Tuera fully expected the trail to lead up to the nearby cultist camp up the ridge... but no. The trail went due east, far past the ridge, and into the moonlit desert. The path led them forward along the rocks and sand for some time, with the trail lit in the phosphorescent blue of the Serpent Staff's eye-beams. Finally, their destination appeared directly in front of them, as if it was simply conjured from nowhere. How it managed to remain hidden until the very last moment was unclear, for it was an ancient structure of immense and imposing size, dwarfing even the Tower of Bats they'd seemingly just left.

Jagged spires of rock, hundreds of feet high, reached for the heavens. The ragged peaks all seemed to emerge outward from a single point, as if a mountain had exploded from within, and the debris had been frozen in place the instant after detonation. The nighted stone structures of the Giant-Kings bridged the gaps between the titanic spears of stone. Immense black stone pillars topped with fire burned brightly in the darkness, dwarfing the crimson banners and stone huts of the cultists taking up residence here. The cultists themselves could barely be seen, scurrying about like ants within the shadows of these ancient ruins.

"So... this is the place, huh?" Tuera said as the two women approached, keeping low and trying to stay hidden among the rocks and dead trees.

"Yep!" Monty replied, as he shut off his eye-beams and Tuera slid the staff back in the sling on her back. "This is the place. The Summoning Place, in fact!"

"Wait," Tuera paused, and started to rub her temple. "It's just called 'The Summoning Place?' Like, that's its actual name?" She sighed heavily, already dreading the answer.

"To be fair, the Priestking had a long, complicated, nigh-unpronounceable name for it, all full of needless pomp and circumstance," Monty replied. "I always just called it The Summoning Place, because... well, that's what this is, y'know? Heh heh. The ground we're currently standing on contains a nodule of powerful ley energies, and the barriers between worlds are much weaker here than elsewhere. There are concentrations of leylines like this snaking through all corners of the Giant-Kings old empire, but this structure was built on top of one of the strongest."

"So, if this is the Summoning Place..." Ioanna asked quietly, trying to get a better look at the ruins ahead without being seen. "What did this... what, Priestking? Is that what you called him? What did he summon?"

"Oh, all sorts of eldritch horrors from beyond The Veil!" Monty said with a laugh. "Messengers, monsters, servants, you name it. Every day, it was more tentacles, eyeballs, and teeth than you could shake a stick at! The most common realm they pulled from was that of Father Set, since the Giant-Kings always fancied themselves the favored of the Old Serpent, of course. But, y'know, there were others... and sometimes, they reached places they never intended. Leave the door open for too long, and there's no telling who might escape!" He started laughing again.

"Alright, shut up a minute," Tuera said, shushing him harshly. "We need to find some way to get in, find Shevatas, and get out."

"Well, if we really do want to find this bloke of yours, I suggest we work quickly," Monty said, adamantly refusing to shut up. "Almost every single ritual that I saw conducted here was some manner of blood sacrifice, and it was always incredibly messy. Now, I can't speak for the current inhabitants, but I suspect that if they've gotten around to kidnapping people and bringing them straight here, they've probably figured out that part already."

Tuera inhaled sharply through her nostrils, pinching the bridge of her nose, before exhaling again.

"Right. Okay. Yes. Sure. Fine. Whatever." She cleared her throat. "Guess there's no time to waste. C'mon, let's get a closer look."

The closer they got to the Summoning Place, the more unnerved Ioanna became.

The atmosphere of this settlement of cultists was completely different from those camped in front of the Dregs from the night before. That had been wild and cacophonous, full of shouting crowds and jabbering madmen; the bloodthirsty feral howls of men driven to madness and reduced to the level of wild beasts. But this? This was something else entirely. Men and women, half-naked and covered in painted runes, wearing masks of various shapes (but all painted red) moved slowly and carefully through the ancient ruins, bearing torches and murmuring in low, hushed tones. The shimmering lights of the fires and torches all around them cast disquieting shadows on the crowd, making them flicker in and out of view, as if they were not... quite in sync with reality.

Thankfully, the circles of light around the torches didn't reach all that far, and both Tuera and Ioanna were able to stay relatively hidden. They kept themselves low, with Tuera taking the lead, and they skirted along the outside of the settlement nestled in the ruins with the crowd of cultists seemingly none the wiser.

