Prologue — Death

The psychiatric ward smelled like disinfectant and boiled cabbage.
The clock ticked loud enough to make my teeth itch. I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the wall socket like it was a portal to a better world.

I’d already tried therapy, pills, meditation, and “art therapy” (which was just me drawing pentagrams until the staff took away my crayons).
Nothing worked.

So tonight, I had a new plan.
The kind of plan a visionary has.

I held my plastic dinner fork like a ceremonial dagger.
“Today,” I whispered, “I pierce the veil.”

My hand reached toward the socket—
“ADAM! STOP!”
Two orderlies tackled me from behind, pinning me to the mattress.
Dr. Holt rushed in, pale. “That was close… another second and—”

KRAK-BOOM!

The window shattered inward.
A single bolt of lightning streaked through the air, bypassed everyone, and hit only me.

There was no pain.
Only the sensation of falling upward.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the ward anymore.

I was lying on a slab of obsidian in the center of a massive cavern. Red light pulsed from veins in the walls. Torches burned with black flame. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of brimstone.

Around me stood twenty robed figures, each far too tall, their robes barely concealing clawed hands, curling horns, and glowing, inhuman eyes.
Their chanting rattled my bones:

“Karamalius… Karamalius… CHOSEN ONE!”

I glanced down. My hands… skeletal. My robe… a deep crimson stitched with symbols that writhed when I looked at them.

It all made perfect sense.

I sat up slowly, meeting the burning gazes of my new congregation.
“My children,” I said, my voice echoing unnaturally through the cavern, “the veil between worlds has parted, and your Prophet walks among you once more.”

The demons dropped to one knee in unison, claws scraping against the stone floor.

One stepped forward, his maw full of jagged teeth. “Great One… the prophecy foretold your return in the age of fire and ash. Command us, and it shall be done.”

I rose from the altar, letting my robe flow like a king’s mantle.
“Bring me offerings,” I intoned. “Gold, flesh, and wine… for tonight we celebrate my resurrection.”

The cult roared in approval.

I had no idea what Karamalius was supposed to do, but if they wanted a Prophet, I’d be the best damn skeleton messiah they’d ever seen.