The ritual was finally set up. It took years to properly train one of the initiates in the craft of stone carver, and longer for him to master. The whole diagram needed an expert hand, with precision and planning in every chip, so the blood flows cleanly and smoothly through the crevasses in the obsidian-black floor. The sacrafices were present, the offerings in place, the tributes gathered, and Vaclesd had finally sent one of the members to bring the Tome of Shmâd and the graystone poisoned ritual knife.

The member should have been back by then, yet something seemed to have delayed him. But, as he had not very alerted, Vaclesd was sure things were not too problematic. In the worst case, there were still ten other cultists in the room with him. 

Vaclesd looked in the direction of the sacrifices- aside from the chicken, there was also a halfling, a gnome, a fairy, half elf, and a fire genasi. A tiefling would have been preferable, and one had been spotted recently in this very city. They'd even tried to capture the filthy thing, but he had proven a challenge to capture. The ritual must not be delayed, he'd decided, and they would cease trying to capture the demonspawn in order to complete the ritual sooner. Although the tiefling blood could help with the efficacy, a fire genasi would suffice to turn the gate into a portal. They huddled in corner, or struggled with bindings, except the silver haired half elf. It remained calm, and it's eyes clear, staring around.

"All of you smell like a muck piece that's been festering since tomorrow three years ago in the piss you've been drinking from you father's genitals since the womb smelled like your period," A deep voice echoed through the room. Immediately, Vaclesd felt his brain suffer some form of psychological pain, though he wasn't sure if it was because of the insult, or because he had tried to understand it. All the other cultists was clutching their heads as well, suffering a similar setback. Vaclesd turned to the speaker, and his heart stopped. In his head he was sending his elaborate regards to his informant's parents. 

A tiefling, they told him. Though they failed to mention everything else.

Vaclesd analyzed at lightning speeds, his eyes panning over the figure out of his nightmares. If he were a normal member, he might not have understood the severity of the situation. Personally, he thought that was preferable, as before him laid out a horror story in the image of one 'tiefling'.

In Vaclesd's Infernal Lineage of HellScape, the book written by a Demon Lord of the LightFrost world, the signs of lineage were detailed within. The color of the horns told of the lineage, their size an indication of pedigree, and the skin color a sign of inheritance. And in the case of a normal tiefling, although black was a somewhat special color, coupled with the very light purple skin, it was basically barren in terms of heritage.

But the eyes. 

The eyes...

The Demon Lord of LightFrost had left a comment in her books, almost imperceptible- unnoticeable to those who hadn't read any of them at least thrice. It was a between the lines comment that was present in every original book of hers, one of which had fallen into the hands of Vaclesd. She had written thousands of them, but each and every single one of them had the same comment, on the same page, in the same letters, in the same size, in the same placement, and only that one. 'eyes of Abyss'. 

A curse was inlaid within these words- an illusion, sealed on a condition. When one fully focused on them, the seal would loosen, and a short vision would enter the minds of those who pried.

In the wake of those visions, nightmares were all that were left, at the revelation- the slightest glimpse at the horrors of reality.

Then I stabbed his throat.

Creed and I turned to the other cultists, engaging in a fight of ten against two. With flurries and movement, shouting and Squelching, killer music and pushing innocents out of the way, the fight ended with one of my fingers dangling from my hand and a stab in the chest, which looks like it normally sould have killed me. Creed looks kind of winded, but whole. I sat down and said "does your spell attach severed fingers?"

He looked at me, then my hand and his eyes widened. He stumbled on his way, exclaiming "Muck! plop! poop! Plonk! feces! excrement! waste! Clunk! Crap!" 

Reaching my side he squished my finger to my hand, and sang:

 "in a dungeon red and muddy 

In a place of holes been patched

Heal the people bloodied,

And all their fingers keep attached."

In a comforting wave, my wounds heald, and I thankfully didn't have to lose a finger again. Creed then called down.

Slightly gaining my bearings, I then hear from infront.

"What are you doing here?"

A half elf sat up with her his hands bound and silvery hair cascading to his back. Her silver eyes were locked on Creed, whose expression turned into an evil smirk.

"Seriven?" I asked.