Of the journey that I've traversed so far, the same journey that crippled my vision and left me grounded permanently, will possibly be the same journey that ends me. Six months: six months of my life I have spent, locked away in this stone-cold cavern, devoid of the warm sun I had grown so accustomed to. The tribals that inhabited this enormous cave. These gentiles, 'Broken Shards,' as they named themselves, were completely unaware of normal human civilization living up topside. Their skin, eyes, multiple other senses became enhanced beyond normality for an average human being. Warrik and I had compared their hearing abilities, to that of a bat. They excelled in seeing within the darkest corners of their 'land,' where we had to stay in the bounds of the only light sources in the cavern. They did however, have difficulties perceiving that of which me, Warrik, Darren, and York could easily percieve with our vision.

But what really brought us here, was not the evolutionary changes of the Broken Shards. No... it was what we had gotten through our readings. That of unknown energy, of no known source emitting yet again, unknown radiation from it's deep underground. The Shards wouldn't let us have a look at it, study it, or even physically touch it, if such a thing is possible. 'Work.' They said. That we must work our way onto the final step of the thousand foot ladder, of the social complexity's of these tribals. That if we did reach a high social profile, we would be allowed to see the source of the very thing we came for, half a year ago. The Broken Shards explanation, obviously, was revolving around superstitious and religious belief. That the source of the power comes from a, from what I've gathered listening to them, a perfectly edged, six meter tall travel device, letting us unlock the secrets of quantum physics. But today, I believe, on this historic day in history, on 2013 December Sixteenth, they let us finally investigate. This would be a major breakthrough on my mission, of course. Not to mention that when we return onto the surface, the Anthropology Department of Harvard, MIT, or any other infamous college will wish to meet with the tribe. Although, the elder might be reluctant to meet with them. Stubborn, ignorant, arrogant, any negative thing you can think of a human being is possibly true about him. He completely shunned out our research and search, saying that outsiders 'touching' what was the Broken Shards, simply stating that the foreign feeling of the source on the hands of another outside would 'taint' it. Ruin it, remove it's 'holiness.'

While the tribals were ignorant, they were kind. Humble, at most. Makalawah, the Elder of the Broken Shards had fed us, dressed us in their tribe's attire and apparel. Adjusting to their way of life was the most difficult part about it, though. They never had outsiders before, so they had no idea what to do when we came, they were afraid; Scared. Terrified. They had never seen any other human besides their own people, so it was a confusing situation for themselves. They were mostly scared of our size, stature, and skin colour. The tallest tribal was only four feet, and nine inches. Completely unnatural. They were most fascinated with Darren, the only African in our group. Like children, they were mesmerized simply by the darkness and tone of his skin.

But personal affairs aside, it was our time to see the source, for after half the year was over, Makalawah decided we were worthy of seeing the 'Gate of Zarrah.'

Of what I write, speak, and say in this moment, can not at all describe what I'm seeing. The radiation type, which I've personally named Auldyr Type-1, is absolutely stunning. It stood about fifteen feet, in a box like shape, with the width of three meters. In the perimeter of this... thing, it with held a wall of purple, glowing, neon light. Specs of purple matter rose up from every ten inch area, ascending four meters before it 'popped.' Or, by some impossibility, disappeared, somehow.

Malakawah stated that only I was permitted to enter, the others were only supposed to merely observe me, as I delve into the unknown. All was packed for me: a journal, digital camera, water, evidence bag, Warrik's Taurus Raging Bull, and my .45 Handgun.

I stated my goodbye's to my friends, and stepped forward to the structure, slowly looking back towards the rest of the men.

"Derrik," said Darren.

"You stay safe for us, and do good for humanity."

"Will do, Darren."

I turn back around, facing away from what might be my last look at any human contact I might have for the remainder of my life.

"Alright." I said to myself, taking a deep breath in, then exhaling slowly.

I quickly stood in the center of the source of the energy, my vision twisting to an unnatural degree, my sight becoming dark and violet.

The others just stood there, watching me. No attempt was made to pull me out of it, they just stood... and watched. The looks of horror on their face was disturbing, something that would keep reoccurring in my memories for the rest of my life. But Malakawah just smiled so arrogantly and smugly, like he knew that this would play out this way. I wanted to leave, but I couldn't... like some force was keeping me here, restricting my movements. Locking my joints in place.

But all I knew was: that ugly, smug smile, would be the last face, I'd probably ever see.

