Beyond the doorway stretched an infinite void. A staircase, impossibly long and winding like the body of a coiling serpent, twisted and turned its way upward toward a distant, unreachable horizon.
As Aldric and Vittoria climbed higher, the walls on either side began to manifest bizarre, ever-shifting paintings. Whenever their eyes weren't fixed directly upon them, the images would distort and transform into something else entirely—a chaotic collage of madness.
At one moment, the wall depicted scenes of humans and other creatures being tortured by unimaginable cruelty; in the next, it shifted into landscapes of such cosmic beauty that even Aldric, who had once drifted among the stars, felt awe and unease.
On the opposite side, the handrails grew increasingly grotesque. Every single baluster was carved into a human face. Each visage was hauntingly lifelike, as though sealed in eternal agony or ecstasy, emitting faint moans of pain or pleasure.
Some faces were hideous, twisted beyond recognition; others were impossibly beautiful—holy, seductive, or both. Yet all of them shared one thing in common: every pair of eyes followed the two intruders as they walked past.
The floor beneath their boots was etched with blasphemous runes that occasionally pulsed with purple or green phosphorescence. When Aldric carefully sidestepped a stair engraved with two fanged symbols, the stone step opened like a mouth and exhaled a low growl of protest.
The environment left no room for doubt—this place no longer belonged to the realm of normal space.
He recalled what his teacher, Master Gonz, had once told him when first explaining the nature of chaos. Aldric had asked whether anyone had ever truly entered the realm of chaos. Gonz had chuckled proudly and replied,
"Of course. We have—the witchers. Among all beings in this world, we are among those who know the chaos realms best. Experience is our truest mentor."
According to his mentor, every witcher apprentice must endure four trials: the Trial of the Grasses, which marked entry into apprenticeship; the Trial of Hormones, the Trial of the Badge, and finally, the Trial of the Valley.
The Trial of the Valley signified the transition from apprentice to true witcher. Under the protection of sacred warding sigils, the initiate would venture into the chaos realm itself—survive its horrors—and slay a chaotic creature. The slain being's blood would then be forged into Valyrian steel, becoming part of the witcher's own weapon. Only after such a trial would a witcher earn the right to wield that weapon.
When Aldric had asked what the chaos realm actually looked like, Gonz had pondered for a moment before answering:
"Every witcher's experience is different. No two entries into the chaos realm are ever the same. Even the same person will find the world changed with each descent. None can say how many worlds chaos has devoured. When you return, the Council records your memories, and most of them are erased. A human mind cannot bear the full weight of chaos."
Then his mentor had grown solemn. "But you'll know when you've crossed into that realm. Your entire body will revolt against it—your very being will scream. It's like sinking into a swamp of excrement where every breath feels wrong. The world itself hates you. Every inch of it whispers temptation and malice."
That was exactly what Aldric felt now.
He did not know how long they had been walking. Without any point of reference, time itself lost meaning. The staircase spiraled endlessly upward, and the very air gnawed at their sanity.
Aldric could hear countless whispers murmuring in his ears. Whenever he tried to focus on them, they vanished like smoke. Vittoria, meanwhile, felt her temper boiling from within—her warrior's discipline eroding under waves of inexplicable rage. The deeper they went, the heavier her fury grew, festering like a poison.
Their conversation grew sparse. Each was locked in their own struggle against the influence of the realm. Whenever Aldric felt the whispers about to drive him insane, a wave of cool clarity surged from deep within his body, calming his thoughts. But the alternating sensations of heat and cold left him nauseated and dizzy.
When he finally glanced back, he saw Vittoria's condition had worsened—her eyes glowed crimson, and her breathing came in ragged bursts. She was on the verge of losing control completely.
I have to find a way out of this, Aldric told himself. There's no such thing as a quest without hope of survival. I must have missed a clue somewhere. Otherwise, a low-level mission would never throw me into a chaos realm like this.
Clues. He ran through every detail in his mind—every person, every item he had encountered since accepting the quest.
The Gilded Eye Jewelry Shop! The mysterious witch! The necklace she had given him! It was the only item in the entire questline that hadn't yet served a clear purpose.
Reaching into his leather armor, Aldric pulled out the [Damaged Pendant]. The pendant was glowing faintly now, and as the light grew stronger, a cool wave of lucidity washed over him, as though he had just escaped from quicksand.
Bathed in the pendant's light, Vittoria let out a long exhale, her grip on her flail loosening at last. A minute later, and she might have crushed the only other living being nearby—him.
"This place is cursed," Vittoria muttered. "I almost smashed your skull just now."
Holding the glowing pendant high, Aldric replied, "This might be part of the chaos realm. My teacher told me about such places. I can't be completely certain—but this is definitely connected to chaos."
But even as he spoke, the pendant's glow flickered erratically like a dying fluorescent lamp. They exchanged a glance and quickened their pace.
Finally, the staircase came to an end. Before them floated a platform seemingly made of pulsating flesh and sinew, suspended in the void.
There stood the missing archers—blank-eyed, unmoving, as if their souls had been drained away. At the center of the platform was a black-robed cultist. Even though his hood concealed much of his face, Aldric's witcher's vision caught the most striking detail: a single massive eye occupying half of the man's visage.
The one-eyed priest chanted in a voice that seemed to echo from within the skull. As Aldric and Vittoria approached, the whispers in their ears grew to a thunderous roar.
"O mighty Lord, sovereign of the heavens!
We gather this day to offer our praise, to thank Thee for Thy creation.
By Thy mercy, we are spared the wrath of divine punishment."
"O master of life, benevolent Grandfather!
We gather this day to sing Thy glory, to thank Thee for Thy vitality.
By Thy generosity, we are freed from our suffering.
Praise be to Thee, our Lord— Grandfather Nurgle!"
As the cultist's voice rose, five of the archers who had ambushed Aldric earlier appeared once more, their bodies stiff and lifeless. Behind the priest, three armored warriors emerged from the shadows, joining the chorus in reverent unison, their voices trembling with fervor.
"Praise be to the Benevolent Grandfather Nurgle," they cried, again and again, as the air itself pulsed with corruption.
Aldric stood frozen for a moment, uncertain whether he should—perhaps—introduce himself first...
(End of Chapter)
TN: Grandfather Nurgle loves you.