In the beginning, there was only pain.

   The blur of reality was everywhere, fading in with a swirl of glowing white and black. Everything was moving by so fast, engulfed by an aura of energy that roared loudly as it began to dissipate. There was a strong pull then, an aching tug that sent agony pulsing through every extremity. Everything stopped.

   A figure floated there in the infinite black, the last remains of whatever that energy was. It was there, bald, naked, and of pale skin as it drifted. Its eyes had rolled back into its head, but slowly they resurfaced and began to focus. Eyes, seeing for the first time, burning as they touched the stale air.

   Here he was, a nameless speck in the endless shadow.

   Everything was new. This body, this pain, these emotions... They clawed in his mind, each of them hoping to overcome another. His thoughts were a struggle, distracted further by all of this misery.

   Is this what he was to become? Is this what he sacrificed everything for, this existence of nothing but an endless torture?

   No, this wasn't supposed to happen. This isn't what the one he followed here said would happen. Something went wrong as he came through the gate, as he drifted through that hole in reality itself. Something happened that he couldn't account for, his memories shocked by the crushing of his once limitless being into this small, limited body.

   He convulsed, his body ripe in its twisting to vomit, but his stomach now was barren and his mouth and throat were painfully dry. Everything inside him seemed like it was trying to turn on all at once.

   He didn't understand. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

   There was a new rumbling, something from behind, then the sudden near passing of another white globe, burning with energy as it soared further and further away. Just as it seemed to disappear into the black, another roar, and another passing light.

   The figure watched in awe, every muscle, every fiber in his body crying out in anguish. There was something behind him, he could feel it. The source to whatever these lights were...

   The gate, the same one he had passed through. But they didn't stop like he did, left to rot out here at the Edge of Time. They moved on toward whatever destination they were meant to reach.

   Is this all the further he was ever meant to go? He quickly removed that thought from the maelstrom of others that were dancing in his head.

   He yelled something nonsensical, his voice hoarse, a weak hand reaching at seemingly nothing in front of him. Slowly he began to turn, the bright glow of whatever it was behind him meeting the corner of his eyes. He couldn't help but stare.

   The light of it beamed outward, but he could only open his eyes wider as he looked. It was huge, swirling in a circular pattern around itself, tails of energy trailing at the ends like a cyclone. The sheer brilliance of the gate was so enormous, that even after only moments of beholding it, it burned out the tender surface of his eyes, leaving nothing there but smoldering, steaming flesh.

   He yelled again in excruciating pain, cupping his hands over his sockets in vain. He dared look back to that place he left, and for it he lost his eyes.

   The sacrifice of everything to come here, the surrendering of so much strength, so much of everything, if only to be free. To be an individual. To have his own thoughts, his own memories. Was this to be the cost for freedom? He had come this far, and especially now, there was no turning back. Why, of all the others, must he stay here? What plans, such sick intentions, does fate give from such a punishing existence?

   The convulsions began again, unending in his cries as he writhed. Soon, under the sound of his voice, he could hear another roar pass him, and then another, and finally, the gate sounded... It was beginning to close.

   In his eyes, there was nothing. Here at the End of Time, he was trapped, left to build his grave. Here he would rest, with so much suffering, to be so afraid, and above all: lost and alone. Here for the rest of eternity, to live forever in his immortal death. Death - a thing he could only now wish for, but for him, so out of reach.

   Here his cries would never stop.

   So begins the era of Pre-Dawn.

   A tall, muscular built man stood naked to the roaring wind, standing barefoot atop the barren gray of soil beneath him. Weakly at first he lifted his hand, looking into it a moment before bringing it back to caress his bald head. There was an uncertainty in his movements initially, but a wry smile soon met his face as he walked along the earth. His eyes were a deep blue in color and they were intently focused on the way ahead.

   He looked behind himself, seeing others following him some distance behind. They were all as he - a random group of males and females, all naked, pale, and without any hair. They were fresh to this place, as was he. Every part of their bodies here was new.

   This tall strong man who stared back at his followers was the one who had led them here. He was the one who opened the gate from that place, to bring them out of their bondages, to carry them across the threshold that was the End of Time.

   He was the one they would in time call Amyn.

   The wind grew stronger, unkempt in this barren flatland of a world. Nothing but the endless gray could be see along the horizon, not until it met the glowing aura that was the sky.

   He stopped, looking almost blankly ahead, soon hearing the stumbling first steps of the others behind him. He heard a clearing cough, then the hoarse rumbling of a man's first words.

   "You who stands before us, where have you brought us?" One of them, a male, said. His voice was deep but filled with a certain underlying fear. He was tall even as he slouched forward, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he shielded himself from the wind. His head was bald like the others, but already the roots of dark brown hair were beginning to show. His eyes, too, were dark, an almost black and tired glow about them. This was the one they would call Inemat.

   "I have brought you nowhere, for you followed me through the gate at your own will." Amyn slowly replied, not turning to face him.

   "Then what is this place?" Inemat asked, his thin hands gripping the edges of his shoulders.

   "This is beyond that place from which we came. This is no Hekrosk. We are free from the bounds of that plane, and though so much has been sacrificed to come here..." Amyn went silent a moment, studying the sky in its plethora of color. Amber glows with reds, fading blues and purples, all reflected against the barren gray of the ground. It was beautiful. "All with time shall grow."

   "Will they follow us through? The others... Do you think they'll come for us?"

   "No." Amyn said, glancing back to Inemat. "We are trapped here with no way to return, and they have made sure of that. We are but a disobedient few. In their eyes, our leaving is perhaps a blessing." He turned then, a cold stare looking to the horizon. "Hekrosk will make sure no more follow us."

   Inemat offered himself a relieved sigh.

   A sense of determination filled Amyn then as he settled again with his thoughts. They had left Hekrosk now, and this new world - this physical world - would be their home. The others would look for him to guidance, he knew, for he had brought them this far.

   He glanced back again, quickly looking over the others that had begun to gather. There were many of them, but he knew many more had still followed him here.

