NOTE: This is an idea that came to mind after spazzing over Gate. I gave it a shot and I wonder if I should leave it as is.

Of all the things that the legions of the Empire's best expected from the other side of the Gate, very few could accurately predict the emptiness that they came to. Instead of a mysterious land ripe with plunder and slaves, treasure and adventure, mystery and knowledge...

"This land is dead," Magistrate Colitus Formali remarked under his decorated helmet.

The skies were dry, devoid of life. So was everything else around them. Fortunately, the Legion's officers reined in the mass confusion that nearly destabilized the army. They had yet to encounter resistance—no, they had yet to encounter something living.

"March forward!" came the resounding order.

And so the ten best legions of the Falmartian Empire proceeded ahead in force, flanks covered by man, elf, and beast. The skies were dotted by the avian scouting parties that flew ahead to scour anything remotely habitable in this dry, dead land. For what seemed like a dried lakebed, cracked in almost every corner, there were some trees. Or more accurately, leafless timbre croaking in the wind.

In the distance was what appeared to a row of greyed towers. Civilization, perhaps? A hostile kingdom? A mirage?

Formali rode alongside the standard bearer for the First Legion. He did not like the feeling in his gut and he trusted it more than the blind optimism that began to overtake some of his contemporaries. Never mind finding creatures to enslave; better find water, fertile soil, and anything that breathed.

It was a ruined city, a megapolis that appeared to have been the haven of some ancient, wondrous civilization. Concrete structures that rose to the sky that it touched the floor of the gods, steel skeletons overgrown with drying foliage scattered across a battered stone road. Such road was so wide, two whole cohorts could march shoulder to shoulder.

Amid the dreary overgrowth, there were these iron pikes jutting high above their heads, splitting horizontally as though they were once arms that loomed over those who walked underneath. Perhaps they were lanterns? Massive iron lantern posts?

Then they came to what they believed was the plaza. A wide, sprawling concrete park, surrounded by a vast colonnade that mirrored the teeth of a battered tavern brawler. The legions came to a halt, occupying the center, eyeing with subdued wonder and anxiety the towering structures that surrounded them. Uniform in design but made of stone, nonetheless. If one could venture an estimate, the Imperial Palace would snuggly occupy the whole area. Let alone, the whole plaza appeared to have been a forum—a large one at that.

Even then, for all their awe and faded beauty, there was still the desire—now, the desperate longing—to find someone. Some of the legates had been reconsidering their approach to any denizens they might come across. Anything feral was to be put down. Anything sane was to be interrogated for all its worth.

It did not take long for the high command to agree to set up a camp here. In this open field where fruitless trees dotted once glorious grounds. What appeared to have been a recreational park at some point was now an overgrown forest of weeds and wild woods. Odd steel barriers were sighted, some crafted into the shape of animals. Perhaps this was where the children would play? An odd playground perhaps?

Come nightfall, some of the surrounding towers had been explored. The relics that were salvaged were remarkable, beyond understanding. Even the mages who had volunteered for this expedition were still searching for answers in their weathered tomes.

Iron devices, rusted to bits. Ruined clothes that would have befitted this land's nobility at some point in the past. Chipped portraits of mighty men who appeared human, whose chests were decorated by an array of colors that the intellectuals in the Legion identified as symbols of merit.

Then the mosaic that was found on a wall. Pieces had long since flaked off but the image it bore so proudly was discernible. A man and a woman, the people behind them, doing actions that seemed to hint at an imagined future. Alas, that future seemed to have eluded them. This empty city, dead city, was but a shell of what it once was.

In his tent, under the dim torch light, Magistrate Formali pored over the books that were salvaged and the foreign texts written on their fragile pages.

"Where have the gods taken us?" he wondered aloud.

Then the men started dropping like flies. The symptoms were clear: paleness of the skin, loss of strength, dizziness, vomiting, pain. And then death.

Formali cursed under his breath after seeing another soldier—gaunt, pale, and his hair all but disappeared from his skin—shut his eyes for the final time. Big, strong men reduced to shambling skeletons. Morale was low and panic was on the horizon. Perhaps the gods were tired of their warmongering, of their incessant need to conquer, that they would decide to punish them by sending them to die in a cursed land. And this unseen illness which had probably killed those that lived here would also claim the lives of those who wished to conquer it.

"We need to leave through the Gate," Colitus argued.

There were some who agreed, there were others who still persisted. But it soon came to light that they needed to return. Empty-handed. And broken beyond belief.

Princess Pina Co Lada gaped at the embers sparking from the funeral pyre of the late Colitus Formali. He had returned with a sickly Imperial Legion, himself gravely ill despite having no open wounds by which an infection could have festered. The only enemy they found was an epidemic that seemed to stay behind the Gate. And those relics that were revered were now widely considered cursed and hastily disposed of. The reputation of the Emperor and those connected to the expedition was now tarnished by a wild—and very believable—belief that the gods were testing the Empire's faith.

Euphoria and paranoia ravaged the lesser the communities while the cosmopolitan centers vigorously devoted their efforts to appease the anger of their deities.

"And so the Empire is crippled by a damned plague," her father, Emperor Molsolus Augustus, growled.

Pina looked at him, searching his angry eyes for the answers that she knew he did not have. "What about the Gate?"

The Emperor appeared nonplussed but sounded desperate. "Pray that the gods would close it soon."

"But—"

"The gods have made us their plaything. About time, I guess."

Pina deflated. She looked across to her brothers Princes Zolzal and Diabo. Both had stayed behind the Gate, to follow with ten more legions once word of progress from the first ten would reach them.

Now both eyed the throne. Neither were as religious as her or her father. Nor did they seem to comprehend just how much the Gate, the rare gift of the gods to them, was becoming more of a curse than a blessing. The princess returned her gaze to the blackened ashes that now colored the ceremonial altar.

She would have to acquire Magistrate Formali's records. He must have kept a journal for himself; there should have been scribes who recorded what they saw beyond the Gate. The least she could do was find answers to what happened, the truth to all this. At best, she could give closure to the "dead world" that killed so many fighting men with only the air they breathed.

ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: March 18, 2017

LAST EDITED: July 19, 2017

UPLOADED: July 19, 2017

NOTE: I tried Romanizing some of the names. I personally find it more appealing to have Roman/Latinized names than the original ones which seemed like parodies of bar drinks (which I still find amusing). For now, I...don't know what else to add to this.

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think of it. :)