wards break?”

“Enough time to find a solution,” the Dark Lord replied dismissively. “I cannot say the same for the planar anomaly in the Outer Darkness. Whatever the derros are planning, we shall investigate it at once.”

“We?” Valdemar and Marianne asked both at once.

“Yes, we. You have trained enough to become passable battle mages. I was already planning a punitive expedition into derro territory for their recent raids, and you shall come with us. Prepare yourself to leave on a moment’s notice.”

Not one to waste words, the Dark Lord teleported immediately afterward, leaving Valdemar alone with Marianne and his familiar. The sorcerer petted Ktulu beneath the tentacles, the alien child squealing in happiness. Someone had to rejoice here.

“How do you feel?” Marianne asked with concern.

“Terrible,” Valdemar replied before glancing at his Painted Field. He would have to tear it down to dream again and let the nightmares return. “I can say goodbye to sound sleep.”

Marianne seemed to hesitate about making a proposal for a moment, before mustering her courage. “I could help with it,” she said. “Maybe.”

Valdemar raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “How so?”

“I… I am better at defending my dreams, but I do know the basics of Oneiromancy. I could…” Marianne cleared her throat. “I could enter your dreamscape and help you strengthen it. Like a dream bodyguard.”

Valdemar processed her answer for a few seconds. Was she offering to enter his subconscious and patrol his innermost dreams?

Marianne’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. The proposal was inappropriate, I shouldn’t have—”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Valdemar interrupted her.

She blinked in surprise. “You don’t?”

“I let Frigga in,” the sorcerer admitted. “I trust you far more than her. Besides, you’re right. I have notoriously terrible mental defenses, so any help on that front is welcome.”

“I… thank you for your trust, Valdemar.” Marianne cleared her throat. “I know most people would balk at letting someone else inside their dreams.”

“Well, there won’t be much to see.” He had offloaded the worst of his nightmares to the Nahemoth. “It’s just a barren wasteland.”

“Good,” she said, “that should make it easier to defend.”

Valdemar glanced at Marianne, trying to see if she was making a joke or truly serious. Whatever the case, that wasn’t the answer he had expected.

Truly embarrassed, Marianne broke the awkward silence and changed the subject. “Valdemar?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you say who?” she asked with a concerned voice. “You said who was at the bottom of the well, not what.”

Of course she had been perceptive enough to pick up that detail. Valdemar gathered his breath, as the vision of his mother throwing a child in the well and the creature looking up at him blurred into one.

“You remember what the village’s Qlippoths told you about a certain Crétail?” Valdemar asked her. “A very special child that was always hungry?”

Marianne squinted. “It wasn’t a false name for you, was it?”

“No. The name belongs to someone else.”

Dead like Crétail.

“Lord Bethor said it himself. We are spiritually conjoined twins from birth. The Nahemoth is, was, a human once. The wards included protections against restless spirits.”

She never wanted to have you.

“I wasn’t the first, Marianne.”

But you cannot die.

“The thing at the well’s bottom is Crétail,” Valdemar whispered. “My sibling.”