The people in the crowd all seemed to be converging on a single point: a platform situated beneath a truly massive stone mural. The titanic relief depicted a large serpent coiling its way through the cosmos, surrounded by stars, planets, and constellations. This was no ordinary snake, however, as the singular tail split off into seven heads. Standing beneath the carved stone mural was a female figure, holding her hands to the sky, and wearing a mask and a cape made of human skin. And then, she began to speak:

"The Lord of Empty Abodes waits atop his throne of madness, across the black seas of infinity," the cult leader bellowed, raising her hands high above her head. "We offer this paltry tribute of meat and bone to you, Mighty Yog, that you might turn your gaze upon us. Peel apart our minds and feast upon our flesh as you turn the keys of time."

"Turn the key," the crowd murmured with one voice. "Open the gate."

Ioanna shrank into herself. The words seemed to hang heavily in the air like a film of oil, clinging to the inside of her skull and making her deeply, deeply uncomfortable. She grit her teeth and instinctively started to grip her arms tightly.

"Something's wrong," Tuera said firmly, briefly bringing Ioanna out of herself.

"That's... an understatement," Ioanna whispered through ragged breaths. Tuera grabbed her by the shoulder, and tried to shake her out of her vaguely fugue state.

"No, not that," Tuera hissed, pointing not at the crowd, but at a point just on the edge of the illumination. "That, over there!" Ioanna squinted trying to see what she was pointing at through the darkness.

"Cages?" she asked, unsure if what she was seeing was correct. Tuera nodded.

"Full cages," Tuera said, with a concerned expression. "By the looks of things, they already have people waiting to be sacrificed. Plenty of people, even. Why kidnap someone else?"

"Got me," Monty added from over Tuera's shoulder. "Back in the day, the Priestking never seemed all that particular about who he was sacrificing. He just always needed more bodies, y'know?"

"Alright, I got an idea," Tuera said, reaching behind her to grab her broken iron sword. She flipped it around her fingers to grip it by the shattered blade, and handed it hilt-first to Ioanna. "Here, take this. It looks like those cages are made of bone and rope, so this should cut through it easy enough. Open the cages, look for Shevatas, and escape. I'll find you after I'm finished."

"Me?" Ioanna asked, taking the dagger-like broken sword with surprise. "Why me?"

"Because," Tuera said, pulling the bastard sword dangling off her hip free of its sling. "They won't notice you while I create a... let's call it a 'distraction,' yeah?" She smiled, and her red eyes twinkled, catching the light from the distant flickering torches. "Be quick and stay out of sight. We'll be out of here in no time."

The two women left in opposite directions, with Tuera making a beeline for the crowd of cultists. She adjusted her grip on the sword as she swiftly approached the illuminated stone platforms, and at that moment Monty decided to speak up next to her ear.

"So, what exactly is your plan here?" He asked, apparently confused. "There's only one of you, and at least a dozen cultists ahead of us that I can see."

"More like 20," Tuera corrected him with a cocky smirk. There was a brief, awkward pause.

"What, you're going to take them on all at once?" he hissed. Tuera simply nodded. "... are you sure this is going to work?" the staff asked, with an edge of concern in his voice. Tuera shrugged.

"You haven't seen me fight yet," she calmly replied. "Besides: no matter what happens, I'll still be alive at the end of this. That's the most important thing, as far as I'm concerned," she said, almost without thinking. At that, Monty started to chuckle.

"You don't really care about any of these people, do you?" he asked. Again, there was another awkward pause, except it was Tuera who felt awkward this time.

"...let's put a pin in that, and come back to it later. Alright?" Tuera replied, and Monty kept chortling softly to himself. The sound was quickly drowned out as Tuera let out a very loud, shrill whistle, that echoed off the ancient stone pillars. The chanting stopped, and all heads in the crowd turned at the sound as Tuera stepped into the light, sword in hand.

Strangely, none of the cultists drew their weapons when Tuera made her presence known. They merely turned as one to stare at her... silently. The flickering firelight cast disturbing shadows on the carved red masks of the crowd.

The priestess, standing above the crowd on a raised platform, turned to look as well. She was clad only in a loincloth, a tall red mask, and a cape, but every inch of her exposed flesh was covered in a web of intricate runes, painted in bright inks that shimmered in the firelight and was a stark contrast to her dark skin. Her long black hair was tied into tentacle-like dreadlocks, wrapped in strands of blood-red cloth. Tuera glanced behind the cult leader, and finally saw Shevatas: he was strung up to a wooden frame, but even from this distance she could see that he was still moving and squirming, trying to wiggle free from his restraints. So, that was good.