   Some of them have landed elsewhere, He thought. Scattered in groups across the vast expanse of this place. I will find them, perhaps. Someday.

   For a moment things felt overwhelming. He knew little more of these lands than did any of the others. It was solely up to him, though, to allow things to restart. All of them had sacrificed much of their power to come here, to be free. Amyn felt strongly for what he had decided, but still there was always that sense of fear.

   He would be strong for them. He had to be. For Amyn would bring them here, so they were to be his responsibility. Wisdom, over all things, would be his greatest ally. Though by his physical appearance now he seemed no older than any of the others, metaphysically he was ageless, birthed thousands of years before any of them. Even so, in Hekrosk he was still considered to be among the youths.

   Amyn turned to fully face the others, who seemed to retreat and stand lowly as he looked directly at each of their faces, one at a time. Slowly then, he lifted his eyes back to the sky, that beautiful glow.

   "Hekrosk is gone, that land of the gods. Here is where we shall make our new home, on the plane of Azerul. This world is wild, but we shall make it ours." He paused, looking into the group again and now instead lifting his hands above him. "I am Amyn! He who brought you out of tribulation! See me now, for I am flesh, and I am blood. All here is unfamiliar, untouched, and untrained. Time will give us what we need."

   He was right, they knew. Everything here, in this Azerul, was unknown. These bodies, these feelings. The wind on their skin, the echoing of sounds in their ears, the ache of their eyes staring into the bright sky. Such thoughts and emotions, it was all strange.

   Things as they were, of course, were in need of change. Much change was necessary for their endeavors - first in themselves, and then to the world. With time they would mold this endless plane into a true home. Azerul would no longer be wasteland, but instead their promised land.

   A new voice lifted now, that of a woman which was standing tall next to Inemat. In time, she would be called Gedria.

   "Amyn..." Her voice seemed weak. "I don't understand any of this. You say we are the same... but..." She lowered his head slowly, crossing her arms over her naked body.

   Amyn examined her a moment, looking over her thin features and feminine build, dark eyes and the expected pale complexion. She did not say it, but he knew exactly what she meant. She was female, she had gender. This was all new, and in her eyes, it separated her from most of the others. Before when they were beings of all energy, there was no such thing as sex. Before they were infinite, boundless, and limitless. Here they had become limited and physical, subject to abnormalities.

   He lifted his hand then, placed it lightly on on her shoulder. She was cold, all of them were, as they were all exposed to the chilling wind. "Time, young one." He said then, simply. "Time."

   She rose her head to meet his glance again, and he could feel reassurance in her stance.

   Inemat continued to face Amyn but pivoted his head to look at Gedria. There was a long silence among the gathered group as they slowly were already becoming accustomed to what they were. It was now that Amyn noticed one of them was standing more off to the side, his back slightly turned. He listened to the others, but he kept himself isolated and acted disinterested.

   There seemed to be thoughts of his own running through his mind. Thoughts he wished only for himself.

   Natronach, as they would know him, slouched so as he stood there, a grave look on his face. Strong arms crossed his chest and held onto his sides, a wholly glazed look about his features.

   There was something about him, Amyn could already tell. Something truly different.

   The world grew in haste, the flat gray becoming green and rolling verdant hills, the birthplace of infant streams which edged the sides of newly formed mountains. The sky had gained a new lust of azure blue, dotted with the accumulating of moisture. Clouds, walls of them, surrendered to the horizon.

   For ages it stretched, the land until it met the sea. Water there, vast and immeasurable, sat atop the sandy valleys and ridges worked beneath. Islands and continents alike were beginning, the stretch of life touching each of them.

   The waters here were filled with bountiful amounts of fish, the land with various creatures both above and below. Even the sky at times were flooded with the mass of birds, migrating with the southern winds.

   Life afresh was everywhere, but it was nowhere if Amyn's hand had not touched it.

   Trees had begun to fill where there was once wasteland, strangling the sides of a river's shore. There was a long path there was well, lined with ash stone blocks which were stacked as small pillars. Vines had begun to run along their surfaces.

   Where the path met the river, there was a clearing and Inemat was there. Knelt beside the water, he ran his hand through the coolness of the stream. He came here often these days, he realized, brushing back a strand of brown hair from his eyes. He looked different now, the same person but allowed to mature. His skin was no longer the same pale, but instead a light tan. His hair was dark brown, shorter in the back with long bangs. His eyes, too, seemed a tinted more brightly in the new light. He wore simple robes, colored a dull blue that fell to about to his knees. His legs were covered in black plants, tied at the waist and ankles. His feet, like the preference of most of the others, were bare.

   Inemat took a deep breath, pulling his hand from the water and looking up to the tree's canopy. Things were calm here, and he was happy for his life. There was always a feeling of being unsatisfied, though, that something more was calling for him.

   He took another breath, let the sound of the flowing water encompass him.

   Amyn's empire here had begun to grow, and all the gods looked up to them as their superior. He was powerful and knew what was best for them, they were convinced. Perhaps though they were right, for it was Amyn who created this river, who created the sound of the stream.

   As things had spread out, though, slowly more of the others were beginning to be found, most of them returning here to be with the majority of them. Still more, they all were sure, were left somewhere across the sea on some other land. Azerul was a vast place, but just like they were now, it was limited. They would find the others eventually, even if their trek stretched them to the Edge.

   "Unity," Amyn would say. "Is what will keep us together. We shall be one, but a one built of individuals."

   Individuality, yes, this is what was of dire necessity. To live forever among the collective whole was no life at all, and here their rights of being their own, singular person were important. It was why they gave up so much, to remain free.

   The one Natronach was always wary, Inemat would come to find out. Afraid that one day they would find a straggler that would become a threat and oppose their established ideals. One who would want more than absolute equality and individuality, but instead freedom to do as he pleased.