As what was left of my vision returned, my body felt as if it's limbs were torn off in the intermission, and quickly sewn back on. Extremely excruciating pain, that of which was even more unbearable than the incident I had with an IED, year back.

But from what I look at now, is basically indescribable. What sits to the east of myself, a lake of lava, stretching three hundred meters, and a cleverly built bridge across it. The landscape was astounding, like I've never seen before. The entire area had this sand-like substance covering it. While it was in abundance, however, it also looked like it had been carved into for centuries. The ceiling stretched up beyond my vision, as did it horizontally. I stood from atop a gorge, on this gigantic, red sand wall. But from where I stood, I discerned a city, of lights glowing in the distance. There was a road I could follow, that lead straight towards it, but it was a good twenty meters downwards, and there was no ladder. I had to look for alternatives, which would take me a while. In the mean time, I snapped several pictures with the camera, collected several patches of sand, and wrote down in my journal what I was seeing. But for what I saw; words could literally not describe it, or what I exactly saw.

After taking in the scenery, I decided to finally try and get down, after seeing a passing group of men below. This would be my only chance.

I began to shout in their direction, while slowly climbing down the deadly ridges. Shouting and screaming for assistance for them to notice me, which I don't think was working. They only stood in their place, looking around in all directions. They came in a group of four, all carrying municipal supplies and rifles; only two of the weapons I recognized, the largest of the four carrying an M1 Grand, a rifle I hadn't seen in ages. The smallest, wielding a T91. The other two... completely unknown to myself. It's hard to describe. Maybe the bastard combination of several Battle, and Assault Rifles. The first, having the barrel of a SCAR-L, the butt of it was like an M16A4, except at each end, a small cushioned hook protruded out of it, letting the user have their shoulder locked indefinitely on the butt. The stock body kit, was again, compromised of a material and kit I have never seen before: what looked like a foregrip on the left most part of the firearm, was being held on to by the third man in the squad. Several attachments in all, some that looked like they were fashioned five hundred years ahead of our time: just as the gun had looked. Invented by master gunsmiths, basically.

My frantic cry finally succeeded, thought: the one holding the M1 took notice of me descending from and to, ridge to ridge. He told me to just jump from where I was, since I was high enough to survive it. I thought he was insane: but knowing that I was little more than five meters from the ground, well, it assured me, to some extend. I nose dived from my position, falling through the air, flailing my arms at some uncontrollable way. I was deathly afraid of heights and falling, something I had completely forgotten about. Without completely realizing to what position I was falling at, I slammed into the ground, my cervical vertebrae taking the force of the fall. But the momentum of the drop and angle that I jumped at, had let me roll back onto my feet from the position I was in. The ground was soft, like that of sheep's wool, for it was enough to keep me from breaking and or damaging my spinal cord in any serious way.

I propped myself up, stumbling backwards as I tried to steady myself on stable ground.

When I stopped gasping for air, I turned towards the group, and they could only stare in mesmerization of me.

But instantly, I realized: they were not men, but of humanoid. Half their face a sickly, rotted green, and the other half that of the structure of a pig. Only moderate human features were upon their face, such as the nose, jaw, and eyeballs. They all only claimed one eye colour: the green vibrant emerald glistening from their sight. But, these... things. These things were utter abominations, their vile facial features literally almost made me gag at the very glance of them.

I told them to stand still, and pose with their weaponry as I took out my camera to take a photograph of them. They complied without hesitation, which gave indication that they had an idea to what a camera was. I quickly described their appearance in graphic detail in my journal, to which I placed back in my bag. The survival bag, was actually my great grandfather's, for when he had fought in the second world war as a Medic. The bag itself had the medicinal cross stitched on the latch, which had moderate sentimental value to me.

"Quo est ipsa?" The largest one spoke, standing at abruptly six feet. And two inches. He was speaking to the others in his group. Oddly enough, he could communicate in Latin, somehow. 'Who is he?' The actual question is: who are they?

They spoke among themselves as I decided to sit down on the main road, and write in my journal about my experiences and memories. I got several more bags of evidence, consisting of a different type of sand, and a small bag of shell casings, cartridges, and bullets scattered in the sand: the ammunition was not that of any firearm I've ever worked with, used, or seen. The shell was eight inches long, and one centimeter thick, it was not of metal or lead, but of some other impossibly hard material.

"Amicus," the tall one said.

"By the laws governing Ashton, you are hereby under arrest under the Intruder Act of Promerys Varen."

Well, that did not go as I had planned.