From behind her tall, ornately decorated red mask, the high priestess spoke:

"And so, the Ashen Exile arrives," she boomed, her growling voice amplified by the acoustics of the ruins. "Just as the Lord of Empty Abodes said she would. But you have come too late. You cannot stop it now. The ritual has already begun, and the walls between worlds have begun to weaken!"

"I'm not here for a ritual," Tuera said, lifting up her sword to point at Shevatas. "I'm here for him. And if I have to cut through every single one of you to get him back, then I will."

"Outstanding!" The cult leader exclaimed, laughing raucously. She reached behind her, pulling out a pair of crude and wicked looking curved swords. Every single member of the masked crowd pulled out weapons as well: swords, axes, clubs, and anything else that could be brandished in one hand.

Again, that same thought crossed her mind: something was seriously wrong here. But she couldn't quite place her finger on what. She had dealt with crazed, bloodthirsty, borderline suicidal cultists worshiping Outer Gods from beyond the veil of time and space so much in the past that this alone was no cause for concern. This was just something that happened to her every once in a while, apparently. And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something...

She'd figure it out later. Now it was time to fight.

She gripped her sword tightly, holding it at the ready by her face with both hands, and kicked off the ground, instantly bursting into a sprint. Tuera closed the distance in seconds, and swung her sword with a diagonal flash of steel. The strike practically cleaved the nearest cultist in two, sending him reeling backwards in a gout of crimson. She swung her sword again, wheeling around to the other side, catching two with one swipe; an arm, still tightly gripping a torch, went tumbling away into the darkness.

"Come on!" Tuera shouted, parrying a foes sword with one hand, and reaching out with the other. "Show me what you've really got!" Her outstretched hand found a necklace of fangs wrapped around the neck of a nearby cultist, and she dragged it towards her with all her might. There was a loud crack of splintering wood as she headbutted him, and the mask splintered and shattered as if it were made of glass.

The newly unmasked cultist roared and spat blood at her from a mouth full of fangs, bellowing like a wild animal. He stared with empty, scarred over eye sockets, biting and snarling and thrashing as she held him at arms length. She shoved the point of her blade into his open mouth, and the sword slid in cleanly, straight through his head and out the back of his skull. She adjusted her grip and kept running, holding the limp corpse impaled on her sword and using the makeshift shield of meat to barrel straight through the crowd. Cultists were either thrown aside from the impact, or caught the exposed end of the sword sticking out in front.

Soon, her charge began to slow. The crowd was pushing back as one, locking arms like the shields of a phalanx, while more cultists from behind and to her sides started grabbing at her. Scarred and calloused hands wrapped themselves around her limbs, clawing at her. There were nearly a dozen – maybe more – trying their best to hold her down, while others from behind readied swords and spears to strike when she was finally immobile. For a few brief seconds, it looked like they would overpower her...

A bellowing war cry cut through the air, seconds before the sword sliced through the crowd of cultists. It was a veritable whirlwind of steel, with Tuera spinning in the center of it and the sword cleaving everything in its circular path around her. All the cultists turned into little more than piles of giblets, and a spray of blood and body parts rained around her, splashing wetly on the stones at her feet.

There were only a handful now, all rushing at her with jagged swords and hand axes... and the cult leader, still in the same spot as before, watching all the bloodshed unfold. They rushed at her with an almost suicidal ferocity, and each one was cut down whenever they got close.

"Yog whispered of you, Ashen Exile," the woman in the mask said calmly, her voice unnaturally amplified. "A dark creature of magic and war. Born of the stars, cast adrift in time, and with an unquenchable thirst for violence and blood..." She started cackling darkly. "You do not disappoint."

Tuera said nothing, as yet another cultist was charging her. She parried the clumsy strike, very nearly knocking the sword out of his hands, and swung her sword back around to cleave him straight through the neck. The severed head tumbled away, sending a spray of blood splashing onto the stones below.

This whole situation was incredibly frustrating, because Tuera knew something was wrong, but she couldn't puzzle out what. Why was the cult leader so calm as she so easily cut down all of her followers? Blind devotion? Suicidal overconfidence? Just plain stupidity? It didn't make sense, and she was too busy carving up her attackers like cuts of meat to properly figure it out.

Another cultist tried rushing her from behind. She didn't even bother turning around, ducking the swing as his axe sailed the air above her head. She spun the sword in her hand and plunged it behind her, impaling him on the point; she grabbed the pommel and used her other hand like a fulcrum, pivoting the sword down and splitting his guts open. Tuera got back on her feet, ignoring the body behind her as it spilled its intestines on the stones, and continued advancing up the stone steps to the cult leader.

