It was the heat of a desert plain, at high noon, the sun mocking him just overhead, beating down upon him with all of its cosmic fury. There was nothing to mark the landscape, just endless dunes of dusty sand, ever shifting and changing to obscure his tracks and remind him that there was no way back. It seemed that he would die here, drying in the sun until nothing was left but a withered, leathery husk.

As he topped the next dune, he saw the only structure that had been and ever would be erected in this wasteland. It was a massive portal, taller than any Yew tree, constructed of an alien materiel that resembled green soapstone. As he dragged nearer to it, what had been a cloudy swirl between the massive pillars began to clear, lifting as a fog from a city at dawn. He had convinced himself to turn away from the portal, drag himself back into the desert to die instead of facing what lay on the other side.

"Asterius..."

He looked toward the portal, now drawn to it, a force greater than his will pulling him toward the towering edifice. The murk had cleared from it, revealing the tormented land beyond. An endless plain of black earth spread before him, dotted by the occasional fortress of rusting iron or cyclopean obelisk of polished obsidian. The sky overhead was the purple of an ogre's pupils, streaked by frequent explosions of crimson lightning and the accompanying crack of ear-splitting thunder. As he walked through the portal, a rainstorm broke, pouring blood from a lacerated sky, turning his pale skin the color of a fresh wound.

"Asterius..."

He turned fast toward the voice, a voice that seemed to fill his brain with beetles, making his eyes water in pain. The thunderous utterance of his name had come from a massive figure, standing where, just scant moments before, the gate had occupied. It was a daemon, larger than any type seen in Britannia before, larger than the most powerful Slayer that had ever trod unholy ground. Its eyes glowed a sickly green, the green of decay and swamp gas. It carried in its enormous hand a sword, longer than three men were tall, crackling with a venomous, black energy.

"What... what do you want?! Why have you drawn me here?!", Asterius screamed at the nightmarish beast before him.

"You will be our salvation, Asterius. When you allow yourself to let the change go forth, you and your demonic brood will be our saviours, freeing us from our reality, unleasing us upon yours. You will be our king, ruling the worlds we will take with magic, blood, and the iron of our blades."

"You will be Azil, Lord of the Abyssal Host."

With ringing thunder in his ears, Asterius awoke, not immediately recognizing his surroundings, sure he had gotten out again and committed another atrocity. Then he remembered Calista offering to guard him while he slept, putting him to rest in her own bed, putting herself at risk to keep him from running rampant. Calista still sat beside the bed, sword in her lap, looking at him with relief that the night had ended without incident.

At least, without any visible incidents.