In the beginning, there was power and light and fear. Reverence, too, though that came later.

No, they were afraid for the most part of what It was, and what It could do; they cringed back, fearful children crouched in the dark before the great unknown.

Then one stepped forward into the light, and was made to see what could be done if such energy were concentrated at a point of dimensional weakness. He would be the first victim of the carnage that ensued when the creatures were released, and roamed the earth.

His end was quick, if brutal, and his last thought was of It.

It did not think of him, It did not feel for him, and his death did not touch It, for there were others who believed, others who trembled and worshipped and protected. It was never alone, not for a millenia; not until the Order and their twisting, distorting creation of what was never to have been.

The body has been prepared; it lies dormant in its room, awaiting that which will bring life. The monks chant chant chant until the need to be elsewhere draws It away and floods It into the body.

It slips beneath the muscles and skin, and pulses, faintly green; Dawn opens her eyes, and takes her first breath.