   Few agreed with Natronach, though, almost fearful of the way he put himself different from the others. He had begun the growing of a scraggly red beard and had gained more weight then the rest. Often to himself, Natronach was at most times ignored unless his powerful voice had something to argue. He, of all of them, disliked the bringing in of outsiders, even if we did all come from the same place originally.

   Inemat glanced briefly to his side, not turning his head as he looked along the tree line. He smiled.

   Gedria was there, pretending to examine a bush, but really she was watching him and he knew it. Others, including her, would come here in the clearing to rest, it being only a short walk from Amyn's citadel. Gedria, though, came with entirely different purpose.

   He didn't understand himself, but he held a strong sense of attraction toward her. He had grown more accustomed to his emotions, of course, but this one... It was a strange one he was finding very difficult to understand.

   Gedria was running her soft hands along a branch, acting interested in the plant life while she spied on him. She was wearing a long white dress, made of silk and tied with a sort of golden band. Her arms were exposed, displaying the smoothness of her skin. Her face was a kind one with high cheeks, marked by painted red lips. Her eyes were dark, matching the ebon black that was her shoulder-length hair. She was beautiful.

   She, too, was aware that he knew what she was doing. She held back a smile, continuing to play her game.

   This was his life know, Inemat was sure. Life here was the perfection among imperfections, a truly tranquil thing. He smiled once more. Here he was, with the the rest of his immortal life before him.

   The days seemed to melt together here, the short nights surrounded by hours of glorious beaming daylight in which the sun sat low in the sky encircling the wall of clouds. Amyn kept these things in motion, the rotation of the world and the heavens, and those here were grateful for the love that was their home.

   Many had gathered here in the courtyards east of Amyn's citadel, that elegant white tower which sticked out above the green hills and trees, all surrounded by this, the stone brick paths and circles. But here they were, talking and basking in enjoyment.

   "I've heard they traveled the seas of the south," Inemat said, glancing between several close supporters. "They've found a long series of islands there, all frozen chunks of ice tailing in a band toward some massive continent."

   "So there are lands there," Said one of the others, chuckling. "Perhaps there is chance for something good to be found beyond the Nameless Seas."

   Their conversation continued, until interrupted by the bellowing low laugh of Natronach. He walked in among them, his fat hands rested at his sides, pressing against the stretched fabric of a red robe and coat. He was a great thing, wide and tall, his teeth a strange yellow of decay as he coughed. A flow of orange was his hair, running back his head down the sides of his head and to his chin, there running into a beard which touched the peak of his large chest. Though generally unnoticed, a pair of short horns were beginning to bloom from beneath his curls.

   "So this is how it is!" He seemed to yell, walking toward Inemat with a bumbling stride. "You disagree with me over something so menial, and then you go whining to Amyn. This how you seek to accomplish everything, brother?"

   Inemat sighed, expectant of what was going to happen now. "Do not call me brother, Natronach, and I would hardly call the destruction of the forest to make desert land menial."

   Natronach roared, shaking his head as he gripped the sides of his trimmed vest. He was about to speak again until Gedria approached Inemat from behind. She rested a hand on his shoulder, her other one her stomach. She was becoming visibly pregnant now, bearing Inemat's children, and purposely did little to hide it.

   "Everything alright, Inemat?" She said almost playfully.

   Inemat looked to her, wryly smiling. "Of course, my dear."

   "Ah, Gedria..." Natronach said slowly and simply, looking over her as she stood there, thoughts running through his head.

   Suddenly then someone yelled - Amyn was back, and he brought with him a visitor.

   A visitor? Inemat thought, moving in the direction of Amyn with the flow of the group. They've found another straggler. Struggling to the front of them all, Inemat gained a close view of Amyn, tall and strong, a frail body in his arms.

   Amyn now was powerful, his hair long but tied tightly in the back of his head, armor-like clothing shielding his form. It seemed awkward almost for him to carry this thin thing in arms, whatever it was. Slowly Amyn kneeled, laying it softly on the stone tile ground beneath his feet. All of the others circled in close, reluctantly taking a few steps back as Amyn gestured to them.

   "I found him writhing and screaming endlessly in horror near the edge." Amyn said, standing there, his arms crossed over his chest.

   The thing was male, naked and extremely pale, shaking as he lay there, hands exploring the dusty stone beneath him. His hair was an ebon black, wild and unkempt as it fell down to his shoulders.

   Inemat slowly lowered to one knee, watching this thing closely.

   "Alone all this time?" Inemat asked, eyes focusing on this man's thin arms, several scars, most likely self-inflicted, running down them.

   Amyn nodded, said, "Alone and lost."

   The pale thing lifted its head, seeming look directly to Inemat. His eyes, though, were hidden by strands of hair. A pair of short horns were growing from his forehead.

   Inemat lifted a hand, the others crowding behind him. Gently he pushed a tuft of hair to one side, only to stare into the black of an empty eye socket. Inemat stood quickly and pressed back, the others retreating as well at this horrid sight, one of them screaming in a high pitched shriek.

   The thing, too, recoiled and rolled back, pushing itself along the stone ground before backing into Amyn's leg. It gripped Amyn's boot tightly with one hand, the other waving wildly as though in a fearful attempt to protect itself. Those empty sockets still stared into nothing as it looked around frantically, barely holding back a scream of its own.

   Amyn slowly began to kneel, trying to calm this horrible thing. "He is blind." He said. "I don't know why, but he has no eyes. A traumatizing thing to experience, blind and all alone on the edge." Amyn placed a strong hand on its shoulder as it turned to grip onto his leg tighter, coughing and curling into a ball. "I'm not yet sure if he can understand us."

   Natronach stood motionless in his original position from before. He watched, still, but away from the single-minded mass of the others, a hand stringing through the hairs of his beard. "And by what shall we call this thing?" He said bluntly, the others glancing at him a moment before looking back to it and Amyn.

   Amyn brushed back more hair, revealing the entirety of its face. It was filled with fear, those empty eyes blankly looking into the distance. Strangest of all was a slit on the center of his forehead, in between the horns, almost like a festered cut. There was a naturally thin look about him, though, most likely worsened by his entire ordeal. So much pain, to be so afraid there on the Edge where this plane meets the wall of Hekrosk.

