The Chained One shuddered, as it was assaulted by great and terrible visions of a great beast, one that it had hoped never to see again. Ia! Ia! Ngolo'i Sh'thcalag! Borodoi K'vthasa! K'vthasa! The Emperor In Chains keened a shrill chant, flailing its arms like a madman, begging not to be consumed. Steam rose from the chains, and all that saw the strange deity were met with a terrible sight. The Chained God was writhing in some imagined pain, and when the bout was finished, The Emperor In Chains felt spent, empty, like a husk of some dead snake. It rose once more, but lacked the strength to do so. It limped back to its chair, away from the wretched demigoddess.
THERE IS LITTLE TIME. the voice changed now, completely devoid of any emotion. THE MORTAL SHALL HAVE TO DO. I SWEAR UPON THE SEVEN OBSIDIAN PILLARS THAT I SHALL DO NO HARM TO HER, BUT THE MORTAL CANNOT FAIL. THE WRETCHED THING FROM THE VOID WILL COME, AND IF SHE IS NOT READY, ALL IS LOST. I WILL SEE TO RAISING AN ARMY, ONE THAT I WISH MY BROTHER GHERONATON TO LEAD. WHAT SAY YOU? It turned to the ones telling Poena about Refuge. WHY DO YOU SPEAK TO HER OF SUCH THINGS? WHAT WARRANTS THE BARING OF OUR SECRETS? EVEN IF SHE IS THE DAUGHTER OF... HIM, SHE IS STILL A MORTAL. YOU KNOW OF MY FEELINGS ON THIS SUBJECT.