The man walked alone through the desolate obsidian corridor.
Huge, towering pillars surrounded him, each wide enough to swallow a building whole.
Balls of soft, ghostly-blue flame hovered above, casting pale light across the path.
But the glow of the flames didn't warm the man; if anything, it only served to deepen the chill.
Above him, the vaulted ceiling stretched into a seemingly endless darkness.
His footsteps echoed as he continued forward.
His face betrayed no discomfort at his strange surroundings.
The deeper he walked, the stench of a thick and metallic smell became more noticeable, almost like the scent of freshly-spilled blood.
Behind him, his black robe dragged soundlessly across the floor.
Every inch of the dark fabric shimmered with golden threads that was weaved into it.
He quickly approached the end of the hall, where an ancient, monolithic door awaited him.
Veins of golden light were weaved through the dark stone, the pattern quite similar to the weave of the man's clothing.
Standing on either side of the door were two gigantic figures.
They were the Guardians of the door.
The godly beings were not fashioned from mortal flesh, but were instead made from an otherworldly alloy that gleamed dully.
Each was unmoving like a statue, but they were unmistakably alive. Their faces were featureless masks of burnished metal, but from within their helms burned twin white flames.
They gripped halberds made from the same strange alloy that they themselves were made of, which they brandished proudly.
The man came to a stop before them, tilting his head. His impassive features broke, a small smile appearing on his lips. "It's been a long time," he said. "You haven't changed as much as I expected, my friends."
The flames that were the two Guardian's eyes flared briefly to signal its mutual recognition of the man.
One Guardian moved, just a fraction, but enough for the halberd's edge to block the path of the man.
"You swore never to return," it said, the voice that came out sounding like stone grinding against stone. Its halberd edged closer to the man.
"The times have changed," the man replied, his smile fading as his face again turned into an unreadable mask. "And so have the games that we must play, old friends."
The first Guardian's halberd remained where it was.
The second Guardian did not move, but the flames within both of their helms burned brighter.
"We were told to guard this place and forbid anybody from entering," the first Guardian said. "Even you, Oathbreaker."
"I know." The man's voice was low. "But it has started to awaken. It is absolutely necessary that I see the prisoner. The Queen herself ordered it."
The flames in the Guardians' helms flickered, and for a long moment, neither Guardian moved.
Then, slowly, it stepped back. The halberd lowered, and the way forward was cleared.
The man gave a small nod of gratitude, then took a slow step forward, stopping only a few inches from the door.
As he raised his hand, the golden threads in his robe pulsed brighter, sending a ripple of light through the fabrics of the mythical clothing.
The symbols on the door responded in kind.
Twirling veins of gold flared to life, weaving and curling, until the entire door became a beautiful portrait of shimmering lights.
He pressed his palms flat against the cold obsidian.
The reaction was instantaneous.
A sound like a huge metal gong rang from the stone.
The two Guardians lifted their weapons in perfect unison, then brought them down, their halberds striking the floor with a crash.
The ground beneath the man's feet trembled from the impact.
Lines of molten gold began to originate outwards from his hand, spreading across the door in geometric patterns.
With a hiss of old air escaping, the ancient barrier split down the center and began to grind open slowly.
A faint whisper snaked through the air as the door yawned open wider.
"Do you wish to unmake the world?"
The voice sounded so ancient and cold that it appeared to originate from the dark stone.
Hearing the question, the man paused for a moment.
Then he slowly lowered his hand from the stone, and gave a tiny unbothered smile.
"No," he said. "I only wish to play a simple game."
The corridor behind him gave a visible reaction to his words, the flames dimming, the ground beginning to shake, and the air turned heavier with the smell of blood.
Yet the man stepped forward without pause, crossing the threshold as the massive doors finished parting open.
As he stepped beyond the door, he was hit with a feeling of startling absence.
Even his senses seemed to pull away, making the man feel numb and cold.
The ground beneath him vanished, the air thinned to nothing, and for a moment, it felt as if he were falling.
But the man did not panic, and he looked into what lay beyond the doors.
There were no walls. No floors. No ceiling.
Endless and vast, there was only infinite space, spanning in all directions, so much that the term 'direction' lost meaning in this strange area.
Only a void.
In this place, any regular mortal mind would have recoiled at any attempt at comprehending what it was seeing.
But the man was not a regular mortal.
He strided forward.
In the vast space filled with nothingness, there was a single, lone object.
At the very center of the void, as if suspended by nothing, rested a singular table.
It was wide and circular, made entirely from the bones of a monster older than memory.
It was designed with the precision of a master sculptor, the bones bleached white and fused masterfully together.
The surface was unnaturally smooth, so much that it looked almost wet.
The man approached it with a steady stride, the wry smirk remaining on his face.
As he reached the table, two chairs began to take shape on either side, materializing from the oily darkness of the void.
One chair, where the man now stood, was dark and angular, its surface etched with the same golden symbols that adorned his robe.
The other was more strange, its form staying unformed, its contours stubbornly refusing to settle.
Then, across from him, something began to take shape.
A figure emerged, or rather, asserted itself into being.
Its form shifted constantly.
At times humanoid, other times, more beast than person.
Its edges shimmered like fire, never quite settling down.
"So," it said, its voice neither loud nor soft, but seemingly omnipresent, the voice seemingly coming from the void itself. "You really returned."
The man didn't flinch or show signs of fear. Instead, he calmly pulled the dark chair out casually and sat, folding his gloved fingers on the table. He nodded a small greeting at the mysterious figure.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" he replied smoothly. "You know I'm not one to leave a game just unfinished."
A moment of silence passed.
"You know what will happen if you lose this game, correct?"
The mysterious being's voice now sounded almost amused.
The man didn't answer immediately, his gloved fingers drumming lightly on the table.
"I know," he said at last. "But it is necessary."
Across from him, the shifting figure tilted its head.
"Do you really believe this game will stop whatever you are trying to stop?" the voice asked.
The man reached forward, running a gloved hand across the edge of the table.
"No," he said. "Of course not. But it will decide who gets to decide what comes after."
He looked up, his gaze meeting the flickering shape across from him.
"Unless you'd rather forfeit?"
For the first time, the void did not answer immediately.
Then, with a slow, yet graceful movement, the figure sat as well.
The table shuddered under their combined presence.
"Very well then," it said. "Let us play."
Then it reached out a flickering hand, and waved it across the table in a fluid motion.
A chessboard appeared between them.
The board was crafted from dark ivory wood, its edged outline with pale marble.
Each playing piece was exquisitely carved, and no two pieces were the same, be it pawns, bishops, or rooks.
The white army bore shapes of holy saints, kings, and valiant knights.
The black, a host of demons, shadows, and evil gods.
Time had worn none of them, all of the pieces looking like they were just freshly crafted by a master craftsman.
The man gazed down at the board.
He studied the layout for only a moment, then, without flourish or ceremony, reached for his nearest piece.
A black pawn.
He moved it forward two spaces into the center.
Click.
The quiet sound echoed across the huge dark expanse.
In the distance, the gong of a clock could be heard.
"En garde, my old friend," he said softly.
And across the board, the void smiled.