   "You tortured soul who has suffered for seeking only freedom from that place, for following me through that gate in hopes of new life." Amyn said, taking a breath. "I am responsible for you coming here, for living so long alone... And so I shall be responsible for you." Amyn closed his eyes, thinking a moment. "You shall from this moment be named... Dadiras."

   Dadiras gripped Amyn's boot all the more tighter.

   Dadiras sat there in the grass, one leg tucked beneath him as his hand rested on a lifted knee, his back stretching as he looked seemingly blankly into the sky, staring at something that was not there with eyes that did not exist.

   There seemed to be an aura about him, something dark yet powerful, a vision what images may be racing through his head, what unknown thoughts could be dancing there among his mind.

   Only days ago Amyn and Dadiras had walked in those nearby paths, Dadiras' strangling hand gripping to Amyn's arm to guide him along the way.

   "I made this place," Amyn had said, a smile on his face. "The sky, the earth, trees. Birds in the sky, the fish of the sea - it is all of me."

   Dadiras seemed at first inattentive.

   "You don't see why?" Amyn asked.

   Dadiras had turned his head, took a short breath. He spoke then, his voice a low, dark baritone. "You seek to make a living world, and a living world craves life."

   "Exactly!" Amyn said, gesturing with his hand, still staring ahead as they walked along the path. "Yet still, I strive for something more. I look upon Azerul with these eyes and I know there is something more."

   "A blessing to have eyes." Dadiras said, slowly.

   Amyn looked to him, that hand on his shoulder, this thing which he led through the forest. This was not the first of their long walks.

   "I see many things, Dadiras. Greatness in being." He said.

   Dadiras scoffed. "You want sentience. To give the knowledge of a god to an animal birthed in your image."

   "And is there wrong in that? They will live, and they shall grow under us."

   "They will live, they will grow, they will die. All mortal beings do. A waste of your knowledge."

   "Then enlighten me, Dadiras. What would you do?"

   "What good is a servant if he is not an immortal one? He will build you your temples, his cities, but he shall die."

   "Though his children shall live after him."

   "With each generation they will will fall a little more."

   "As long as I am here to guide them," Amyn stood tall, "They shall stay strong."

   Dadiras then had said nothing more, listening only to the sounds of the earth and the wind.

   Amyn had made his creation though - these humans. Mortal, animal things which served their master unquestionably. Slowly now, the world was becoming crowded.

   Though disliking them so, Dadiras seemed to show an extreme interest in them. Specifically in that of their genesis.

   Many did not understand what was going on with Dadiras. Amyn, even, showed ignorance in some of the questionable actions he performed. His adversity to the presence of others, his hushed, nonsensical rambling. All of these things were different, thus feared by those who saw him wandering the forests or the outskirts of Amyn's Courtyards.

   The humans especially were fearful of him. Keeping well out of his way, freezing as statues as they watched him pass nearby. Their own hushed whispers passed between them, warnings and questions.

   What is he doing and why is he here? What does he see with those eyes that do no exist? What is that gangrenous scar on his forehead and where did it come from? Why does he have horns?

   Here was Dadiras, a god among them, and they both rightfully feared him and devalued him as a creature and a monster.

   But truly no man nor god could see what he saw, know what he knew, feel what he felt.

   No one could of understood the pain of being lost on Edge. No one could of understood what changes could of been made.

   Here was Dadiras, kneeling low on the grass, the soft earth beneath him. The sun greeted him with morning warmth which he felt on his face, that flesh which was still an unnatural pale. Those horns which cast great shadow behind him...

   "What does he look at?" It was Inemat, standing and watching Dadiras stare idly into the sky from a distance. Gedria was there near him, sitting on a large rock, cradling her arms around a bunch of flowers.

   "What is it, Love?" She asked, looking up to him.

   He continued to stare, pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "Dadiras. He is blind, but he sits there staring into the sky." He seemed to sigh then in a low growling way. "What does he see that we cannot?"

   "Perhaps even the blind must look at something." Gedria said simply, looking back to the ground as she picked at some more of the flowers.

   "It's that thing on his head, that wound upon him that does not seem to heal. I've watched him as he timidly lifts his hand to touch it." Inemat said.

   "You think too much, Inemat. Come and sit with me, Love." She patted an open seat next to her on the rock.

   "He does not speak enough." Inemat said, not paying her attention. "He just sits there staring. What does he see?"

   "Inemat!" Gedria said, a hand gripping tightly to the side of her dress.

   Inemat turned, a guilty expression on his face. "Forgive me, Gedria. I should think only of you and our children." He knelt next to her slowly, a strong hand feeling her stomach. Within her womb grew his son and daughter - twins.

   He smiled then. One day they would grow and be strong, the first true gods of Azerul, to be conceived and born here.

   A wary eye, still, turned back toward Dadiras. What future would lie in him?

   Time soon would pass and the twin children of Inemat and Gedria would be born. As the world was blessed with new life, so too did the ranks of the gods increase, the plethora of men cried out in their tongues a cheer.

   These children, the first of what was hoped many, were revered. They were named for their father, and bore his name so they could continue on with his now formed lineage.

   These twins, the son named Hmethur Inemat, the daughter named Llemora Inemat. Great things would surely, in time, come from them both.

   Dadiras, though, was continually distant, strange in his blind stares and wanderings. The mumblings and adversity to life, the fearful look of his appearance. It was all odiously his own.

   When the time had come, little was prepared. The twins wanted out of the womb, though, and no one could tell them otherwise.

   Days they spent, pacing and pondering the future, waiting as she gave birth. A painful thing, Dadiras was sure, and all the more unexpected. They had seen reproduction in humans, of course, but to remain in such woe? None of them really expected it to be as such, especially Gedria.

   Time though again proved the cure all things, and the children came, healthy and smiling, a shriek from their lungs which bring a man to his knees. The son was the first to breath, then shortly after, the daughter.

