When Old Asdeus regained his sense of self he found himself buried deep underground.

Stones erupted all around as he instantly rose above the debris. Surrounded by the unfeeling crimson walls and bubbling lava he noted that he had shrank back to his original size. He was also grappling with a stunning headache of unknown origin.

He slowly staggered to his feet to try and orient himself. The world was spinning with Old Asdeus as he struggled to get his bearings. He felt strangely disoriented — his mind swirled — as if an alien presence were invading his psyche, trying to redefine who he is, striving to obliterate his very essence. He crashed harsh against the ground as he clutched at his head.

He roared in agony while countless tentacles flailed around etching deep wounds into the side of the cliffs. Many of his clawed hands dug deep into the ground as he screeched.

…

The grueling experience lasted for months. Throughout the months he had lashed out at anything and everything that was in his immediate presence, effectively ripping new holes all around him into the solid stone. Not many beasts dared to venture near him due to the noise and the dreadful aura that he unceasingly emitted.

The body of the monarch was completely drained. When the agony had finally come to an end everything changed. The once lustrous dark skin had lost its radiance, his skin replaced by a decaying coating that exuded only illness. Many of his limbs had withered away, not sparing his majestic tentacles either. The once great crown that he had worn with pride had shriveled up and his overall presence had diminished. He felt that something was stolen from him, something was ripped from him, something very dear. He felt empty inside.

It was not only in physical capabilities where changes occurred. He felt a cloud rapidly descending on his mind. Struggling against it proved to be useless as it slowly spread and overwhelmed his psyche bit by bit. Soon, he could not remember his name. Anytime he tried to recall it, the name Profugus presented itself. Engraved in his mind, disguised as truth. However, he knew, somewhere deep down he knew that it wasn’t his true name, and yet he could not refute it. Ultimately, he couldn’t do anything but accept it as an indisputable reality.

As he pondered, he felt his mental capacity shrinking yet again and fear grabbed his many hearts for the first time since time immemorial. He could not recall ever feeling like this. The feeling of betrayal was nothing compared to the feeling of losing yourself, the feeling of not knowing anymore who you are, the feeling of slowly forgetting even the little that yesterday you still recalled. The feeling of slowly losing yourself to dreams.

…

He moved sluggishly through the underground cave systems, limping forward as he was looking for a suitable place to rest. He moved through yet another fissure and entered a dark opening to the next cave when in the darkness dozens of crimson orbs lit alight. He didn’t pay attention to them; he didn’t have to. They were just small fry. Lesser demons, not even worth a glance.

When he passed by them his senses momentarily sharpened, from the corner of his vision he saw several Hellhounds launching at him. He could perfectly see in the darkness just like any demon, still as he watched the stupid beasts flying towards him, he couldn’t help but question his vision. Time slowed to a crawl as he studied the offenders. He had lost much of his sense of self, memories, ability to think clearly, and power in the past months. He had been weakened greatly, still one thing was unmistakably echoing inside of his skull. Such Impudence. Deserves only death.

It was a crime punishable by death to attack him. Still, never was he attacked by such weaklings. “So, it has come to this.” He spoke out these words inaudibly, as anger took over.

He was shaking uncontrollably — his tentacles curled up and his claws interlocked while giving off a screeching sound — while the beasts flew towards him, intent on devouring his flesh, he stared at them in profound hatred and disgust. “Know your place vermin!” He called out in a commanding tone laced with poison as he blew up. Not just figuratively but literally as a torrent of flames were released, so intense, so extreme that the aggressors’ universal ability to resist high temperatures were completely ignored as they disintegrated. There was nothing left of them, not even ash.

Old Profugus let out a deep sigh before moving on. If every pebble dared to mess with a mountain, he was not sure if he could keep his sanity intact. He hoped in vain that these mongrels were sick, and that was why they attacked him. He would soon learn that it was not the case.

…

He wandered the maze for years before he had finally found a suitable place to settle down. Throughout the years he kept losing bits and pieces of his memory, finally he had totally forgotten all about his past. He had degenerated both mentally and physically reaching a state somewhere between a feral demon and a mindless beast.

He lived his days as an abnormality of the trench far away from outside contact. Those few demons that were unfortunate enough to encounter him were swiftly dealt with, just like any other beast that tried to get the better of him. Though he was no longer capable of critical nor complex thought and his body had deteriorated beyond recognition he was still a force to be reckoned with.

He didn’t know that demon-kind as a whole had moved underground, but he didn’t care either. He had only one thing on his mind. One thing that compelled him to move. Sustenance. Through the years he no longer acted out of conscious thought, but on instinct as he looked for ways to regain his former self. He spent his days treading the abyss looking for nourishment and collecting crystals that gave off an alluring light.

As years turned into decades and decades into centuries the crystals which he had scavenged and brought up from the deep had filled up many passages, many caves, but the most unique ones he kept close. He didn’t know what they were, however, he felt a connection to them. He sensed that they were special.

Time passed and crystals left unchecked had spread around the passages. They had a strange ability to grow and multiple if left unrestrained. Their birthplace was the abyss so it was no surprise that even though they were beautiful, they were volatile as well.

They would attract the creatures of the abyss with their light, and absorb their essence the moment they touched it, thus growing in power, size and number. The crystals of the abyss had become common place in the trench. Most inhabitants of the trenches were replaced as time passed by and now only a select few remained who still recalled times when there were no crystals lighting up the endless passages of the deep.

Time passed, Profogus fed and collected, slowly regaining a semblance of his former self, then one day Old Profugus felt a curious smell permeating the air. It was unlike that of the foul smell normally present. It was an alluring sweet aroma that compelled him to move.

He ignored the displeasure of passing through countless hurdles as his objective hanged in the front of his many eyes. He stormed through the alleyways at break-neck speeds, ultimately coming to a halt at the opening of a cave. He moved carefully.

He trod silently through the area, fervently looking for the purpose of his action.

Finally, he laid eyes on the source of the smell.