Chapter 6: It’s always the elders

Moira circled the kneeling horror at a cautious distance.

“This is…” She searched for words. “Disturbing.”

“Thank you.”

“I did not intend that as praise.”

“Just as well, I’ll take it as praise.”

The Caretaker remained completely motionless.

Gene approached carefully.

Up close, the Caretaker was even more unsettling.

The white mask he wore was cracked and weathered, as though it had been used for multiple years.

 The dark overalls were stitched from varying coarse material that somehow absorbed and displaced light. 

The knife’s edge gleamed with a supernatural sharpness.

Yet beneath the radiant terror, Gene felt a strange connection to him.

This creature was an extension of his imagination.

His words made manifest.

He cautiously placed a hand on the Caretaker’s shoulder.

The fabric was surprisingly soft and warm.

“Stand.”

The giant rose towering to his full height.

Gene craned his neck in awe.

“Wow. You’re as big than I pictured.”

Moira touched the Forge’s floating interface.

A fresh notification appeared.

FIRST SUMMON BONUS

+500 Points

Gene whistled.

“I guess originality pays.”

Moira’s expression remained troubled.

“Your summon generated five separate warning alerts.”

“Is that uncommon?”

“I have never seen even one during an initial summon.”

Gene scratched at the back of his head.

“Should I be worried?”

“Possibly. It really depends on how far the alerts reached.”

“Good to know.”

Before Gene could ask more, the chamber doors burst open.

Three figures strode quickly into the hall wearing silver-trimmed robes.

At their center, an older man with a hawkish face and steel-gray hair walked with purpose. 

Arcane symbols glittered along his sleeves.

His eyes opened wide as they locked onto the Caretaker.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“What,” he said slowly, “is that thing?”

Moira grimaced but took a slight bow.

“Master Oren.”

The older man approached closer, his gaze never leaving the towering horror.

The Caretaker responded by following with his slightly tilting head.

The Caretaker was standing protectively in front of Gene.

Oren’s jaw tightened.

“Explain.”

Moira gestured toward Gene.

“Our new candidate, Gene Gingerline has just completed his first summon.”

Oren looked Gene up and down.

“This?”

Gene gave a small wave.

“Hi.”

Oren’s eyes turned back to the Caretaker.

He raised a hand. A cluster of glowing sigils materialized and circled the masked figure.

“Impossible.”

Oren’s eyes widened.

“Rare rank. Absolute loyalty. Fear-aspected manifestation.”

He lowered his hand and stared at Gene as if he had discovered a loaded siege weapon in a kindergarten.

“What source material did you use?”

Gene shrugged.

“Actually, I based him off a pretty cheesy movie marathon.”

The older man did not smile.

“Summoner Gingerline,” Oren said gravely, “your arrival may alter the balance of this world.”

Gene looked up at his seven-foot-tall slasher.

“Yeah,” he said. “ I guess that’s sort of the plan.”

Moira rolled her eyes,” Master Oren, I have to continue the onboarding, please let yourself out.” 

She pressed a button on the interface.

The world did not change all at once.

It folded.

Like a balled up peice of paper, space bent inward, collapsing around its self. 

 Gene Gingerline felt reality shift dangerously around him, as if the universe had decided in that moment that it was no longer required to obey its normal geometry.

For one brief moment, they stood quietly in the vast chamber of the Chronicle Forge.

The next second , everything went white.

Then black.

Then something incorporating all colors. 

The world screamed colors like it was in a kaleidoscope. 

He tasted copper in his throat as he was assaulted by the colors. 

The sensation of motion without movement overtook him, as if he were being carried through invisible currents made of thought rather than matter. 

There was no up or down. 

No sense of time. 

Only the feeling of being… rewritten.

And then—

He felt himself falling again.