   Next time, they were sure now, the process would be less painful for all of them.

   As the low men would cheer, the father Inemat lifted his son above his head before those masses, all while Dadiras watched from a distant vantage point. High above the city, upon the mountain hills that surrounded the city, he sat and saw the mob, watching intently with those empty sockets.

   He could see in his mind the men there, screaming in their human languages of new life. Of all things Amyn had made of these men, he was glad they could not speak the tongue of the gods, Azerulian. Still though, they were wholly despicable things, but for now he did his best to ignore it.

   He was forced to be here, over watching and never among them, and he just the same despised it. He could bear the interaction with humans if they would not hate him as they did, collapsing in their awe, their despair, their dread.

   Loudly now, over the yells of the people, he could hear the magnified voice of Inemat, Gedria at his side, Amyn and many of the others behind them. In Inemat's hands still there was the crying son, the daughter clinging to its mother.

   They were gods, but still they were little more than newborn children, and here they were being flaunted as trophies to the screaming mass of sweat, flesh, and teeth.

   Humans, an abhorrence.

   "Biheli, ti isz nuanek lenk! Behold, this is new life!" Inemat said, speaking it first in his own language, Azerulian, and then in that human dialect. "Ad fruma ita, edruhnakesz! And from it, endlessness!"

   The crowd continued to cry, and Dadiras could stand it no longer. He stood, turning back through the trees and onto the path. He distracted himself, a deep breath as he found his way through the brush, remembering another talk he and Amyn had recently had down the way near the river.

   Near the water they had stood, surrounded by the trees of the Western forests, the barely visible tower that was Amyn's citadel resting on the Eastern horizon. The sun then had been low in the sky, dusk approaching quickly, a wave of clouds coming to veil the would be starry sky this night.

   "It is a lonely feeling still to be here, to know that others are there but they will not have me." Dadiras had said, sighing. "That they see me and they cower in fear, run from me as I try to reach for them. They see me as something I do not - a monster. I Want to be more, something they love and revere, but I cannot have that."

   "You can have anything you want, but they simply do not understand what you are." Amyn had said, strong arms crossed over his armored chest, the both of them looking out over the river. He had wondered what Dadiras could see there, flowing in the stream, with those blind eyes.

"Then what am I? I do not even understand." Dadiras said tiredly, thin hands gripping tightly into fists. He was clearly enraged, but he held it within himself. "Why have I been chosen for this path, what higher thing brings me to suffer in such a way as this? I sat alone for a thousand ages, lost and in agony on the Edge, but here I am, finally with a home, finally with a family, but none of this world wants anything but for me to leave." He relaxed. "It is no longer that I have nothing, but that I have something that would rather me dead."

   "We all have our own purposes in this place." Amyn was quick to reply. "It is unclear to me even my own destiny in the future, let alone that of any of the others. You can only, with time, learn of yourself and what your fate will be."

   "My fate..." Dadiras sighed once more. "I see in it nothing but pain."

   There was a short silence, the sound of the fish jumping upstream, finally: "Come, Dadiras, we have talked far too long of far too serious things." Amyn placed a hand on Dadiras' shoulder, trying to reassure him. "Let us meet with the others in the courtyard."

   Dadiras waved his own hand, pushing that of Amyn's off his shoulder. "No, Amyn, I think I shall stay. I would prefer to remain on my own for tonight."

   "You will be fine?"

   "There is no thing to fear here, for all things fear me."

   "Very well. I shall be within the Citadel."

   "Of course you will." Dadiras said, rather curtly, turning his back to Amyn and taking a few short steps closer to the river.

   Amyn had left him there then, heading to the north east in a slow and solemn pace, Dadiras fading away in the distance as his thoughts began to echo with warning. Dadiras... he thought. I see nothing but pain from you.

   Amyn's Citadel was placed almost strategically at the base of the mountains, set in a flatland valley which stretched both east and west. That tall, massive tower of a thing raised higher than some of the peaks themselves, a circle of courtyards around its base, a large, more vast one directly to the east. It was there large meetings were held, specifically that of the recent unveiling of Inemat's children.

   Along it though, a short way west of the Citadel was the human city. A nameless place, but in whole considered part of the Citadel. The population of humans lived and thrived there, their brick homes running both through the valley and partially onto the mountainside itself. Among those hills they mined, both for stone and salt.

   Salt was a precious thing to the humans. Not only a flavoring spice, it helped to feed the livestock and cure the meat taken from them, as well as disinfect wounds. Salt itself, at times, was used as a currency.

   A council of gods, though, met now within the Citadel. Through the antechamber hall and past a set of giant stone doors was the courtroom of Amyn, a marble and stone constructed place, the walls lined with rows of pillars and tapestries.

   For the meeting here a large wood oak table was set, filled chairs surrounding it. At the head of the table, upon a short dais, was Amyn in his throne. As they spoke amongst each other, his head was lowered. The gathering was proving unexciting.

   To those listening, the whole meeting would be a dull report. Happenings in the city, the distant regions and the exploration of the Nameless Seas, trivial matters among the few remaining deserts and wastelands - nothing but bureaucratic ramble.

   Soon, though, things would begin to take a curious turn.

   "My Lord." One of them said, standing confidently as he did. He held a smug look on his face. "There is concern among many of us about the presence of Dadiras and Natronach."

   Amyn lifted his head, seeming more interested in the group conversations. "Their presence? What of it?"

Suddenly Inemat stood, hands pressed against the oak table. "They are unwelcome."

   Amyn said nothing a moment, leaning further back into his throne. "I don't believe it is yours to decide who is and who is not welcome in my lands."

   The smug one slowly sat, watching Inemat who was deep in thought. Eyes closed, Inemat started to speak. "Those two are quite untrustworthy. Nothing more than a nuisance, either of them, and tell me: what have they provided to this world? Nothing." He opened his eyes as he slammed a fist against the table. He quickly glanced among the others as he continued, "They have only brought grief. By all of us, even look at them!"

