The Crushing Weight of Tartarus

It was a cold morning in the country of Fiore as the sun rose above the mountains, illuminating the mist that had settled during the night. On the outskirts of a small town sitting at the base of one of the mountains was a large black portal that seemed to consume the morning light. From the portal, a young man walked out, his pitch black boots becoming wet on the morning dew of the grass. His normally spikey hair had called flat to his face and reached down to his shoulders. A scythe could be seen attached to his back as he finished his exit from the portal and waved his left hand, causing the portal to close. "Wonder how long I was in for this time?" He said to himself in a tired voice.