Gone to the Place of Foggy Dreams

Beyond the Door of Concealed Vengeance

The journey south took Cyborg past countless rows of the massive metal skyscrapers, with no unique buildings coming into sight initially. It took him far too long to come across a simple, small and square bronze building overshadowed by the rest of the city. By the time he had finally managed to reach what he hoped was the destination marked for him by that weird poem, the darkness had once again fallen over Azarath, and Cyborg did his best to remain calm. White snow danced around him as the wind howled through the buildings around him, creating an unearthly hollow reverberating noise that deepened the chilling atmosphere.

"It's about damn time!" he thought with a huff, as he went up to the door and yanked it open.

Cyborg did his best to block out the images of the charred corpses that he had seen dotting the landscape around him during his journey towards the southern section of the city. He had made himself continue running, knowing that he couldn't afford to be paralyzed with horror when Raven had to be found. The nightmare that Robin had described to the team back in their home was still stuck in the back of his mind, and Cyborg didn't want to dwell on the awful possibilities that such a dream hinted at.

When he walked inside, he found what seemed to be a small warehouse, with shelves of odd construction tools lining numerous silver shelves, and plans spread out over the few tables in sight. The building appeared to be nothing more than one upper room, with a small set of stairs descending into a lower level and out of sight.

Cyborg turned on his shoulder light, and gazed around the room, not sure where he was supposed to begin looking. He approached the plans on the table just in front of him, and gawked at the creations written on the material.

"Woah, how the hell did these people come up with this? This looks like the stuff Da Vinci planned all those centuries ago!"

The plans described a number of odd projects, one of them that looked vaguely like angel wings. It seemed that the Azarathians had attempted to discover a means for giving humans the ability to fly.

Around the room, similar plans were discovered, all containing strange creations that had been planned to give the Azarathians a powerful technological boost. Oddly, no weapon plans could be found, despite the affinity for metal materials that the lost people had forever held on to.

"Looks like the people here were nonviolent. I guess I can't blame them. They probably never planned on fighting wars, since that would contradict everything I've seen and heard so far."

He looked around him, and decided to check out the lower level, hoping to find some sort of a clue on Raven's whereabouts, or the 'piece of truth' that he was supposed to find. The descent downwards was short, and ended with Cyborg walking into a nearly empty room with only one table in the middle. On the table were a few musty pieces of that odd parchment-like material, all of them covered in dust and looking ancient.

Cyborg gave the room a disappointed look, his hopes for a major clue fading away. He shone his light over the note, bored and not expecting to read anything useful.

The Voice of Azarath

"When the First Azar and her entourage came to this sacred place, they discovered rather quickly that the City has a life of its own. That is to say, Azarath, since the beginning of its existence, has, and always will be fully sentient.

During the start of our people's mission to save others from Earth's wars and horrors, this place willingly molded itself to suit our purposes. Within the first year of our arrival here, Azarath had created itself as a replica of the paradise that our forbearers had sought for so long. Towering buildings of precious metals soon rose high into the atmosphere of our home, all molded by Azarath's will. The First Azar merely offered up our people's deep wish for a beautiful, peaceful home where we would be able to congregate and build up our lives, and our City granted it to us freely.

In time, Azarath developed for itself a voice of sort, in order to 'communicate' with us, and to guide us in prayer for the people left behind on Earth. This 'voice' was what we now refer to as the prayer horn of Azarath. It is near impossible to recall when this place first created this sound, as not even the First Azar was able to remember it. What seems likely is that Azarath created it one day, after hearing our collective desire to gather together throughout the day in mass prayer sessions.

Many describe the prayer horn as a beautiful, high note that soothes the senses and calms our minds, in preparation for deep praying. There are some of us who have, at one point, described the sound as the City 'singing' to its people. None of us have ever found where the source of the horn is. That, too, is something that none of the Azars have ever discovered. The prayer horn was created from Azarath's will, just as the whole City was long ago."

Cyborg finished reading the text and began to shudder violently as it all started to sink in. Since he had first heard Robin describe everything that had happened to him in that awful nightmare, the notion that somebody or something had been guiding his teammate around was not lost on him. The disturbing symbols that Robin had described to them, each of them appearing in rapid succession after the jagged scorch mark had been seen, made Cyborg wonder if there was a presence in his friend's dream that was attempting to speak symbolically to him.

The note only confirmed all of Cyborg's fearful thoughts.

"This whole time, this place has been 'singing' to us?! That means that in Robin's nightmare, Azarath was...speaking to him? If that's true, then that has to mean that this place was the force guiding him and creating those awful symbols, not the woman he saw...what..."

"And that damn noise! That's this city's voice? But why does that 'voice' echo just before all Hell breaks loose here? Is it some sort of a desperate warning from Azarath itself to hide?"

All around him, the prayer horn suddenly erupted into life once more, and Cyborg swore violently as he jumped back nearly a foot in fright. The awful noise closed in on him from all directions, wailing without end.

"Crap, what do I do?! I don't have a damn clue what sort of nightmare I'm about to face! And I don't know where to go from here! There aren't any more doors, and the only way out is up!" he sputtered, in fear for his safety, as he knew that everything around him was about to go through another horrific transformation like the city had twice already.

He looked around madly, hoping to find a quick answer to his turmoil. But of course, no doors could be seen. Cyborg raised his head to the ceiling, and let out a shout filled with terror and fury.

"If you're really watching me, if you're really listening to me Azarath, help me out here!"

After a moment of continued panic, he got a strange impulse to look at the floor under the table. Cyborg got on one knee and peered at the seemingly plain space in confusion, without any understanding why he felt the urge to look.

It only took him a few seconds to see that there was an even, almost invisible crack running along the ground under the table. Cyborg blinked slowly, and sighed softly, as he realized what he had to do.

"Good grief, this is way too much like the movies."

The prayer horn blared louder, almost as if it was affirming his thoughts. Cyborg gritted his teeth, gripped at the crack, and managed with a grunt to lift up a massive slab of stone covering a dark set of stairs descending deep down into the ground. He slipped under the slab, walked a few steps down, and let it slam shut over him as he observed his position, the prayer horn still roaring through the walls.

At the end of the stairs was a black metal door, with nothing but pitch darkness seen under it. Cyborg gulped in fear as he slowly approached it, and he readied the arsenal of weapons cached in the machine parts of his body. He had no idea what sort of monstrosities he was about to face, and the last thing he wanted was to walk in to the void beyond unprepared.

"I'm coming for you, Raven. Hang tight, and don't be afraid! Your friends are almost there!"

Cyborg gripped the door's handle tight, and twisted it open, with his desire to find his teammate the only motivation holding back the terror gripping at his heart.