   "Inemat..." Amyn said slowly, large hands rubbing his temples.

   Inemat raged on. "They are both horrid things! Do you not see it? Ragged and unkempt things, they are. And those horns! Why among the rest are they the only ones with horns? I see it only as a marker of their calamity."

   "They are stronger than you." Amyn seemed to sigh.

   "What!?" Inemat said, shocked, focusing solely on Amyn.

   "When we left Hekrosk, we did not give up our powers, but we simply forgot them. It's all a matter of remembering. It seems their chosen isolation has given them to time to meditate on more important aspects of their being than appearance."

   "Natronach has already shown himself to be a nuisance, and I fear that Dadiras as well will further the chaos. I see him there, staring blindly into the sky, rambling nonsensibly to himself. Both of them place themselves apart from the rest of us."

   "What are saying, Inemat?" One of the others said.

   Inemat continued to face Amyn, yelled: "I say they should be put to death!"

   Amyn let out a quick sigh, "Slow, brother. Your accusations are unfounded." He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It is true, yes, that Natronach has proven himself a trouble, but always he has been persuaded to our ways. He does well to reveal us the other side of things so that we may find any faults in what we do.

   Inemat scoffed, "Then what of Dadiras?"

   "Dadiras is no different then any of the rest of us. I admit, if loosed he could prove a threat to us all, but that inner, darker side of him does not reveal itself unless provoked."

   "No different? He's always watching and listening from afar, and not once I have spoken to him. I doubt he can speak at all above that of his whispers."

   "You know nothing of either of them, Inemat. You see them and know they are changed. You fear what you do not understand." Amyn lifted a finger, shifted in his throne. "Dadiras has not spoken with you because you have no allowed it. I have spent many hours walking and conversing with him. You have no idea of the stories he can tell."

   "Nonsense!" Inemat yelled, throwing his arms into the air. He shook his head, fists clenched, and twirled around quickly so that his robes flew behind him. Marching toward the door, he called back. "He is treacherous, and I shall prove it to you!"

   Pressing through the crowd then those large stone doors, Inemat was a storm leaving Amyn's court.

   Slowly a fat hand, veiled in the shadow, lifted up to stroke it's owner's ragged beard. Natronach, standing there behind one of the stone pillars, listened to everything happening in the room behind him. He grabbed a pipe set between his teeth, held it in his hand as he exhaled a billow of smoke which hung above his head. His eyes then seemed a deep glowing red in the shadow, the dim outline of his body, head, and large curling horns visible.

   "Interesting." He said silently to himself. He tapped his pipe against his wrist, placing it within his robes. He took a gasping breath, pressed himself off his lean against the pillar, stumbled, regained his balance, and stood strong.

   He left the court the then, under the roar of the others who did not see him, but with the purposely slow movement so Amyn surely would.

   Natronach did not doubt that Amyn knew of his presence during the entire meeting.

   More quickly now, after he passed through the stone doors, he headed for the entrance and down a flight of stairs. Outside, he stopped to watch the sun just peeking over the horizon, Inemat trudging eastward toward the city, most likely in search of Gedria.

   He raised a brow, wryly smiled, and began his way up a different path - one that led up the mountain to the ledge where Dadiras was, a site which overlooked the great courtyards of the Citadel. It was there Dadiras was watching Natronach even now.

   A short time later, Natronach arrived there, out of breath and sweating. He glanced over to his left, the back of Dadiras there, that little whelp of a thing sitting neat the cliff edge.

   Natronach wiped the sweat from his face with a piece of cloth, regained some of his composure, and made his way toward Dadiras.

   Dadiras surely knew he was approaching, but he didn't bother to turn his head or say anything. Regardless, Natronach yelled for his attention. "Whelp!"

   Dadiras said nothing.

   Stumbling first over a few rocks, Natronach stopped a few feet behind Dadiras, wiping his face again with the cloth, patting the rough of his red beard.

   "You've heard me, Whelp?" He knew Dadiras heard him.

   "It would be impossible not to hear you, Beast." Dadiras slowly responded, disinterested.

   Natronach smiled. "You saw Inemat storm out of the Citadel? Then off to the city?"

   Dadiras seemed to shrug, his attention still below.

   "His children," Natronach said, smiling with crooked and stained teeth. "The twins of Inemat, truly precious things."

   Dadiras said nothing.

   "Come, Whelp! You've seen them too."

   "I have."

   "They are in the clearing. Alone."

   Dadiras turned his head to more face Natronach, his brow furrowing over those empty sockets. "What are you implying, Beast?"

   Natronach chuckled lowly, "I'm always watching you, Whelp, and I know what things observe. You would lie with them."

   "Trust me, Natronach - your fantasies of such remain your own."

   "Perhaps," Again, he chuckled. "But still you watch them! You are fascinated with them."

   There was a silence, Dadiras peering again out into the valley, Natronach standing above him staring.

   Natronach continued, "It matters not to me what you want from them, but I only tell you this: they are there in the clearing, both of them, and they are alone." He grinned widely, "Your fantasies remain your own."

   Dadiras lifted his head, seemed to look up into the sky, watching the rustling clouds that were becoming this new morning.

   "Leave me, Beast." Dadiras said, no expression in his voice.

   The grin left Natronach's face, changed to a disappointed frown. He turned then, stumbling over the rocks and back to the path, wobbling as he did in the direction of the city.

   Dadiras took a deep breath, almost a sigh, slowly standing when he knew Natronach was no longer nearby, hiding behind a tree and trying to remain as silent as possible so he could watch. The Beast had given up now and moved on, so did Dadiras, onto the path and toward the clearing.

   ... And it was now that the world truly knew shadow.

   Those screams seemed to cross the all of Azerul, above every city and every path and into the halls of Amyn's Tower Citadel. Within only a few of the others remained, including Amyn, and when they lifted their heads to hear those amplified cries, fear was all they felt.

   Amyn, even, gripped tighter to the arms of his throne, thoughts entering his mind.

