The center of Cold Haven was, like in the name, very cold. In the town square, silent villagers, with their faces etched with fear, were witnessing a public hanging. Beneath the overcast sky, the executioners exchanged hushed words amongst themselves, their faces somewhat obscured by a shadow.

The speaker, who was a stern figure at that, wore a deep frown that mirrored the weight of the impending doom that was put upon these crooked criminals. Among the criminals was Harlow Blackburne, only 17-years-old, who wore a cloak that seemed to absorb the very essence of darkness.

Right now, I'm about to be hanged for witchcraft. I don't feel bad about it, though. This is the punishment they gave me, and other alternatives are far worse, Harlow thought.

Ropes, cold and unyielding, wound methodically around the criminals' necks. The speaker stepped forward to address the somber crowd.

"In accordance with the statutes and ordinances that govern our sacred land, you have been found guilty of all the heinous crimes and have been duly condemned to suffer the penalty of death. An eye for an eye. May the divine providence extend its benevolent upon your tormented soul for the grievous act you have perpetrated, and let it find solace in the cessation of your malevolent deeds." The Speaker said.

A pause lingers in the air before the Speaker continues.

"Before your imminent departure from this mortal realm, we offer you an opportunity to convey any parting sentiments or reflections that may linger. Do you wish to utter any final words, as permitted by the ancient customs of Justice and compassion that are enshrined in our legal tradition?" The Speaker finished.

The uneasy silence broke as a voice emerged from the criminals.

"Is your wife good in bed?" One of the criminals asked.

A ripple of discomfort swept through the crowd. What a jackass. The speaker's face was like an unexpected fury.

"I too want to know if..." The other criminal started, but before he could continue, the executioners pushed the criminals forward and watched as the ropes snapped their sinister necks, ending their lives in an instant.

Harlow was the only one that struggled until his very last breath.

...

The village graveyard lay in a solemn stillness, its atmosphere thick with dread. The horse-drawn wagon echoed through the air, its wooden wheels grinding to a halt.

There was a group of body handlers. They set about their macabre task: lifeless criminal bodies were unloaded and laid out in a grotesque tableau. The air was heavy with the stench of death as the shovels pierced the earth, digging a vast out to cradle the forsaken.

Behind the twisted branches of a tree, a girl emerged. She had ghostly white hair which went over her shoulders and a black gothic cloak that clung to her form like a shroud. Her name was Lamia Blackburne. She grinned.

It appears that my brother's doppelgänger has met its demise. I suppose I must at least return with the objects for the ritual. I could use the corpses I see. The corpses of the criminals are perfect, Lamia thought.

Her eyes shifted toward the dark mountain on the distant horizon. Up in that mountain, she sensed restless spirits, their tormented whispers pleading to her.

As Lamia reveled in the wicked pleasure of those terrifying voices, a mist unfolded, wrapping the graveyard in an otherworldly haze. Within the mist, Lamia killed the body handlers and took the corpses of the criminals all for herself.

...

THE BOOK OF GARGATHOPH

Mount Domain stood as a foreboding sentinel against the relentless storm that raged overhead. Lighting streaked across the heavens, drawn unnaturally to the heart of the mountain, where the ritual unfolded inside. In the dimly lit ritual chamber within the depths of a foreboding dungeon, candles flickered, casting shadows that clung to the air.

The demonic spirits awaited the forbidden ritual's commencement. Cloaked in crimson robes, Harlow and Lamia stood in the epicenter of symbols and relics of power.

"Looks easy enough. All I have to do is wait for ten minutes, then, I'll start reading." Harlow said—the real Harlow.

"Brother...I'm concerned. What if this doesn't work?" Lamia asked.

"It will work. And when it does, history will be made. Think about it, the first dummy to ever be created by human hands." Harlow said.

"You know I still don't believe in the existence of dummies. Or their existence before us, for that matter." Lamia admitted.

"Fret non, sis. You will believe. All you have to do is see." Harlow insisted.

As ten agonizing minutes crawled by, Harlow, undeterred, began to recite the ancient Anunnaki scripture. His voice echoed through the ritual chamber, a chant that sought to beckon an otherworldly presence.

