Undon never liked entering the Streams.

  It was terribly disorienting. One moment he was hurtling through the mists, and some scholar or archaeologist might judge thus that he was to reach the ground. However, 'twas not gravity, but perception, that kept one anchor'd to the Streams. He felt himself being pulled downwards towards the mists, and suddenly, all those forces vanished, as did the mists around him, and he was in complete darkness. But his mind was well-accustom'd to the notion that the will of the Streams is one's own will, and hence, he imagined a stone pathway, held up by pillars below, and he fancied himself being pulled down by gravitation. Now, of the darkness, he could do nothing, as it was a force primal beyond even himself.

  As he walked, he realized that parts of the pathway were broken, jagged, crooked grooves of polished stone peeping out at him. The darkness invaded such places, but Undon Mathrim forced himself to not think of it, as the greatest trouble was yet to come.

  A child laughed in the darkness.

  An unknown traveller would have etched this into a journal as means of losing sanity, but the Tyrant of the Ages knew better. The Grishins could hear heartbeats, hear breathing, and could sense any will, no matter how far one was, no matter how skilled one was. As if orchestrated, he heard a second childish laugh in the dark. His mind falter'd for just a moment, and for just a moment, the pathway had disappear'd, and another child had laughed, and Undon was in complete darkness, and he perceived numerous children laughing now, and it seemed to him that stars were forming in the darkness, but he knew 'twas not true - stars could not grow bigger. His suspicion was brought to life - 'twas not stars, but hands, speckled with fire and obsidian, and soon Undon could see their cloudy forms and scarred faces of smiling twilight.

  The Egor Grishins were the Fathers of Insanity, but Undon knew them only as the Children of Fire. He let their wandering fingers scratch and wound and pierce his body, and he tried not to care, but he felt melancholy clawing into his heart, along with the Taint of the Grishins. He tried to not deviate his thoughts; any ill he thought would manifest here, as the Stream's will was one's own will. To his mortal eyes, empowered by the blood of Kharr'gnurc, the Grishins were twisting clouds of despair; however, as he thought of the Children of Fire before they were Taint'd, their forms began to solidify, as did their hands. Now, the Grishins were monsters, taller than three mountains on top of one another, clad in obsidian and fire, eyes burning with madness, and the Taint. And all that time, their screeching laughs haunted Undon's ears. They touched him, and clawed at his body for numerous hours, which stretched into years as Undon kept walking; the Grishins could not do him any harm, for the black fluid in which he was cloak'd was worse Taint'd than them. So they watched and played with him, akin to humans with puppets, and tried to drag him from his stone pathway many a time, but Undon Mathrim clung on, and it was becoming harder every instant, for his memory was fading, and the pathway was crumbling. The longer one takes to visualize, the longer the Streams chain them.

  The laughing went on for decades. The stone pathway reapeared eighty years later. Undon's heart still burn'd; the Contract was broken. He was not afraid, but it seemed to him that the Grishins were satisfied, and he began to see a grey mist just a few thousand kilometers away, and fortified his imagination; the stone pathway rebuilt itself. A scream ensued, and Undon turn'd around, and felt fear after almost two centuries; the Grishins did not run akin to mortals; they will'd, and the Streams took them. Beyond the Streams, beyond the point of no return where the Grishins lurked, Undon remembered the presence of a Power Outside. He began to think of it.

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  The Stream's will was one's own will. The Grishins, laughing, screeching, were running after him, keeping up with his crumbling pathway, and he imagin'd them as dogs, and he saw their shapes twist into fiery hounds of hell, and to his surprise, he saw chains on their necks; reinvigorated, he thought once more of the Shadow, and realized that two years had already gone by as his thinking ended. In total, the Tyrant had entered the Streams eighty-two years ago, when his stone pathway disappeared into darkness before him, and the Grishins stopped.

  Before he heard the voice, he felt it.

  A force beyond life, death, and the middle ground. A being of entropy, destruction, depression taken form.

  "Undon Mathrim," the Shadow whispered with relish. The Tyrant tried to fortify his thoughts, to imagine something else, but the Shadow of Xaiorilbh was beyond will. His blood allowed him to see it for what it truly was; a cloud so dark that even the darkness around it seemed brighter. The chains of the Grishins' necks convulsed, and they screeched in fear and vanity, and want - they still longed to play with Undon. However, the eyeless Shadow continued to look at Undon, and he imagined cold sweat breaking over himself.

  "You are impatient, Undon Mathrim," the Shadow whispered, "as if you are a pawn?"

  Undon tried to fortify his mind, but was not he already Taint'd? And what use was his mortal mind before the death of all things? His voice came out as a squeak.

  "I do not fear you, Shadow of Xaiorilbh." he said, and tried to stand straight, but his posture bent with the weight of his fear. The Shadow's tone did not change.

  'You lie, Undon Mathrim," it said, "every living creature fears me. Do not think the blood of Khar'gnurc empowers you. I devoured him, as I will you today." Undon's chest was now throbbing uncontrollably, and he unconsciously mutter'd whatever the Contract told him to. As the Shadow's coiling arms reached towards Undon, he felt himself aging with every second, and realized that the Shadow was aged infinitely. He felt his voice growing weaker every second, the throbbing becoming stronger. He fell to his knees, and mutter'd, the tendrils an inch from his face, "I invoke the Nightmare Amendment," and hung his head, feeling his neck unable to toil to keep it up.

  Something ancient whispered in his mind.

  Good to see you, Undon Mathrim, my name is Uctaax'kesz.

  Then he heard a scream, and smelled something burning, and opened his eyes and saw that the Contract had burnt the tendrils, along with his own chest, and strength was gifted to him, and the stone pathway was reformed, and the mists were so close, and his newfound strength, gifted by the Nightmare, was fading; he got up, and the Shadow bellowed, "Curse you, Uctaax'kesz!" And Undon turned, and he saw another humanoid as dark as the Shadow, unarmed; no, his arms were his swords, and with them he cut off every tendril, but it regrew; his eyes met Undon's for a moment, and whispered in his mind:

  Go. Save the Contract. Our fight will never cease.

  Undon jumped into the mists as the Grishins' chains were releas'd.