[WP] "Breathe in, then breathe it all out. Every bit. You aren't going to want air in your lungs for this."

...

The Spheres of Chaos resonated in the void beyond the plane. Eron knew this, no matter what his eyes did to try and convince him otherwise. All of the Mages might be staring at the ancient relics as if they were just out of hand's reach, but anyone foolish enough to approach them was going to end like young Luther did not five moments ago.

Behind them, watching on with the embers of hatred hidden well beneath a blackened Helm, the Great Undead Rodrick towered by the exit.

His massive sword rested quietly, its point deep into the stone floor of the room. So far as any knew, the weapon was never cleaned, corrupted surface dulled and crusted by those many it already cleaved in twain. Of whatever immense number that count now held, Eron had witnessed several foolish enough to add towards its tally in the past months, their failures to escape passing its message clearly to the rest.

"The cleaner has been summoned." The fallen Knight's dark voice was heavy from within the thick armor, unconcerned by the ragged gasps sputtering from the torso that had landed by its feet. "This will be dealt with."

Eron heard the words in the background of his mind, just as he saw what was left from the rest of his fellow's corpse scattered along the walls and ceiling. Distantly he knew the stench of death left on their robes would never truly come out again.

It never did, as of late.

Before all their number, The Great robed figure nodded absently in the Undead's direction, cloak and robes aglow the powers of magics. aura reaching out to engulf all around him in an almost painful source to those around him. Eron could never decide which was more terrifying between the spheres and the Great Lord, but his presence was almost welcomed this day. That meant they were safe, when put into context.

More accurately: A safe-er day.

Mages in the Dark Lord's service met gruesome ends on a regular interval, such was to be expected as the nature of their service. The man's presence, by no means guaranteed safety for any of them. More often than not actually a rather impressive hindrance to anyone wishing to survive into old age. Should the man choose, he could easily damn all of those murmuring spells to death, hellfire, and perhaps even eternal suffering.

Today though, was a day of learning with casts and rituals being lead by the Great one himself, all in an effort to teach them through example. They were tools, crafted carefully for whatever twisted and unholy purposes the man desired, taught for the same reasons a cow was fattened for slaughter: but Eron tried to consider it from a different light.

The more he learned, the longer he might survive.

"Breathe in, then Breathe it all out." Cold words of instruction rippled along the dense air that had built up around them. It seemed to pass in ways not familiar to Eron's ears, magic filled air of the Eastern Keep unable to properly pass sound.

Another scream was ripped from someone to his far right, and in a panic Eron almost stumbled over his own chants as he risked a strained glance towards the direction. The woman standing with arms outstretched beside him returned it, worry on her face not matching the quiet voice of perfectly pronouncing the ritual from her lips.

Her fear only magnified Eron's own. Sandra possibly the most talented of their ever-dwindling numbers and rank, and her concerned expression meant more than any number of dying screams around them.

"Breathe it all out. Every bit." The cold command seemed to seize his chest as the words reached him, and Eron felt his lungs pressing in, heaving the last puffs of air. "You aren't going to want air in your lungs for this."

He caught Sandra's eyes once more, panic and blue gemstones in the radiant chaos manifesting withing the room's center. For all they had survived, perhaps this was the end after all. An ambush from unawares, a day of partial-refuge turned wicked.

The Spheres churned, appearing rising off the the floor, light bending about them as sparks of fire and watching eyes seemed to flare from hidden depths. Claws reached from the tendrils and folds of space about them, un-godly howls pierced through to deafen them, and the runes upon the floor seemed to burn hot with the powers that fed their small protection.

Reaching out, Eron caught Sandra's hand as the airs stirred to powerful gusts, and another of the group fell screaming, clutching at their head until it burst with a sickening "pop" that once again coated them in red.

Before them all, the Dark Lord was smiling, white teeth flashing the colors of chaos as his staff raised, and the wind pulled in: Rushing towards the center and away from all who might wish to take in breath. It shimmered above the spheres, tainted light folding upon itself in patterns and fractals. The passage formed.

Eron's eyes widened in horror, crack of solidifying casts shattering through the chamber with a blast that made his ears ring and vision sway before the air once again returned and his breathing passed with grateful heaves.

Still, even the blood thundered in his ears and through, pulsing to heavily he thought his eyes might burst: he watched. Beside him, Eron felt Sandra's grip tighten around his fingers.

It was done. All the deaths, all the teachings, all the sacrifices- and the man had done it. The mad immortal genius had opened the portal he'd been seeking.

Through to the otherside, all present could see strange towers of metal and glass. There were strange lines of clouds trailed behind gleaming beasts of impossible speeds, and strange colored demons rushing in numbers along rivers of black stone. Together, all who witnessed the strange world beyond the veil felt the pull- not just air, but magic being drawn towards that far-off place. The portal was drinking it, gasping and grappling for it like a man dying of thirst.

"I thought as much..." The Great Mage walked casually over the ripples of energy lashing along the floor, rising to the air as if walking up wide steps until he stood before the portal. "A world without magic can exist after all. Not completely without magic, but still..."

His staff slowly dipped towards the portal, passing through unhindered, slightest ripple along its surface the only proof. Slowly he turned towards those survivors of the session, ten robed figures watching with horrified and dumbstruck stares: They all knew what was coming, what always occurred in such a circumstance. The Dark Lord smiled, staff fading from existence with a calm clap of his hands.

"Now, once again: I'm going to need some volunteers."

Those ancient eyes fell upon Eron and Sandra at once, smile twisting as he caught sight of their hands still clasped together. Neither let go. Frozen in terror, or emboldened in pitiful resistance: Eron couldn't decide.

"I think you'll both do nicely."