Prologue

An ancient gold dragon tethers a citadel made of sapphire to The Heavens with a gleaming silver cord. He astrally guides the elegantly ornate sapphire citadel to maneuver into position and land on the final portal to The Hells. Just beyond the grasp hovers the juxtaposition of everything that can happen, periodically emanating swirling waves of monochrome light and shadow into the astral plane like a pulsar. Radiant blue hot sparks intermittently spew from the mathematical implications in the numerous angles of the opulent citadel as the dimensional anchor locks it into a fixed point on the enormous final portal to and from The Hells.

Sequestering himself in a meticulously crafted circle of protection within the innermost sanctuary, speaking a word only dragons can speak, He utters, causing an infinite amount of time before and after this second. The word bellows far below the range of hearing, like tectonic plates scraping across each other as a continental double bass bow, vibrating life into existence. He then aligns his world's vibration with the vibration of all and begins sympathetically reverberating the walls of the hallowed sanctuary, which causes him to enter into a molting state. The vibration continues penetrating his every atom, and he begins shedding his scales and outer skin as a perfect, albeit hollow replica, of what the dragon once was.

A great sound, like a groaning wooden structure being warped, then snapped, explodes a pregnant moment of silence, as he sheds his huge golden wings! ⁸His black pupils shrink away, leaving only shining liquid-gold eyes, and he begins to whisper tales from The Book of Ancient Wonder… As he soothingly reads aloud for several astral hours, the scrawling platinum runes within turn white hot, and the lavender parchment of its pages explodes into tiny confetti of glaring molten sparkles of brilliant white light!

Billowing clouds of ethereal purple, metallic gold, and incandescent red fog erupt around the protective circle, as consternation is thwarted by its purity. All Gods begin to tirelessly and relentlessly whirl, and whip, and weave the nebulous sacred fog into a divine filigree of synchronistic auspice to fashion the borders and backdrop. Then each deity pronounces the law of their sphere in unison, proving the necessity for a kill in the spirit world. The sacred fog forms a 360-degree whorl with the dragon at its center and blends its color to blistering white light before it forever again realizes the full gamut of frequency from the bottom to the top of the spectrum of consciousness.

The undulating wave of sacred fog turns red: An army of mounted dwarven warriors, using gargantuan golems powered by steam and divinity, collapses the foundations of a colossal train-bridge that stretches 1600 miles across an ocean, denying chaotic hordes access to the mainland of their continent.

The two counter-rotating spirals of sacred fog turn orange: A unique society of plane-jumping wizards unleashes several hundred fire elementals which burrow troughs through solid rock to guide magma out of enormous areas, leaving vast collapsing caverns which cause the very foundation of the hordeling’s continent to shift and fall beneath sea-level.

The electrified halation of sacred fog turns yellow: a colossal murmur of avian insectoids light into six Cloud Giant sky-citadels, dashing them to the ground as fragile toys beneath the weight of the entire massive universe.

The fragrant misting bouquet of sacred fog turns green: An elven army of female archers uses its ample supply of clergy and wizards to vanquish an undead wizard general, who obtained his daunting host of ever-increasing undead from the largest burial ground of the largest war.

The rolling thunder of the sacred fog turns blue: An army of aquatic humanoids utilizes giant whales and octopi that have been augmented with arcane-powered underwater siege machinery to explosively disrupt a geological barrier, allowing the ocean to spill into immense cavernous regions beneath the continent of the chaotic.

The whispering whorl of the sacred fog turns Indigo: Several thousand interplanetary vessels powered by the consumption of arcane items engage a much smaller yet vastly superior force of vessels powered by the consumption of sentient beings. The outcome is narrowly averted by a cabal of extra-dimensional watchers, who switch allegiance mid-fight.

The bountiful cornucopia of the sacred fog turns violet: It begins evaporating from the sanctuary of the dragon’s astral sapphire citadel, and the transformed dragon is once again visible. Scaleless, wingless, with eyes of liquid gold, he continues reading from the Book of Ancient Wonder and nears the completion of the ironic paradox caused by destroying The Hells with the Book which created it!

