Free The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) by Glenn Thater

rear wall. Beyond the
hole, was utter blackness - a portal to some other place, some
other dimension, some foul bastion of chaos. The rim of the portal
was aglow with wisps of yellow fire, their origin unknown. The
arcane pattern’s outermost circle was gone - its crimson border now
nothing more than blackened and charred ash. The eldritch coins had
melted and their remnants were trickling down the shattered wall in
golden rivulets.
    From out of that ominous hole, which proved
indeed to be a gateway, raced a monster the like of which Claradon
had never seen before, and until that very moment did not truly
believe existed. It was an otherworldly creature of nightmare, of
folklore; the very bogeyman of the children’s tales come to life.
The thing was a horrid caricature of a man. No flesh covered any
part of the seven-foot tall creature’s oversized skull. Its large
red, glowing eyes and long forked tongue were alight with demonic
flame. It wore strange black armor that clung tightly to its
muscular torso. In its right hand it held a six-foot long white
sword whose blade danced with red and yellow flame. Upon its
massive breastplate was damasked the unmistakable symbol of the
chaos lord Mortach. Could this hideous beast be the dread Lord
Mortach itself? the mythical patron of death and destruction.
Surely any mortal who stood against such a fiend would be tossed
aside like so much chaff. Before Claradon or his men could gain
their feet, the creature sped through the hall and bounded out the
entry – out into the world of man.
    The unnatural pressure within the edifice was
now gone and the earsplitting cacophony subsided. The pseudopods
and tentacles retreated from the walls and columns and they
returned to their normal stony aspects. Waves of heat and the
noxious scent of brimstone now filled the air, emanating from the
abyss beyond the breach. Behind these wafted a strong putrescence
mixed with the bestial odor detected before.
    As those who were still conscious staggered
coughing and gasping to their feet, Claradon gazed in disbelief as
more unspeakable horrors appeared. They rose through the rarefied
ether of the abyss beyond the gateway by some bizarre means of
locomotion incomprehensible to man. Several nightmarish creatures
more than six feet tall and only roughly human shaped vaulted
through the breach and entered the unholy temple. Their appearance
was too monstrous, too ghastly to describe or even contemplate. No
mortal creature ever possessed an aspect of such indescribable
horror, such loathsome abominable evil. Claradon shuddered as he
looked upon the faces of pure chaos. As horrific as they were, they
were beings of flesh and blood and sinew; Claradon and his comrades
knew how to deal with such things.
    Claradon, Sir Conrad, and Sir Martin were the
first to rush forward, yelling battle cries to their patron gods
Odin, Tyr, and Anarian. By the time they approached the gateway an
even more formidable being had pushed the ghastly fiends aside. It
was nearly eight feet tall and covered from head to toe with
sharpened metallic spikes. It was brick red in color, except for
its large eyes, which glowed a brilliant gold.
    Claradon saw many more loathsome beasts
pushing forward behind the spiked giant, striving to gain entry to
the world of man. Verily, a veritable horde of hell was spewing
forth from that malefic gateway to Abaddon. The spiked giant
brandished a huge black sword and pointed it at the three
knights.
    “ Bow down,” it roared in the
tongue of man, “Bow down petty creatures and pledge thy allegiance
to Lord Gallis Korrgonn, Prince of Chaos, and son of almighty
Azathoth. Bow down and swear thy fealty to me and I may spare thy
pathetic lives.”
    Claradon’s whole body shuddered and quaked at
the sight and sound of this unspeakable nightmarish thing. He felt
puny and naked. A paralysis washed over him, rooting him in place.
He knew he was about to die. A Lord of Chaos was about to
annihilate him.
    He