"Olo-aki—Oli-aki. Thou ethereal essence, we both fervently beseech thy luminous presence to bestow upon our realm thy spectral wisdom, and favor us with the hallowed knowledge thou dost possess, pray, permit thy strength, akin to that of a hundred stout men, to be made manifest before all who wouldst challenge the sovereignty and thy people. We entreat thee, come forth, and in thine abundant power, reveal to us thine wondrous might!"

The entire ritual room convulsed in response, hurling Harlow to the ground and causing Lamia to tremble in awe.

From the epicenter of the ritual, where the components once rested, a spectral steam unfurled.

In their stead emerged an unholy, ten-feet-tall demonic monstrosity, a creature that defied mortal comprehension and could only be labeled as a "dummy."

The eerie dummy, with two red horns and white skin, made an unsettling presence. Its metallic-like skin glowed in the candlelight, and its unwavering aura commanded attention. With heavy, deliberate steps, it advanced toward Harlow, its mere movement causing the ritual room to quale.

Harlow swiftly rose from the ground, his expression shifting to a sinister grin, as he faced the embodiment of his unholy creation.

"It's obvious that the reason no one has ever gone past dummy summoning was because dummies crave human flesh. Here, have my hand." Harlow said.

Without a moment's hesitation, he wields a knife and severs his left hand, flinging it toward the ravenous dummy.

The creature pounces on the gruesome offering, consuming it whole. As Harlow watches, his hand slowly regenerates—his expertise in witchcraft is paying off.

Lamia attempts to stealthily maneuver past the dummy to reach Harlow but inadvertently makes a noise. The creature abruptly turns, fixing its gaze on Lamia.

Unfazed, Harlow watches as the dummy licks Lamia's face before redirecting its attention back to him—its eyes filled with a blend of fear and fascination.

Harlow mutters to the dummy: "Come to papa..."

The dummy approaches Harlow, leaning in close.

"From now on, you will be called Penamu. Whatever I say, you do without question. We shall never be separated..."

Harlow is caught off guard as the dummy merges with his skin, forming a dark tattoo in the shape of a tooth. He screams in agony, clutching his chest as the transformation takes place.

"BROTHER! Don't push yourself!"

"It...fused with me...as a tattoo. I'm having a headache, maybe I need to..." Harlow started.

A section of the ceiling shatters and plummets. Harlow casually punches it, reducing it to rubble. Power courses through his veins, particularly in his enhanced fist.

Lamia's mind struggles to comprehend the situation, but the urgency is clear.

"WE NEED TO LEAVE NOW. IT'S GOING TO COLLAPSE."

Chunks of rock seal off most exits, leaving only one viable escape route: upward.

Harlow extends his arm confidently.

"Up! Hop on my back."

Lamia leaps onto his back, and Harlow makes a mighty leap.

He grabs hold of a sturdy rock, their ascent mirroring the very path that the lightning had struck to summon the dummy.

Lamia can't contain her excitement.

"This is amazing! Extraordinary! With this power..."

At the summit, Harlow effortlessly pulls himself up, Lamia still clinging to him.

Lamia dismounts and smiles. "So the demon has fused with you, I see."

"It's a dummy—not a demon. Know the difference." Harlow corrected.

"Tsk, might as well be a demon. For a second I thought we made a grave mistake, but I'm happy you actually knew what you were doing." Lamia scoffed

"When do I not?" Harlow replied.

The duo stands just a mile away from the mountain's peak. Harlow takes in the breathtaking view, his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing moon.

"I can't believe I actually did it...I'm setting my sights on this kingdom first. I could easily gain the King's trust if I single-handedly carried his army. What do you think?" Harlow asked.

"Are you mad?! Do you want Ma to roll over in her grave? Money, grub, and everything in between...but the abyss? You'll die..."

"There's only one way I can test my power. That's through the abyss. Our nation still doesn't know what's beyond that, but I'm going to be the first person to make it through alive."

"And what if there's nothing beyond that? What if it just stretches forever?"

"Then I'll see you on the other side with Ma."

Lamia sheds a tear.

"I do say, this is the same attitude that caused you to achieve this power, I hope it won't be the same one that will take it away..."

...