"Wonderful," the cult leader said, adjusting her grip on the swords in her hands. "Now it is just you... and me..." Her voice seemed to quaver, as if she could barely contain her excitement.

"No, it's just me..." Tuera growled angrily... but then faltered in her approach. The last time she said those words, it hadn't ended well, and that made this whole situation even more unsettling. But she brushed off this unpleasant sensation, gripped her sword with both hands, and charged, leaping forward with the speed and power of a panther on the hunt.

There was a flash of steel and a flurry of sparks, but Tuera's sword did not find her mark. The priestess parried the strike with her dual blades, ducked off to the side, dove straight past, and carried on down the stairs. Tuera glanced over her shoulder, and saw the cult leader wading through the pile of corpses littering the stones. She was walking backwards, facing Tuera, and trailing the tips of her blades through the bodies, as the discarded torches scattered around cast disquieting shadows in every direction.

Once more, she briefly hesitated. And then, Tuera turned away from the priestess, rushing to the wooden rack Shevatas was tied to. He was still moving, but barely; now that she was close, it was obvious he was beaten, and lost a lot of blood, only struggling against his restraints through sheer force of will... or, perhaps, out of spite. She quickly cut through his restraints, and he fell like a puppet with cut strings. She held out an arm and caught him by the chest before he collapsed completely.

"Didn..." Shevatas muttered, and a trail of blood spilled from his open mouth. "D-didn't expect... t'see you... again..."

"Can you stand?" Tuera asked, trying to heft him back on his feet; he wasn't heavy, but Shevatas' legs didn't seem to want to cooperate. He grunted, clearly trying his best to move.

"... I can crawl," he finally coughed out; he reached up, wiping the blood off his face with the back of his hand. Tuera shrugged, setting him on the rocks and turning back to the cult leader; the masked woman was standing in the middle of the platform below, once again waiting. What was she doing?

"It'll have to do," Tuera said. "Go. Find Ioanna, and get out of here. I've got one more cultist to kill." Shevatas nodded, trying his best to move away; he started on all fours, and he almost managed to get back on two feet before moving outside Tuera's peripheral vision... but didn't.

"You know, I am kind of curious..." Tuera said, slowly walking back down the stairs, advancing on the priestess. "What was it you were trying to accomplish here? You said Yog told you I was coming... but your sacrifice has escaped, and all your cultists are dead. So... what, exactly, was the plan?"

The cult leader began to laugh.

"That fool on the rack? He wasn't the sacrifice," she said, leaping towards Tuera with blades outstretched. "He was the bait!"

"What."

Tuera was so completely caught off guard that she almost didn't bring up her sword in time. There was a clangor of blades, inches away from Tuera's face, before the cultist pulled back and started to swing again... and again... and again. The strikes were wild and ferocious, always coming from two different directions at once, and just off-tempo enough that Tuera couldn't seem to find an opening between deflecting the blows.

"The Lord of Empty Abodes hungers for flesh, it's true... but he demands a worthy sacrifice!" the priestess yelled. "Not some tied up weakling... but a pile of bloody bodies, cut down in malice and anger!" As they fought, Tuera suddenly became aware: there was far, far too much blood around them. It was as if they were standing in an ankle-deep pool of crimson. It sloshed and splashed against every movement. Even with all the bodies, there shouldn't have been this much blood...

"And you, Ashen Exile... have done more than enough!"

Without warning, the cult leader tossed both of her swords away, and once again leapt for Tuera with her arms outstretched. Tuera reacted instinctively, assuming the priestess was leaping for her, and dodging accordingly... but to her surprise and shock, the cultist grabbed Tuera's sword, wrapping her hands around the blade, and yanking it forward, spearing herself straight through the chest.

"What the-" Tuera exclaimed.

"I told you," the cult leader said, seemingly unfazed by the sword impaling her. "The ritual had already begun. As you rent our flesh, Yog peeled away our minds, and devoured our souls. Each and every death by your hands within the summoning circle fed my master... and now, I shall be the vessel for his Avatar!"

"Summoning..." Tuera muttered, as the missing puzzle piece fell in place, and everything suddenly made sense. She looked down, and watched as the blood covering the stones began to boil and congeal, lit from underneath by a vibrant red glow. An elaborate circular design, ringed by runes and with several pentacles seemingly layered on top of one another, revealed itself through the pool of blood and piles of body parts.

It had been there the whole time. Every single cultist had died within the summoning circle.

Tuera pulled her sword free from the priestess, who continued to stand in the center of the platform, seemingly unaware of the blood gushing from her gut wound like a waterfall. She held her arms up to either side, looking to the sky, and as she spoke again, the carved up bodies all around her started to move...

