For lack of a better name, it might be known as “The Vault.” -- Sealed behind an ever overseen wall of shackles and intricate locks, this Vault represents the pinnacle of one man’s being and sort of thinking, my own. What lies beyond the door might be never understood by the likes of any other, yet no proper account has yet been written, and this forever rare viewing on the great screen of my own dignity would hopefully be lost and not ever again replaced. There are stories behind this door – Stories of mighty heroes, and prosperous worlds beyond the understanding of you and I. Just as likely, are there the stories of the romantic anti-hero, and the mentally instable villain, yet these dramatic personae fulfill a need. This need, deep and desperate to my soul, a need to pass on written tradition, a need to tell story. When the mighty civilized Terra will one day sing its last note, its stories will continue to survive, its traditions will continue to prosper, for we -- Human, although corrupt, although barbaric, have created an invaluable tool in which to record the beauties of creativity. We have created the story, and it has been the tradition of man to tell these tales within the hour of creation. This is the mighty crucible faced with every man of the legend, how might he account it? What is his legacy. Mine? My legacy is that of the Bonderenko, and that of the Antoleo. Stories with a proportion so incredibly epic that I might not fit them onto a single sheet of parchment. What is the legacy of I? It is stores behind the door of this mighty vault. Welcome, and enjoy.

The Forge World

Through the door and down the first hall lies The Forge World. Vast in size, reaching beyond that of the eye, the Forge World is a play-ground, it is a place of creativity and imagination, a social and physical paradox. An existence rather quite flawless. In the far east of this mighty chamber, the Sun rises over a war-torn earth, as Lieutenant Leonard Ardi of the 101st Airborne leads his men against an impenetrable winter onslaught. What has become of mighty Earth in the world of Lieutenant Leonard, for a glimpse into the towering cities of man shows that war has ravaged existence beyond any comparison save that of the great battle at Stalingrad in the second world war. Picture a world of sheer desperation, where respect for brotherly life has been long forgotten. This world, this cancer, is the world inhabited by these men, and might you dare venture further, you as well might feel the creeping ichors of hopelessness. Yet a look to the west, and the scene is vastly different. The sun sets over a vast bay of rolling green tides, as two brothers look out to sea together. The careful breeze shuffles through their bangs, as they ponder existence beyond. One would see the world through the eyes of myth, as the other imagined it solely through political and imaginary certainty. What would befall these two brothers? Would a conflict ever arise within their paradise, or can the beauty of the Forge World deceive the laws of existence, and leave them forever unharmed? A question hardly answered, even by I, for this enigma baffles even its creator.

The Paragon Hall

Welcome to the Paragon Hall, past the Forge World, and through the door. Narrow in nature, this hallway is consecrated with the watchful stare of the mighty. Perched upon the scaffoldings, watches Abdul. Cursed to wander the Paragon Hall, Abdul protects those who venture within with a watchful stare individual to his nomadic existence. A pair of pristine wings stretch from him, as does the inescapable hammer of justice within his grasp. The Paragon Hall houses many, including Lieutenant Leonard Ardi, who we’ve visited once before. As you pass he may acknowledge, for he is lost. Outbreaks of vicious battles have taken humanity from a man yet so human. His valiant defenses have been met with incredible amounts of gratitude, yet his untimely death has left him forgotten in the annals of his worlds history. Venture further down into the Paragon Hall and tales of heroics beseech you. The valiant “Shadow Arrow” striking down the vicious through manipulation of essence. Another resides here, one more paradox to the equation. He is known as “He whom was left behind.” -- He might be remembered as one of the two brothers looking out to sea. Keeping to himself, this hallway allows him to continue with a shroud of mystery, one that many have attempted to shatter. Those who might not have failed, were lost within the warps and lapses of a chaotic mind.

The Red Asylum

Where does a man of creative inspiration lock away the misfits, the freaks, if you will. Where does one safely keep those whose havoc is beyond the standards of the human condition. Behind a lock and key perhaps? Or are these figures, yet too clever for such a penal method. The Red Asylum is a prison block of horror. It houses the darkest secrets of instability. Fore in this hall, resides Mishka Bonderenko. An anti-hero beyond any portrayal yet written. A man so vile, the stench of his corrupted morality places the yet most paragon in states of discomfort. Look into this man’s iron eyes, you will find that they do watch back, for they are hexed with insanity, fore if you did not already know better, this man could simply be a shell. A soulless corpse existence. Murder! He cries. Yes, he has murdered – Quite very often, quite often indeed. Take a further step into the madness, I give word no harm shall reach you, unless you might allow it. Pale lies at this door. A cold, calculating figure cast in black garbs. A rather close inspection reveals that the man is armed with blooded weaponry. The very texture of his skin is beyond natural creation, for the ivory shade of his skin is quite so powerful, that one might wonder if blood may even surge through this creatures veins. The answer? No. As the rain pours outside this stone asylum, this red asylum, thunder clashes in the distance, where a new terror is born with every passing day. The Red Asylum is a world of its own, for its spawn could never allow the average to survive. With this point, we shall move on.

Lock the Door as You Leave

A journey into the soul, is a quest humanity has attempted to bring into fruition for generations upon generations. We who might be fortunate enough to believe we know thy inner self have kept it safe behind the integrity of our personalities. In a world where respect and discipline is lacking, such a treasure as security with the existence, should be kept a dark secret. My mind wanders, and that’s its nature, and that is how my mind will behave itself until the moment in which I join the mighty cosmos. To know the purpose of one’s existence, is enlightening, quite so if you’re rather fond of your purpose. I am fond of my purpose. My dedication to tell the stories buried deep within my creative thoughts is unwilling to bend as mountains of steel. I have given you, reader, a taste. A taste into my world, a taste of my pride, my dignity, and my existence. Do with it with respect, if you would, for my work here is built upon years of existence. Characters such as “The One Left Behind” represent an age in mine. The age of Vincent Delmore, and the age of Robert Louis Castets. With this, I lead you to the door. Lock it on your way out.