Episode 117: Beginning of the End
Written By Karl White
At the dawn of 2020 shadows grew longer. Darkness cast a deeper well. Whether we recognized it or not, life entered a more complicated, more malignant age. Diseases were mishandled. Falsehood spread faster than truth. Vitriol flourished. Something subtle shifted beneath the surface of civilization, and though few could name it, everyone felt it.
Having lost Aolani to Joseph Frost and the Dark, Veera Sarin hardened his resolve. Rejoining the Order of Wormwood in England, he devoted himself to preparing its ranks for the war he knew was coming.
Preparing for war - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
No one could say when the Sixth Procession would unfold. The ancient prophecies remained maddeningly vague, offering no certainty beyond the promise the end was drawing nearer. There was no defending against obscurity so all anyone could do was wait. But the signs were there, like sand in an hourglass, those with abilities in magic felt life slipping.
For decades, Veera mourned another loss as well. When he escaped the Abyss with Aolani and Herakles in 1940, His uncle Banerjee chose to remain behind, determined to uncover Satan's plan for Armageddon. For a time, Veera could still reach his uncle through his mind’s-eye, speaking across realms. But the connection gradually faded. Banerjee's voice diminished to a whisper, then vanished altogether.
Banerjee had raised Veera like a son, making his absence a wound that never truly healed. Veera rebuilt the Order in his uncle's honor, striving to lead as Banerjee would have. A noble example to follow, but it could never replace the man himself. Then, having Aolani, the light of his life, ripped from him by Joseph, the compounded grief became unbearable.
But, on a blustery autumn night in 2025, Veera dreamed more deeply than he had in years. Amid the shifting labyrinth of sleep, he heard a familiar voice.
BANERJEE: Veera, my boy...
It was Banerjee, as clear as dawn, appearing exactly as Veera remembered him.
VEERA: Is that really you or a specter of my subconscious?
BANERJEE: Though you stand in the world of dreams, I’m here.
Reunited in a dream - © 2025 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
From the surrounding darkness, another figure stepped forward, Aolani.
VEERA: My love. It’s so good to see you.
AOLANI: Veera, we come with news.
The Pillar stand ready - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
They spoke of movement in the Abyss. The ancient foundation straining beneath the weight of the Dark’s gathering armies. The Four Pillars stood ready. Countless demons had assembled, awaiting the moment they would finally cross into Earth and claim the ability to kill humankind.
They told Veera of their own plans, but stopped short of revealing details. The reunion was as bittersweet as it was somber, leaving Veera with the unmistakable feeling this would be the last time he’d ever hear their voices. Before parting, they explained they could no longer risk further contact. Remaining hidden was essential.
VEERA: Goodbye Uncle Banerjee. I love you more than words can say. And Aolani, my heart and soul will always belong to you.
Veera awoke the following morning carrying a profound sense of loss. And through his own lens, he began to see signs of deterioration in our world.
Ren reported more creatures stirring in the darkness. The Nightwardens responded to more agents of chaos running amok. The Order felt an unsettling instability within their magic. Sara Ivy sensed the pulse of her powers growing more frantic. Across the world, disorder spread through both society and the natural order. Fear deepened. Anger intensified. The invisible fabric holding humanity together had begun to fray, and the collective consciousness of mankind was starting to crack.
Sara feels a disturbance in nature - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
In 2032, news spread of a mysterious plague whose origin no one could explain, though it’d always existed as the Black Wind of Death. Guided by the Exarch demon Ba'el, Win Wheeler arrived at the crossroads of prophecy and annihilation. Releasing plague-infested pigeons, he unleashed a walking death that spread with terrifying speed.
The Sixth Procession, the one to trigger the Absolution had been fulfilled. Behind the scenes, the world's superpowers turned on one another, each blaming the others for unleashing a weapon they all secretly cultivated and none could control. Confusion gave way to war, famine, and death as civilization unraveled beneath the weight of its own fear.
Cities erupted with unrest, accelerating the plague's spread. Society collapsed quickly. Entire populations were devastated as terror reached every corner of the dying world.
Society collapsing - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
But humanity didn’t surrender. Pockets of civilization survived the tidal wave of rot that washed over everything. The forces of the Light fought relentlessly, destroying the reanimated and protecting those still clinging to life. But they understood the plague was only the opening act. Somewhere, the final battle was waiting to begin.
Long before settlers crossed the Great Plains of North America, the first people who walked those rolling hills spoke of a secluded basin hidden among the tallgrass, a place they believed stood closer to the spirit world than any other upon the Earth. They called it The Last Valley, though the meaning of its name was lost as generations passed and their lands were overtaken. By the time maps covered the continent, it’d become just another unnamed valley among the Flint Hills of Kansas. Yet the old name endured, because some places are remembered not for what happened there...but for what one day will.
Joseph Frost arrived alone. Having watched the world descend into chaos, he felt the moment approaching. Since inheriting Orem Black's powers, Kasson had painstakingly instructed him in the role of the Spellbinder. The training had frustrated them both. Joseph possessed the power, but not Orem's instinctive mastery. Even so, there was no one else. Opening the bridge between the earthly realm and the Abyss had become his responsibility.
The Spellbinder arrives - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
He walked through the Last Valley, a place that felt as if it had been quietly waiting since the beginning of time for him. Beneath a hazy sky, Joseph stood in the center of the vast openness, he closed his eyes and stretched out his arms.
He whispered an invocation, his voice sure and steadfast. As the orison ended, the sky opened. White clouds blackened. Thunder rolled across the prairie as lightning crashed to the earth around him, leaving behind five smoldering scars that slowly formed the points of a great star...Spirit over matter.
Then, the sky split. A red light emanated from the great beyond, and rain began to fall the color of blood. Joseph’s eyes abruptly opened.
JOSEPH: I command the elements to come together.
At once, the ancient forces obeyed. The earth groaned beneath the valley as stone and soil shifted in slow, violent waves, dragging the burned points deeper into the shape of what it was meant to be.
Blue fire rose from the scorched ground without fuel. Wind circled Joseph in widening spirals while the blood-red rain defied gravity, flowing upward from the grass towards the sky.
Then came a sound. Not thunder. Something older. A low, resonant tone rolled through the valley, vibrating through the hills, the trees, and the bones of the dead beneath the ground. It bent the air around Joseph until the field shimmered like a mirage.
The Last Valley no longer seemed fixed in one place. Its edges blurred. The horizon stretched. The ground beneath him appeared to exist in two worlds at once.
Finally, light broke through the blackened sky. Not sunlight, but something cold and unnatural, piercing the blood-red rain. Earth merged with fire, fire with wind, wind with water, water with sound, and sound with light until the valley became the center of an impossible convergence. Around Joseph, reality thinned to a razor’s edge.
Far beyond our realm, something answered. The Abyss stirred.
A nightmare comes true - © 2026 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC
The field from the dream had become real. The Spellbinder stood alone beneath a sky raining blood, arms out wide, as the boundaries between creation and the void began to weaken. The bridge had not yet opened, but the first threads were cast. The planes were moving toward one another. The beginning of the end had arrived.
TO BE CONTINUED…