   Each of them, perhaps, had their own sick fantasy of what had just happened.

   As all of them gathered again in the Citadel courtyards, Natronach included, hours seemed to pass as they talked among themselves impatiently to wait for Amyn to return.

   They had hardly time to prepare themselves to the sight of a young boy, covered in blood, running and shouting as he came down the hill. It was Hmethur and he immediately leapt into his mother's arms.

   Gedria kneeled and held him, her eyes wide and afraid, trying to comfort his crying when she could not even comfort herself.

   "Hmethur, what happened? What's going on!?" She asked quickly, holding him tightly close to her.

   Hmethur pulled himself back from her chest, to look into her eyes. Bloody hand prints marked his cheeks, caked then with mud, and his hair was dirty. "Father!" He yelled, still crying. "It killed him! It killed father!"

   Gedria just looked at him, still wide eyed. She didn't fully understand. She couldn't.

   "Father!" Hmethur repeated, falling into her tight grip again. The others now had gathered around her.

   Llemora now came running down the hill at a tired pace. She had not seen her father, only a blood stained, screaming boy running out from the trees and down the hills. She could only follow.

   Still, scared herself, she was crying.

   Gedria stood, Hmethur still gripping onto her leg, her once beautiful white dress now dirty and covered in blood. She saw Llemora coming down the hill, not too far behind her Amyn carrying what looked like a body.

   Natronach suddenly bellowed, turning to the others. "Come, take the children inside." He said, Llemora running past him and to grasp her mother as well. "They don't need to see this."

   Of all of them, Natronach perhaps was the only one who fully understood what happened. It was all part of his plan, and even now he was holding back a crooked smile of stained teeth.

   A few of the women took Hmethur and Llemora's hands, leading them up the stairs and into the Citadel.

   Amyn grew closer now, the limp body in his arms covered in a blood soaked veil.

   Blood. There was always so much blood.

   The mob of others spread for him to meet the center where Gedria stood, bewildered as is and confused. Slowly Amyn lowered the body, placing it softly onto the stone floor.

   "Inemat is dead." He said simply, turning his head.

   "Dead..." Gedria said faintly, kneeling next to the covered body. "How can... What..." Her hands were shaking as she placed them on the once white veil.

   Dead? How could he be? They were immortal - no thing could just...

   Slowly she pulled back the veil and screamed, turning away and covering her face with trembling hands. The whole mob retreated a step with her, trembling themselves as they saw the abomination that had become Inemat.

   Blood. There was so much blood.

   "Who dare tear him apart?" An angry voice of one of the others said, receiving no response but silence. Among their distraction, Natronach tread off into the unseen.

   Amyn looked to Inemat's corpse, sighing. His eyes... Amyn thought. His eyes are torn from his very head.

   Though he would not say it aloud, a thought continuously was running through Amyn's mind.

   Dadiras has no eyes.

   Hmethur struggled against the grip of one of the others, responding to the sound of his mother's scream. He took a sleeve and wiped his own eyes, knowing his father was dead, but that they would not allow him to see it.

   Perhaps, though, he had already seen more than enough.

   "Be still, child." The woman said. "You must stay here."

   Hmethur looked to Llemora who was still crying softly, sitting on the ground in denial.

   Both of them were too young to understand, but fate it seemed was forcing them to.

   Nothing but hate filled Hmethur, hate for that god - that demon - Dadiras. What had he done? How could he do it?

   It didn't even seem to matter anymore in Hmethur's eyes. Now he was young, but with time he knew he must get his revenge. The blood of his father was his blood as well, and here it stained his hands, the hand of a child. He should not have had to witness a such a gruesome of deaths, to run to his father and embrace him as though he was still alive, only to be drenched in the crimson blood which pooled beneath him.

   All he could see were those terrible horns, that terrible eye.

   He watched his sister there, cowering in her fear. He could no longer be afraid, though. Today the blood of his father was on his hands, but in time, the blood of that Demon would wash it away.

   Dadiras would die.

   Dadiras hid beneath the shade of the forest, yet there above the ground at the concealed midriffs of a tree. There he was near the city, staring outward to the flowing crowds of people, the bustling of activity.

   Dadiras let out an infernal sigh, his eyes wide and red as he watched. His bare feet seemed to grip the branch below which held him, one hand rested over his knee as the other reached to support himself from another branch.

   He took a deep breath, and underlying growl in it, lifting his chin to stare down at a nearby passing group of humans. "Pitiful in their mortality, Humans are little more than a plague." He began, talking to himself and remaining in concealment. He continued, anger in his voice. "They grow, and they multiply, and they destroy. What benefit do they give back to the land from which they take? Despicable things with live only to die, a fleeting existence which turns them to dust. Watch them as they rot, walking as though they live, only destined to kiss the earth when their sons bury them. They consume as a single whole, a single organism made of a thousand individuals. It was this kind of life that drove us from Hekrosk, and now Amyn does nothing but bring himself back to that." Dadiras spat onto the ground, gripped the branch above him tighter. "They are mindless drones in the monotony of their lives, working toward their own destruction.

   "What are they to carry the blood of a god? I see much greater things which could be done, a species unto themselves, a perfection of form that would be deserving.

   Dadiras turned his head, saw a tall, robed figure there. It was one of the others, another god - like him, but still so different. He smiled wryly, "But ah, what is this? One of my brothers. Tranquil and free, walking with the dying men. He places himself among them, when surely he should rise to crush them beneath his heel."

   Dadiras smiled wider, an almost psychotic frenzy overcoming him, bloodstained teeth accenting the crimson glow of his face. That Great Eye on his head was frantically shivering. "The likes of him do not deserve to live. No, not any of them who walk among man. All these bastard children of Hekrosk are craven fools."

   Dadiras closed his eyes, those fresh things which stung at his temples, a feeling within him he had long forgotten. "I am the beginning," He said slowly, his voice dark and low. "And I am the end."

   Quickly he descended from the tree, and then, still concealed, moved among the brush closer to the cobbled road.