I couldn't decide what to do; go with them, or fight until I, or they . I knew it would probably be me, though. I only had Warrik's Raging Bull on hand, and a bowie knife; all of which were much less effective than four assault rifles.

"On the grounds of what?"

"Instated by Promerys Varen in 8'107, current King of Terreria, it states that all and every visitor of Terreria must inform of their visit, be inviter by Promerys himself, and or hold Mark Five Grantmanship. All of which, you were never given."

"Look, you're soldiers, correct?"

"Obviously. Third Degree Footmen Yahrez Vas Krey, of Phoenix Squad of the Ashton Militia."

"Well, I may not know how esteemed your rank is, but I do know the place of mine. Lieutenant Derrik Claudius Rome, of the United States Navy, of the USS Abraham Lincoln. Take some pity on a navyman, eh?"

He looked at me with such confusion that I've only seen on the faces of canines. He turns back toward his squad mates, and they continue to discuss the situation.

"By the Soldier Act of 7'506'1, instated by Xenophon Zarrah, we hereby offer you free passage into Ashton. But therefore, you must visit to Promerys Varen in person. The invitation is not optional."

The encounter took a turn from scientific pursuit, towards the spectrum of violence, and weirdness. I, however, was not complaining. I needed to see who was incharge, and meet with him. The soldiers didn't deter my plans, thankfully.

Seeing Promerys himself was... well, unsettling. He was more humanoid than any of these things. He had a lack of noticeable muscle mass and fat, a sign of age. His eyes were pure black, and he lacked any other feature of his eyes. Cornea, pupil, non existent. The jaw extended over the rest of his mouth. He was around three metres tall, unbelievably. He was quickly described in my journal, and photographed as he was speaking with the others.

"Ah, so this is the one."

"Yes, Promerys. Shall we leave, and give you peace?"

"I would appreciate it." Varen said.

The soldiers left, and I was left with... him.

"So... mister Rome. You've caused quite a stir in Ashton. No one had even know there were any remaining portals, we all thought they were gone. Destroyed."

"Huh?"

"Oh, I forget. You're an outsider."

"You see," he began.

"We had a fallout with certain... governments, and they possessed the portals. Their power, their structure, everything. I dare not speak of their names, though. But you see, when The Seperation began... I had them all disabled."

"So if they were all disabled, then how did you manage to travel here, to Netherworld?"

I was put on the spot with such a tedious question, it was ridiculous. He expects me, a fucking researcher for this pseudoscience bullshit expedition.

"Look. Promerys. I would hate to be disrespectful, but... I have no absolute clue what the hell you're talking about."

He seemed amused at my unintended ignorance, cracking a smile at what I said. He slowly arose from his clay throne, and walked down those cryptic stairs that were lit by glowing stone. He was much larger than his other species, standing at a staggering three meters at most. His age was showing, as his skin had grown to some decay of leather, which made his blotchy red skin even more grotesque. His body had a lack of muscle mass and or fat stores anywhere, it was like he was a literal walking skeleton with skin stapled into place around his god forsaken body. His large, black eyes made him even more unsettling as he trotted down the stairs.

"Look... Mister Rome, I have reason to believe that you are apart of either The Remnants, and or Templars. And my belief, alone, is enough to put you through capital punishment." He said, towering over me as an adult stands over a child.

"But I'm reasonable. You seem like a good man. And that too, alone, is enough to make me want to help you."

I disliked the direction to which our dialogue was heading.

"See, Mister Rome, Ashton, my beautiful city, has been plagued by violence, poverty, and hunger. Many suffer from it, and many do not." Promerys stated.

"And here you come like a blazing fireball, into my world, just like Alta Vesp predicted. You are what I need."

"Well... what do you need?"

He turned his gaze to the large window panes to the west side of the temple, overlooking Ashton in all it's glory. We walked over to where we could observe what happened in his city: from what I saw, there seemed to be refugee centers scattered about Ashton, few hospitals, and many other things that represented Ashton as a hell hole. A large part of the city looked peaceful, and well off upon it's own, but that doesn't excuse the rest.

"See down below? I want YOU to fix that."

"Fix what?"

"So you see, but you do not listen.-"

"Derrik," he continued.

"I take care of Terreria's problems on a country wide scale. I need you to be the micro... to be the savior of the men and women down there. When you fix the problems that plague all of my citizens, then you may go back home. Deal?"

I obviously had no choice in the matter, except to shake his oddly textured hand in agreement.

Little did I know, that I would change the lives of billions of beings for millenniums to come.

*Note from the author: I am writing my first ten chapters over because they suck ass."