The astral sapphire citadel’s 1000 brightly glowing crimson, white, and indigo psionic turrets begin to twist and twirl, this way and that, as they blaze disruption beams into thousands of devils, demons, and other aberrant abominations who are rushing forth into the mortal world to flee The Hells before the final portal to its continuum is forever sealed! 

“I CAN DO ALL THINGS!” Exclaims The Dragon in every tongue! ²⁴

With this phrase verily declared, The Final Portal begins to wink in and out of existence! Cascading explosions large enough to destroy a planet violently roll over the impervious protections of the astrally anchored sapphire citadel.

Hell and its purveyors yield to truth! The vile self-conscious denizens who chose an evil path knowingly, as well as the malevolently dominated victims of circumstance, become victimized by their own neurotic distortions or meager prescience! The ultimate irony asks the question that cannot be answered in words that cannot be spoken as Divine Supernovas rip out through the astral plane, turning unfathomably vast areas into the grey mist of a dead, anti-magic zone.

Then suddenly all goes silent, as the dragon drags his entire reality, through then to the other side of the 5th dimension, to a world where Hell is naut. In silence, subjectivity and objectivity blend, then themselves disappear into transparency. Silence, as it was in the moments before the Ancient Gold Dragon read from the Book of Ancient Wonder to extinguish the Hell which it had created.

Chapter 1: No Good Deed

LuKay lay awake in his bed and contemplated several mechanical movements involving a gear array for a steering mechanism on his war wagon, then drifted to an alchemical formula for a potion that gives one the ability to levitate. His mind rambled over the stresses that he had been facing for the last 10 months, since he agreed to join StoutForce Adventurer's Guild.

His mind naturally polarized itself then to thoughts about how glad he was that he was apprehended and subjected to the Psi-Chiruge, a physically mind-altering process that awakened his empathy by enlarging and shrinking various areas of his brain. Up until about 3 years ago, he was struggling to camp in an urban setting. He grew up angry, socially obtuse, and feral, resulting in the life of minor crimes that followed, but he always did whatever it took to keep his very talented mind active.

Living outside of normal society had its benefits, and the free time he obtained as a result was always spent in the library studying engineering, alchemy, architecture, biology, math, and everything else he could read about for typically 16 hours a day. None of the legal jobs available to him offered the time he needed to keep his brain active, and that brain was fierce in making sure it wasn't neglected. He broke into a Church of Gravitus and procured access to a silver scrying chalice, then decided to look up 'the most successful city on the planet', since that always seemed to him the best place to start. He located the opulent city of Plebe, then stowed away on a mothlike airship to get there.

Within 5 minutes of disembarking the vessel and walking out onto the platform of the docking tower, four city guards went directly over to him, guided by the standardly issued lockets that sense and gauge good and evil. They promptly incarcerated him and forcibly subjected him to the Psi-Chiruge, permanently correcting his behavior. Once the authorities saw that his transformation had taken place properly, they let him go to do whatever he pleased.

He decided to join the Stoutforce Adventurers Guild and managed to rapidly escalate in the organization. In just 10 months, he amazingly earned his first rank of White Sash, a curriculum that typically takes 5 years or more.

He pulled the enchanted gold satin sheets up under his chin and peered around at his 10 x 12 apartment inside the Stoutforce Guildhall. He soaked his soul in the warm and vibrant, crisply contrasted purples, golds, crimsons, and greens in the motif of his furniture, and smelled the wood of the century-old floor. He took a sip of cider then replaced the tankard on his nightstand while he contrasted all this with his previously living in a dilapidated, once nice house, that was missing doors, windows, and flooring.