On a trail, a sumptuous horse-drawn wagon, bedecked with silks and adorned in elegant fabrics, glides effortlessly. The harmonious symphony of birds whistling interweaves with the melodic hum emanating from the finely tuned wheels.

Nestled comfortably within, the wealthy woman hums in harmony with the soothing rhythm of her unhurried journey. Her tranquility shatters as her discerning eyes catch sight of a mysterious man cloaked in black, standing directly in the wagon's path.

A furrow mars her impeccably groomed brow as concern replaces her features.

"Good heavens, who on earth...?" she mutters impatiently.

She extracts a crossbow from the opulent wagon's interior, momentarily concealed by the exquisite silk drapes.

The wagon halts abruptly as she menacingly levels the crossbow at the enigmatic figure.

"You're not an outlaw, are you?" she demands.

The mysterious man raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know, am I?"

With no inclination to comply, he takes a measured step closer, prompting the woman to stiffen her elegant stance.

"Speak swiftly! What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demands indignantly.

The stranger responds cryptically.

"Just a ride, madam, that's all."

The woman's annoyance simmers beneath her poised exterior. She scans her surroundings, suspicious of an ambush.

"A ride to where?" she asks.

"To the forbidden territory, if you please," he replies nonchalantly.

The woman dismisses the notion with authority.

"You're out of your mind. That's twenty leagues away! I wouldn't venture near that accursed place. Move aside at once!"

In a sudden shift, the mysterious man lunges at the woman, overpowering her with a crushing grip.

He demolishes the crossbow with a mere clench of his powerful hand, replacing her perceived control with menacing dominance.

A gleaming knife at her throat forces her submission. The woman, her composure shattered, trembles with fear.

"All I want is a leisurely ride north. Simply take me to the boundary where the abyss meets the mainland, and you can be free to return to your life of luxury," he intones, holding her in his intimidating grip.

"But, should you try to seek assistance or alert authorities, I assure you, I will put blood on your shoulders."

The woman stammers out her fearful consent. "Y-yes, I can do that."

He releases her, allowing her to breathe. Articulating his chilling conditions with malevolence, he declares: "Very well. You may find me napping in your wagon. Ah, and if you try to go to a village for help, rest assured, I will kill all the inhabitants, beginning with you. Like I said before."

The man vanishes into the wagon, leaving the wealthy woman alone.

This is not a man; this is a boy, exuding an aura of a man. It only makes the situation all the more disconcerting. Oh, god, what have I done?

Summoning her latent courage, she whips the horses, coercing them to move forward.

...

In the desolate wasteland of the Abyss, Harlow slowly awakens from a dream of Penamu.

The woman hesitates speaking. Harlow sits up.

"We're here?" Harlow asks, still in a daze.

" Yes." The woman responds sarcastically.

Harlow passes by her, exiting the wagon. The desolation surrounds them, the wagon perched on the line dividing the main lands from the abyss.

The eerie emptiness is broken only by a crow perched on a dead tree, fixated on Harlow.

Trembling with fear, the Woman watches as Harlow calmly speaks, "Alright, you're free to go."

Without hesitation, she swiftly gets the wagon started, whipping the horses and departing in the opposite direction.

As she disappears from sight, the crow takes flight, morphing into a pale, emaciated human named Hansin Finn, clinging to fragile life.

"Hansin Finn, right?" Harlow sighs. "Are you here to reveal what lies beyond the abyss?"

Approaching, Finn places the tip of his wooden staff against Harlow's chest, halting his progress.

"I sense an unusual power within you. Is it perhaps the work of witchcraft?" Finn asks.

"Of all people, you should know—a "Dummy" resides within me," Harlow defiantly declares.

"So there is a source. Remarkable. You may fare better in these lands than any mortal who has crossed this line. Why not conquer the entire Earth? You have the power to. Why look for something else?"

Harlow strides past Finn, ignoring his attempts at conversation.

"Aren't you interested in more power?" Finn persists.

"Way more than that—I have my plans." Harlow stoically responds.

Silence hangs heavy as Harlow says: "Please, send my regards to my sister."

Finn nods in compliance. Harlow takes a single step across the dividing line, embarking on his treacherous journey, already hearing the anguished cries of lost souls.