A shaman, a warlock, and a healer walk into a bar.
The shaman, Charles, casts a sound-dampening spell around the trio so that no one can hear them and, most importantly, don't have to listen to the noise of the busy pub. While the balding shaman does this, the warlock, Rufus, dressed like a nobleman of the western continent, leads them to a seat in the back of the pub. The healer, Orion, then smooths down his priest's cassock as he sits, taking out three cold beers from his spacial pouch.
"Dammit, Rufus, you said that oddly aptly named, bag of bones was on his way. That was five bloody years ago! If we don't get this ritual done soon, then we're going to have more paladins up our arse than that deviant monstrosity of a God they worship had."
"Now now Charles, you knew Skelly was going to take so long. He had to go and personally collect the last ingredient from some rotten corners of the Underworld. I believe you were adamant that he, out of the four of us, be the one to find the heart. Hmm, what was it that you said, "I can't go there, I have Holy worms. They give me the shits when I enter the Underworld. As the only skeleton of us, it's only fair that Skelly goes. He can't get worms." You know he hates the "W" word, it makes his bones itch. No doubt a reminder of the time you did, in fact, actually give him worms. You forget that in this world forsaken by all but a few gods, we do not need to worry about the paladins. So your haste is unnecessary."
"Are we not going to acknowledge the fact that he just openly insulted my God. Albeit a now dead God?... Guys?... *sigh* fine, I see how it is. You're both just jealous virgins. Hell, I bet even skelly has seen more action than you guys. Have you seen the guys castle? He has, or I suppose 'had,' hundreds of sexy zombie maids. There's no way he hasn't tried anything. What do you think? Is old Skelly getting some? Haha, ha... Guys? Dammit, he's behind me, isn't he?"
*sigh*
"RIP"
***
After a touching reunion with Skelly beating the snot out of Orion, our quartet teleported back to their base of operations, much to the irritation of those left in the pub who had to deal with the mess they made.
It is here in this base of operations, in a chamber set deep under the earth's surface. Bathed in the red glow coming from the heart-shaped crystals hung on the walls, all four magus surrounded a pentagram set on the floor, with a large metal gurney in the middle.
Currently, the warlock was tightening the restraints on the figure they had strapped to the gurney. A Behemoth of a man lay there. Eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and leathery grey skin. This hulking mass of muscle gave off an almost visible aura of destruction, one that promised brutal violence to any who got in his way.
There were no signs of the previous lighthearted attitude to be seen on any of the men's faces; instead, every single magus was rigid with tension.
As the warlock finished adding the final touches to the pentagram, he read off the list of necessary ingredients.
"One pure, powerful mortal soul."
"Here." The shaman stepped forward, coming to a stop at the head of the man on the gurney. He pulled out a plain-looking jar, holding it carefully at arm's length as though it was radioactive. "Ten thousand of the finest mortal souls went in; a hundred years later, only one can come out. I assure you that the last survivor will be more than worthy enough."
"A suitable vessel."
The healer stepped forward, gesturing to the body on the gurney.
"A berzerker, half-man half-giant. his soul long since departed from this world, leaving only his body which I have been keeping alive in stasis. His body has been modified by my very own magic to maximize his strength, his survivability."
"A phoenix's first tear. It was truly a stroke of fortune that I found this. A normal tear would have been fine, but this will be excellent. They say that the first tear of a Pheonix holds divine properties. Quite ironic considering its the gods that fucked us all over, sucking us dry of our faith like leaches only to throw us away like a used whore once they were done with us. Damn it, if only I were stronger. I would skin them all, show the worlds that they are nothing more than puny, soul sucki-"
"cough"
"Apologies, brothers... moving on. The final item, the Black Dragons heart."
"Here. As you went above and beyond, brother Rufus, I saw no reason not to do the same. So here it is, the darkest Black Dragons heart that I could find. Straight from the chest of the Ravager himself. Do not ask how I got it, brothers, for I am bound by a soul contract not to divulge such information."
The necromancer stretched his hand out to his side, into a spatial tear, and when he had pulled it out, he presented to his fellows a heart. The heart writhed, its flesh undulating as though some demented child was trying to push its way out. For a second, there was a distinctly reptilian face, pushing against the hearts fleshy walls from the inside.
Even to the four men in the room, the undead necromancer included. The sight was so horrific, the feeling it gave them so profoundly wrong that they all collectively flinched. The healer being the most affected, emptied his stomach into the corner of the chamber.
It was time. All four ingredients were ready; the formation had been lain down. All that was left was to complete the ritual, and so they did.
For an entire week, the four worked tirelessly on the ritual.
The necromancer suppressed the Black Dragons' heart, working in tandem with the healer to swap it with the warriors' own. While they worked at this, the shaman was purifying the surviving spirit, getting rid of all the remnant emotions and memories attached to it. He whittled it down day by day until all that was left was a pure soul, as strong as any mortals, as innocent as babies.
It took them all working at their maximum mana output for six full days before the final touch of the ritual was complete, the warlocks.
Summoning one of the last Gods, an Elder God who had stuck with their small realm while watching all of its brethren retreat like the cowards they are. This God was named Kali, Goddess of rebirth. She would remain in their world until the very last soul departed when she would then take these souls to a new world, away from this forsaken one.
The warlock and the other three had long since came to an agreement with this individual Goddess. They would serve her eternally in the afterlife for this one chance, this one favour.
They would use her power to call upon a soul from another dimension, not bound by their laws, not tied to their fate. None of them liked entrusting their land to a foreigner, least of all the nobleman warlock, yet they had to do it. The future of their world had been sealed. As they were born there, they, too, were subject to its fate. The universes' natural laws themselves would strike them down if they meddled too much with the world's fate, such was the woe of a being living in a dying world. Unable to even aid it in its last days.
They were only capable of meddling so much due to the intervention of the Elder Goddess, and even then, there was a price to pay. The lives of the four most powerful mages this world has.
Still, they knew it must be paid. Even with the strength that they possessed between the four of them, they were bound by the laws that govern all beings, more so than most weaker beings.
They needed an outsider, someone free from the web of fate that entraps all lives in their world. This outsider would be the soul that inhabits the body they have prepared. Not some white knight with a hero complex or some righteous omnibenevolent saint, no, they needed a warrior.
Someone hard, callous, brutal. This world required a monster—a devil.
Honestly, none of them expected the summoned being to be able to save the world, not even with all of the preparations they had made. What pushed them to go through with this, though, to sell their souls away for eternity wasn't this. It was the thought of the mountains of corpses, the oceans stained with the invader's blood.
Best of all, the shock the invading pantheon would have when faced with something new, something unknown, something aberrant.