He mused on the way an outsider might feel about the fact that these people came and forcibly removed his entire previous outlook on life. He certainly didn't mind, and knew it was a good thing. His heart swooned with excitement as he imagined his graduation ceremony tomorrow. He would earn his white sash formally and be recognized by Stoutforce as a full-fledged member, with all the benefits and responsibilities! He had an excellent self-propelled war wagon filled with gear!  He was paying off these incredibly gaudy and lush living quarters! He had access to libraries beyond belief! Even if it cost him his life tomorrow, he was glad for all he had and proud of the incredible stride socially. He had friends! Kind people whom he loved, and who loved him! He felt the peak of his 21 year existence, and a vast myriad of opportunities lay before him! 

Knowing that his monkey-mill mind would never let him sleep, he activated the enchantments of his gold satin sheets and gently drifted into the perfect sleep. As he dreamed, he saw an ancient gold dragon... in an astral citadel made of sapphire... using a book to forever destroy Hell and all it's inhabitants... The intense imagery was certainly unlike other dreams, but when the sheet's enchantments had run their overnight course, he awoke not remembering anything at all.

He could smell breakfast as he sprang enthusiastically out of bed and did some calisthenics, then put on a predominantly loose-fitting all-white outfit with a high collar, snugged at the wrists and ankles with green, red, and turquoise embroidery. He brushed a lightly fragranced oil into his medium-length blonde hair, gargled with an alchemical mouthwash, then grabbed his staff and strided down the hall towards the kitchen to fuel his body for the big day.

Stoutforce Guildhall bustled excitedly with an assembly of over 100 members who were directing the recruits and families in their duties for the graduation day. As he walked, LuKay glanced into a small office where two elven wizards wearing identical crimson robes with elaborate embroidery of a gold dragon signed paperwork regarding the guild’s resurrection plan. Onward through the mercantile exchange area, and towards the kitchen, he passed a group of five human monks examining some backpacks that could be unfolded and made into a tent. He passed four Dwarven warriors who were watching in awe as a SmithMaster demonstrated a Holy Shield which teleports its wielder 30’ in any direction, and then its companion item, a war-hammer, which telekineses its victim 30’ back on a successful strike. He slightly bowed and waved to an envoy of three Frost Giants, who were selling an assortment of magical amulets, featuring their most popular piece: a “Dawn’s Sunset” amulet, which gathers sunlight into an extremely hot ray with indefinite range. Nearby, a rather large group of Gnomes pedal their magical and mechanical self-propelled wagons.

LuKay noticed that for some reason, a large number of people kept greeting each other saying, "Happy Hells-End!" and "Year One! Hell's-End!" and "I can do all things!"

It was at this time that out of the crowd scooted his friend Porter Foy, her copper hair roughly hewn into a purposely messy hairstyle as usual. "Happy Hells-End!" She said, and scooted uncomfortably close.

"What's going on with all that?"

LuKay scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow.

"An ancient gold Dragon performed a ritual on the astral plane and utterly obliterated the Hells! There were many accompanying events here on the physical plane as well! The Hell-Powered Cric armies have been dealt numerous epic catastrophes, including having their entire continent sink into the ocean, and all their life-draining trains stopped dead on the tracks!" 

LuKay stared as if looking through Porter Foy, and the recollection of his dream lucidly flooded into his consciousness. "I am recalling a dream I had about the entire thing! The Psi-Chiruge must have really opened up some psionic abilities! I may have been doing some sort of plane travel projection. Or perhaps receiving some extraplanar transmissions!" ⁷⁵

Porter Foy moved 1 inch closer.

"The Kingdom has even decided to start a new calendar here, Year One of the Age of Hells-End! There is going to be a huge party later in the arena, where Guildmaster Coinclasp and Battlemaster Jezalroy will be playing with the StoutForce Bards! We are the first cohort of Guild recruits to graduate on day one of year one in the age of Hells-End!"

Astounded, LuKay simply holds his arms up to each side in some sort of shrugging question with an open mouth and raised eyebrows.

Porter Foy bumps into his chest, saying;

"Happy Hells-End! I'll see you in the arena this evening!"

LuKay laughs and hugs her with one arm, saying;

"See you there! Happy Hells-End! Year One! I can do all things!" 

