The Portal - III
Across the realms of time and the vastness of space exists a
multitude of sentience. Spread across the darkness and apart from one another
these nodes of life will never come to meet or interact. Except when a portal
is created.
In the
early days of humanity one such portal was thrust open for a chance meeting between
worlds. One might dream of such an encounter. The ability to share knowledge
and wealth of years between peoples. A bridge of eternity created for the
benefit of all creation. A rope dropped into a dark well to heave the wretched
to salvation. This portal was not such a device of prosperity.
It seems
that the mechanism for creating a portal of such magnitude requires a humongous
amount of energy to achieve. The kind of energy an entire world could wield.
The kind of power that is stolen from its host, used against its will for any means
necessary. A portal created with the spark of life, stolen at death.
When the
first portal opened on the barren plains of the Antarctic there was no one
there to greet the travelers. As all the lives used to open the portal were
spent before a return could be made they were stuck in the cold wastes. No lives
to trade, and being of the prideful nature they were, would not create a portal
from their own lives. The visitors withered away and died leaving not a speck
of their visit but faint traces in the ice unseen by human eyes.
The next
portal was smaller and carried only two things from its origin: A single
creature and a text of great knowledge. Both were greeted by a human and both
were taken hostage. The creature was soon destroyed for being an alien it would
not last long among the humans. However, the text was channeled and translated
by its captor. In the deserts where it was first met by the human sun was it
granted new life on this planet of feeble humans. Here would it stay for the
rest of creation, though the original text has long been lost, being replaced
by the translation.
The
next portal did not come from some other worldly origin to pop into existence
on a quiet plain in rural Zimbabwe, or a desert steppe in west China, or even
the metropolis of Berlin. The next portal was created by a human in a small
seaside town of New England, USA. A small town, outside Boston, in the deep
woods, was wiped off its inhabitants when a man, in possession of the
translated texts, opened a portal to another world. What he say cannot be said
for the horrors he unknowingly unleashed upon himself are indescribable. But
what can be said is this: misreading an ancient text can have dire consequences
for one who wishes for paradise and instead invites himself into hell.
This
text, of which I have spoken, still exists. These words that can call upon
forces to create portals to netherworlds, distant vistas, and heavens unknown,
are in human hands at this very moment. Two such texts are held under lock and
key, and neither owners know of this power, but one, in the hands of a man in
London, England, is the source of great destruction.
A
portal is set to open. Only time will tell if the day of reckoning will arise.
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