"I was lonely. No one to hold me, nothing to look up to, nothing to look forward to. Nowhere to go, no home, person, or thing to return to. And as I look up to you, I say—it's not worth it. I leave the rest to the one David that exists on the other side of the world, the one that will still eat and say thank you, even if I die."
He stood at the edge of the bridge, looking into the sea, a quiet smile settling on his face as though he'd seen the magnificence of an angel.
"Toji… Toji."
The voice rang out—not through sound, but through thought, brushing against the corners of his soul like a wind with memory.
"Is it a dream?" Toji asked, his lips parting slowly. His face was lit by the gentle amber hue of the rising sun, casting soft gold across his skin.
"No," the voice said. "It is a precognition. The future is a product of the present. The present, the result of the past. As art references art, you reference the past. Create the present. Produce the future. Remember—I am you. But I ask you, are you me?"
"Toji!"
Another voice. Different. Grounded. Familiar.
Toji opened his eyes. The bridge was gone. The image of the sea faded. Standing over him was Frankie, his voice laced with concern and confusion.
"You okay? You spaced out."
Toji blinked once. Then again.
"It's not your concern," he said, brushing past Frankie and standing up fully. But even as he tried to dismiss it, the voice—the strange presence—lingered.
Frankie narrowed his eyes. "You keep doing that lately. Going off somewhere in your head. You didn't used to be like this."
"I've changed," Toji said simply.
"Clearly," Frankie muttered.
They were beneath the palace now, following old blueprints and mismatched notes Frankie had gathered from the city's archivists. What started as whispers about the governor's strange behavior during festivals had led to missing pages in Gulmund's festival history, sealed documents, and one name written repeatedly in different scripts: The Fifth Descent.
The corridor narrowed as they moved through it, slick with moisture and barely lit by their nano-lanterns. The air smelled of old moss, burnt incense, and something deeper—something corrupted.
Toji paused. A faint glimmer drew his eye—a crystal embedded in the wall, pulsing faintly with a sickly violet glow. He reached out instinctively.
"Toji, wait—"
His fingers brushed the crystal.
Light exploded behind his eyes. And then—
He was there again. Not physically—but present. Watching. A space not bound by time.
The horned man stood in the center of a burning chamber, walls inscribed with glowing glyphs. Around him, lesser demons bowed, receiving orders.
"Begin phase four. Merge the constructs with the host vessels. Use the abandoned regions—the Old Gods won't interfere. Increase corruption along the river cities. I want fractures in the barrier by next moon."
Toji tried to move—speak—anything. But he was only an observer.
Then he was back.
The vision ended as violently as it began. He fell to one knee.
Frankie rushed over. "What the hell was that?"
"I saw him," Toji whispered, clutching his forehead.
"Who?"
"The horned man. He's real. He's not just a myth."
Frankie froze.
"You said you didn't believe in that stuff."
"I lied."
Frankie exhaled sharply. "Okay. Now I know something's really wrong."
Toji finally looked at him. "We're not just chasing politics or rituals anymore. We're chasing war. An invasion. And it's already started underground."
And the descent had only just begun.
The very next day, Toji requested another audience with the governor.
It was granted, albeit with delay and hesitation. The guards escorted him to the inner court. The hall was opulent, a stark contrast to the decay hidden beneath the palace. Silk banners hung high. Incense masked the scent of mold and guilt. And there on the elevated seat, Governor Helmund sat—smiling like a man with nothing to fear.
"Toji," Helmund greeted. "I trust your stay in our capital has been pleasant."
Toji bowed lightly, but the air was heavy between them. "It has been... enlightening."
The governor gestured to a seat. "Please, sit. What brings you to me again so soon?"
"I had more questions about the city's history," Toji said. "Specifically... the underground structures."
Helmund's expression didn't shift, but his fingers tightened just slightly on the armrest. "Ancient catacombs. Nothing more. Most are sealed—unsafe. We discourage exploring them."
"Understandable," Toji nodded. "Though I found a chamber with a crystal. Faintly violet, pulsing. Is it an old power conduit?"
Helmund blinked. Just once. "A crystal?"
"Yes. One used in rituals, perhaps. It reacted to touch."
A beat. Then: "Sounds like one of the many artifacts left from the first era. Our scholars believe they're remnants of ceremonial decor."
"Ceremonial decor," Toji repeated, watching the governor's eyes. "I wonder why such decorations would be hidden so deeply beneath the palace."
Helmund's smile twitched. "The builders were eccentric."
Toji leaned forward, tone still even. "And what do you make of the Fifth Descent?"
Silence.
"I'm unfamiliar with the term," Helmund said finally.
"No? That's odd. It's mentioned in your own festival archives."
"I'm sure the scribes made an error. Our archives are... imperfect."
Toji smiled thinly. "Of course. And the demonic sigils lining the corridor—also a mistake?"
"I saw no such thing."
"You weren't there."
Helmund stood. "I believe this conversation has run its course."
But Toji remained seated. "Governor. One final question. Do you serve the horned man?"
A flicker. A twitch. Then Helmund laughed.
"You've been listening to legends and ghost stories. Perhaps it's time you left our city."
Toji stood slowly. "Perhaps."
But as he turned to leave, he felt it again.
A vibration.
The floor beneath the palace rumbled—faintly.
And in his mind, a voice whispered:
"They're coming."