Chapter 2: The Uninvited

Astrally earlier in Hell:

The Lord of Hell furiously growled in a baritone hiss and transmitted his message throughout the multiverse to wherever his delinquent Vizier was hiding. "Lazaramus! We cannot have a non-punctual Vizier at this level of Hell! You will relinquish your duties immediately! I have scoured the 9 Hells, and you are nowhere to be found yet again! The armies are caught in stalemates and need supplies that only you can locate! Appear to me now!"

The godlike summoning pierced all the non-location magics Lazaramus had in place to protect his whereabouts, and he immediately popped into existence on the 9th plane of Hell before the Throne of the Dark Lord. "My Lord! I have been working on increasing our vice investments by 5000% in 6 Kingdoms after enlisting a cartel of Ice Giants and 3 White Dragons!" 

"Enough! You will relinquish all duties and information! Do you think you can lie to me? Here, allow me to expedite the process!" The Lord of Hell waved his giant arms furiously and worded a spell that sounded like a coughing croak, causing all of Lazaramus' personal property to neatly pile itself onto the floor in the Great Hall before the Throne of Hell.

"My Lord! I love you! With all my Soul!" Lazaramus bows and touches his forehead to the ground as he gets on his knees and clasps his hands in sincere prayer.

"Yes, well, I love you too, but you are far too aloof to be a Vizier of Hell. Thank you for not doing a worse job. You will be confined to the first two planes, and though you will keep all your powers, your rank will preclude you from any pleasurable privileges. You will be forced to do the bidding of creatures with 1/10th of your power and skills. We'll discuss it again in a thousand years!" 

The Dark Lord mockingly laughed, coughing molten brimstone from his bellowing lungs like an immolated gargantuan fog horn, and began waving his scepter in a grand arc to actualize the sentence⁸⁹.

Lazaramus became completely still and realized how lucky he was that the Dark Lord neatly piled all his property on the floor before the Throne of the Great Hall. While the Dark Lord's eyes were rolled, and filled with tears from laughter, he telekinesed a god-grade artifact known as the Voidsinger Spear, into an urn filled with the Ashes of St Leucas to cause a cataclysmic explosion! 

Just before the spear hit the urn, he caused time to stop momentarily, then laid his hand on his travelling trunk and teleported just outside The Hells onto the astral plane. He quickly activated his protections from being located, and peered around, attempting to get his bearings.

Something near the portal caught his attention, and he willed himself closer to it, where he saw an elaborate citadel made of sapphire as it glided up to settle at the edge of the colossal portal between the astral plane and the hells. Sapphire-hued light was emanating from it, and it somehow began causing the portal to wink in and out of existence! Hundreds of thousands of hell's denizens spilled forth onto the astral plane and the citadel opened fire with hundreds of psionic turrets, blazing rays of every color according to whom they struck. The shock waves began increasing in force as the portal began to tatter and rend! 

Lazaramus decided it was time to get the hell out of there. Just before the portal dissolved, a medium-sized vessel shaped like a cube cruised out and was weathering the shock waves well enough to pick up survivors. He willed himself into the area and dispelled his anti-location enchantments so they could see him. Within 3 minutes, they had spotted him and lowered the protections in between shock waves to let him aboard.

When he got aboard, he was pleased to see about 150 hell-spawn frantically attempting to heal themselves and crew the vessel. He saw 3 Arch-Dukes. 1 was piloting the vessel, and the other 2 were busy at a console that had a complex illusory display. There were hell-hounds, succubi, rakshasas, and various other creatures from the 1st through the 4th planes. Lazaramus spoke a command word to his trunk that then levitated off the ground and followed him over to the console with the 2 Arch-Dukes.

They were intensely discussing where and how to get out of their astral circumstance, as the portal emitted one final shockwave before disintegrating completely.

"The portal is gone! This vessel is too battered to operate, and here comes the final shock-wave!" Shrieked the 4-armed Demon as the illusory display showed a huge shock-wave rolling towards them through the astral substance! 