"Eater of Souls, the ancient rites have been spoken!" the priestess said, suddenly rising into the air by unknown means. "As you rend my flesh, turn the key, and open the gate! Let us bask in the radiance of your iridescent globes, stupendous in their malign suggestiveness!" The blood and the bodies surrounding her also started to rise, orbiting her and floating through the air, as if caught in the middle of a very slow moving tornado. The air around this macabre sight seemed to bloat and warp, as dancing lights appeared from the aether. The floating bodies melted and twisted apart, fusing together into a single nightmarish shape, with the cult leader at the heart of it.

Tuera was already running. She knew exactly what was coming next, and knew that she needed to be far, far away from it when it happened.

"Ioanna!" Tuera shouted, as she ran in the direction of the cages she'd seen before. "Shevatas! Where are you?!" She quickly scanned the darkness ahead of her, trying to find them before it was too late. All she could see were a few torches, burnt down to nothing but embers, and what remained of the empty cages. There were a few exhausted stragglers, crawling along the ground out of the cages and trying desperately to escape, but she didn't see her companions.

"Tuera!" a voice cut through the darkness, accompanied by the sound of... hooves? "I found us a way out!" Tuera wheeled around, and was surprised to find Ioanna approaching on the back of a horse, and holding the reins of a second close by. The horses seemed to be covered in the same kind of red war paint the cultists had covered themselves in. Sitting in front of her, slumped against her horse's neck, was the limp form of Shevatas.

"Ioanna!" Tuera shouted, returning her bloodied sword to its sling and rushing to the other horse. "Oh, you bloody legend! C'mon, we've got to get out of here!" She pulled herself up and practically vaulted onto the horses back, taking the reins from Ioanna.

"What's going -" Ioanna began, but Tuera cut her off.

"There's no time!" she shouted, urging the horse forward. "Ride! Ride, as if Hell itself is on your heels – for it is!"

A booming thunderclap echoed off every surface, and the darkness was no longer absolute. A red glow washed over everything, like a tidal wave of light, as inhuman wails cut through the air and pierced into their minds. The horses whinnied and bucked against their riders at the sound, but the pair of women urged their horses forward and soon began to gallop as fast as they could away from the chaos behind them and into the darkness of the desert.

Despite herself, Tuera took one last glance over her shoulder... and the sight was exactly as she expected.

Enormous tentacles, ephemeral and the size of the broken mountains enclosing the Summoning Place, were writhing and thrashing against the ancient stone edifices. Ethereal flames licked every surface and bolts of lightning speared the sky, bathing the land in alien colors from outside the visible spectrum, the very sight of which would drive normal men mad. Eyes peered out of holes rent in the fabric of space, and multitudinous horrors from beyond the veil of the cosmos seemed to spill out. A voice of thousands, all speaking as one and muttering blasphemous curses of the Black Speech, issued forth, barely a whisper yet so loud and terrifying that the words themselves seemed to manifest as a new physical reality.

Tuera turned away and urged her horse to go even faster.

The Summoning Place was no longer in view. The tentacled monster – that Avatar of Yog – was also far, far behind them. The pair of horses the women were riding were no longer in a furious gallop, as they had been during their mad dash to escape, but were now trotting along at a comfortable canter. Shevatas was still passed out, fast asleep against the neck of Ioanna's horse... and Ioanna was also asleep, slumped over on top of him. Tuera had taken to holding the reins of both horses, guiding them deeper and deeper into the desert.

"So..." Monty said, breaking the silence. Tuera jolted at the sound coming from her back; she'd forgotten the staff was even there. "How are you holding up?"

"Frustrated," Tuera said, after a long pause. "I rushed in like a fool, and played right into their hands. It seems obvious, in retrospect. And the worst part is, without my magic, I can't imagine any way it could've gone different. I... don't like being used as a pawn in the schemes of others." It reminds me too much of what I was like when my father was still alive, she added in her head, but did not say aloud. Tuera let out an exhausted sigh. "On the plus side, I was right."

"About?" the staff asked, confused.

"I'm still alive," she said. "Even if others find some way to use me for their own ends, if I'm still alive at the end of it all? As far as I'm concerned, I've won. And at the end of the day, that's all that truly matters. Strip away all of my other wants, needs, desires, and goals, and the only thing left of me is one single word: survival."

"Quite the pragmatic outlook you've got," Monty said with a chuckle. Tuera shrugged.

"Comes with the territory, I guess."