Thought to be banished to the underworld by the humans, Krista mysteriously finds herself as the first of her kind to walk on the surface in centuries. This was caused by one of the underworld’s corrupt leaders, Danil, who uses her in an unholy ritual to set their people free. Danil’s infectious touch gives Krista the nightmarish disease known as Mental Damnation.She becomes the key interest of two men, Paladin and Dr. Alsroc, who struggle to make sense of her sudden appearance and how it relates to Mental Damnation. Her friend back in the underworld, Darkwing, abandons his gang to begin his search for her.
Krista finds herself torn between two worlds, gaining acceptance among the humans while experiencing inner turmoil from hallucinations caused by her disease. These visions paint a hellish dream world known as Dreadweave Pass where the realm’s ruler, a corrupt god known as the Weaver, is on the hunt for her. Krista’s blood is believed to be a key component for the Weaver’s retribution against the Heavenly Kingdoms that once banished him!
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Upon a battlefield, where I lay.Blood on my breath, soon to see death,Dark tunnel with blooming light.This was all that was to stay.
Judgment from above, seen me unfit.Sought unworthy from the holy.Awaken in hills of bone.Body of two, one of spirit.
Born anew from my found master.His will, mortals’ minds I drill.Serving without question.So his vengeance will be achieved faster. . .. . . Here I am,in the land of the damned.
Three silhouettes stood cast in the dim light of an icy cold stone room. Twin fiery torches mounted on opposite walls lit the chamber, exposing two human-like figures while the third—the one in the middle—was almost unrecognizable. A discoloured torso with no arms, its skin was being peeled back by shiny hooks. The face of the character to the left was hidden in shadow, but they wore leather gloves and held a knife, the polished blade reflecting the torchlight.The figure to the right brushed his bone-thin hair from his pale, wrinkled face. He could feel the scraping of his polished gauntlet against his flaky scalp. The protective glove was just one piece of a blood-red-and-black armoured suit, pointed and sharp at every edge. The breastplate had a crest with a large reptilian eye in the center and stylized jaw lines branching down to the waist where sharp teeth were molded to the metal, creating the illusion of a horrific cycloptic face on his torso.He was General Dievourse, and he commanded the army in the hell known as Dreadweave Pass.Ironic for the land of the damned to have a room so cold, the general thought. He ran his tongue along his pointed teeth and hocked a thick lump of saliva to the ground. However, it is not much of a surprise that my master, the Weaver, would have a chamber of this temperature. Being the ruler of Dreadweave Pass, he must plan every detail of this hell to ensure he has full control of it—even creating bizarre, unexpected features like this ice-cold room. The cold is needed to properly stitch together his puppets from the flesh of mortals.
This divide in their friendship forces Krista to persist on her own as the Five Guardians become crazed from an unknown disease - Mental Damnation. After their infection, the Guardians develop a bizarre interest in her, claiming they must reap her innocence for their newfound master, the Weaver.With a military dictatorship, politically-driven gangs and their guardians infected and on a hunt for her, Krista has limited options for survival: Does she fend for her life in the City of Renascence, against menacing forces, or risk leaving everything behind and enter the uncharted realm of the underworld?
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Darkness and death…Hills of bone,Rivers of bloodSkies of the mourning dead
Death overruledJudgment was taken.Here I am,In the land of the damned.
Just a few words of many used to describe my master’s realm – Dreadweave Pass, a temporary purgatory for souls to redeem themselves in the eyes of the gods in the Heavenly Kingdoms. I often chuckle to myself, wondering why the gods assumed I could be redeemed. They would have been better off sending me into one of the deeper hells of Dega’Mostikas’ Triangle. There is no redemption for the life I lived in the mortal realm – or the one I live now, serving my master, the Weaver.I suppose I will have to remind the gods of this fact once my life here ends and I return to the gates of the Heavenly Kingdoms. Although that seems rather unlikely, considering that the Weaver’s necromantic arts have made me immortal. I can never again experience what I knew as death. I will simply have to tell the gods with my blade once we free my master and wage war on the Heavenly Kingdoms for banishing him to Dreadweave Pass."General Dievourse?" A voice rang out in the silence.General Dievourse shot to life, his pure white eyes widening in surprise as he shook off his daydream. His pale, decaying face turned toward the humanoid silhouette that loomed ahead of him as his internal monolog dissolved.Dievourse recognized the silhouette. It was his lieutenant, standing tall in his studded leather armour, wrapped in belts and buckles holding a range of assassination equipment – from knives to poison needles and even some weaponry Dievourse could not identify."The child." The lieutenant pointed down and the general's eyes followed, coming to rest on a small, pasty, pathetic-looking human boy, about twelve years old. The child's bright blue eyes shone with fear from under wisps of dark hair. His neck was wrapped in a rusty chain.Dievourse, holding the other end of the chain, lifted his hand. Saying nothing, he examined the child."It is to be sent to the Weaver, correct?" the lieutenant asked."Correct, lieutenant," Dievourse replied, lowering the chain.The lieutenant nodded. "With any hope, it will meet the Weaver's expectations. The Gatekeepers look long and hard for them in the mortal realm."Dievourse nodded with a scowl. “One can only hope.”
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