"I've located some sort of probe that is transmitting!" said the other as her tail switched nervously around to the other side of her body. "A powerful, celebratory signal from a place that is very likely to be inhabited! It's shielded, strong... must be a fortress. Dialing in the emergency passenger teleportation system and sending the coordinates to the captain!" 

At that moment, every creature and item in the continuum that derived power from, or originated in hell, was cut off from their source. The pilot barely managed to activate the emergency teleportation system just moments before the astral shock-wave obliterated the hellish war-vessel, and the passengers safely appeared in the industrial teleportal area of the StoutForce Guildhall! 

The transition was not a journey; it was a cessation.

One moment, Lazaramus was bracing for the non-sound of an astral shockwave that would unmake reality. Next, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting ethereal bile onto solid, unforgiving stone.

The air was the first violation. It was cold, clean, and sharp, stinging his lungs like powdered glass. The silence was the second. Gone was the multiversal scream of the Hells, the thrum of infernal power, the psychic symphony of a billion tormented souls. All he could hear was the ragged, panicked breathing of the survivors and the drip, drip, drip of water somewhere in the sudden, oppressive... light?

It was not dark. The chamber was lit by glowing crystals and faintly humming arcane devices. At its center, a complex sphere of spinning brass rings—the probe—floated above a console. Around it stood six figures in robes, their backs to the newly arrived demons. They were cheering, one slapping another on the back.

"Direct readings from the Astral!" one of them, a woman with silver hair, shouted with glee. "It's gone! The entire continuum, just...poof! The Dragon did it! Happy Hells-End!"

Another raised a goblet. "To Year One! I can do all things!"

Lazaramus, still on his knees, felt his traveling trunk thud onto the stone beside him. He felt... heavy. His body, usually a vessel of convenience for his will, now felt like a leaden suit.

"Lights," he commanded instinctively, his voice a dry croak.

Nothing happened. He tried again, pushing with his will. "Ignis!"

A tiny, pathetic spark snapped from his fingertip and died.

A collective gasp, like a dying breath, echoed from the 150 hell-spawn crowded onto the teleportal pad behind him. A nearby succubus, whose beauty could once shatter the will of archangels, looked... plain. Her skin was a dull, sickly gray, her eyes wide with a new, mortal terror.

"It's gone," whispered one of the Arch-Dukes, his four arms trembling. "The source... He... it's gone."

The sound of 150 creatures materializing, gasping, and whispering finally cut through the mages' celebration. The silver-haired woman turned, her goblet slipping from her hand to shatter on the floor.

Her eyes went wide, first at the cowering rakshasa, then to the hulking pilot demon, then to Lazaramus, who was awkwardly trying to stand.

"Devils..." she whispered. Her hand shot toward a rune on the console. "Sound the alar—"

It was not an order from Lazaramus. It was panic. The Arch-Duke, seeing the mage move, acted on millennia of infernal instinct. He lunged, his four arms grabbing the woman and her nearby compatriot. The other hell-spawn, stripped of their magic and terrified, fell upon the remaining mages with a desperate, animalistic ferocity.

Lazaramus, a being of bureaucracy and aloof political games, stood frozen. He watched in abject, paralytic horror as the room devolved into a wet, visceral chaos of claws and teeth. This wasn't war; it was butchery. The mages, specialists in divination and not combat, were dispatched in seconds.

Silence fell again, broken only by the whimpering of a hell-hound and the steady, cheerful ping of the divination probe.

Lazaramus, his "do nothing" nature utterly overwhelmed, simply stared at the carnage. This was not his plan. He didn't have a plan. He was supposed to be demoted, not... here.

The 4-armed Arch-Duke, his hands dripping, turned to Lazaramus and bowed, his voice a low growl. "My Lord Lazaramus. Your orders?"

Lazaramus tore his eyes from the scene and looked at the humming, spinning probe. "Where... where are we?" he stammered, his voice thin. "That device. It brought us here. Find out which continuum this is. Find out where in the Prime we are."