   Just across from him there were a few stone-brick buildings, the outskirts of the city that still received much traffic. This place was expanding rapidly, like a cancer.

   There was a fury in Dadiras, his hands shaking as he crept along the muddy ground.

   Here he was a god, face in the dirt, but it was all for good. These humans, these other gods - none of them deserve to live.

   Suddenly, in one quick motion, Dadiras lept from the brush, arms extended, and landed on a young human male, a cracking thud as they hit the ground. The boy was dead.

   There were screams, and the people began to scatter. Truno was lost among the crowd, but it did not stop Dadiras' assault. With a grasping hand another man was brought down, bloodied as he was dragged along the dirt, his body used as a barrier to the sudden flurry of stones that the people threw.

   Then, another swipe, another bloodied corpse, Truno still lost somewhere in the chaos. Dadiras released a roaring shout, bit deeply into another victim. Truno had run, let these mortals fight for him, die for him.

   And he calls himself a god.

   In only minutes the entire crowd had been slaughtered or managed to escape further into the city, Dadiras standing among a pile of corpses, pools of blood and torn, bodiless limbs. With all of this, he was hardly satisfied.

   Alarms were being raised in the city, the marching steps of soldiers meeting Dadiras' ears. He wiped fresh blood from his already stained mouth, slowly looking along the horizon to that massive tower in the center of the city - Amyn's citadel. Killing humans was no use to him now, it was the gods he wanted, and he knew exactly where they would be.

   The day grew dark, now, the spreading subterfuge of shed blood in the city. Amyn let out an exhausted sigh, leaned deeply back into his throne. An entire third of the deific host had been found near and around the Citadel - murdered horrifically.

   Not a single sign of their slayer.

   A thought continuous circulated in Amyn's mind - all of their minds - that Dadiras was somewhere, wild now, on his spree. Reverberated cries of Dadiras' undeserved trust all these years heightened, the mob of so-called immortals gathered in fearful reverence of the recent events.

   How could they die, if they were truly immortal? Answers needed to be found, and they chose only Amyn to seek them from.

   "Blood!" One yelled, one of the few known left on this continent. "Blood is everywhere, the very streets are bathed in it!" He threw his hands into the air, long wiry things which matched the pale of his hair. "None of us have died before, for it was thought that we could never die! What do you call this which stains our feet?"

   "Blood." Amyn said immediately, his tone dull and unrest.

   The other scoffed, looking to the others around him. "Blood..." He repeated, face scowling.

   "There is much to life here we do not understand." Amyn continued, taking a breath. "I fear that Dadiras, while you cast him aside to isolation, learned many things. He has remembered much of what we forgot."

   Another voice from the back of the crowd raised, the mob pushing closer against the lower steps surrounding Amyn's throne. The court, even with all of them, seemed unusually empty. "But our brothers and sisters lie dead in the streets, in the courtyards, among the trees! If not torn from limb, they have disappeared completely!"

   The one who first spoke, his thin hands rubbing together, shook his head apathetically, "The only one missing is Natronach. His presence was just as untrustworthy as Dadiras'."

   Amyn sighed, waving his hand. "Leave me to be alone, I must meditate."

   The mob's eyes grew wide, "But Sire, we m-"

   "-You may remain within the Citadel," Amyn said slowly. "Of course. You are safe within, I will make sure of that."

   The pale haired one spoke again, "You will kill, Amyn." He paused. "You will rid us of this... Demon."

   "Blood for blood." Amyn said, regret in his voice for so long believing in Dadiras. "He shall die, one way or another."

   Though, perhaps his belief was not wrong. He saw Dadiras growing strong. More than it he has already become.

   "Natronach!" Dadiras yelled, screaming as he stumbled through the ash, the sand. "I swear on Amyn I shall have your throat! I shall gut you and bleed you dry... you..." He began to slow in pace, breathing heavily as he fell to his knees. "You..."

   Beast.

   It was the only thing that was running through his head now, his eyes blindly staring up into the cloudless sky. Something familiar was about this place, the still endless expanse like the world had once been. This far south was untouched until it reached the sea. It was still new... unformed by the hands of Amyn.

   Dadiras gave a weak grin, grains of sand brushing past his face in the wind. In the heat, he was starting to sweat.

   "You Beast..." Dadiras said slowly, lowering his head and letting long black locks fall over his eyes, that third one on his forehead still staring blankly and twitching to turn wherever it pleased.

   He stared into his hands then, still stained with the blood of so many others. Gods and humans alike where dried on his fingertips, their life drained from them.

   But not Natronach's blood... No, he had run. Far into the south, and futher, and futher until he could not be seen. He disappeared with the sand and the wind. He disappeared...

   Dadiras released a deep sigh, sinking deeper in his kneel, his arms limp.

   "What..." He began to say, pausing, then, "What am I?" The winds around him seemed to grow stronger. "I come, and I die, and at the same time I am still alive. Ever since... I remembered the past..." He lifted his hands to his eyes, ran thin red fingers over his face, down over his mouth and chin.

   "What am I...?" He whispered.

   A god, a devil, the demon who died but was never born. Sin, the darkness, the shadow, the black - all of these. Blood, chaos, destruction, tyrant...

   God. This was what he would become.

   Slowly he seemed to regain his composure, lifted his head to stare forward. "This land, this gray, this ash: this is my land. I shall make it as I please. This is... my land. My land." He slowly got to his feet, stretched his arms, then, "It shall be mine, and I shall be God here. What I desire shall be made done, and no longer shall I be... a thing..." He caught his breath, seemed hysterical now. "... I will be God as I have been destined. I remember so much, and I don't understand... What am I?" He was about to fall, but then suddenly stood straight and tall, his arms raised and fists clenched above his head. "And no Human shall rest here! No! For this is my land! My land shall have its own people."

   Slowly he reached down to his side, gripped the hilt of a knife there, a silver blade. He pulled it from its sheath, wielded it before him and stared into it. Slowly then he lowered it to the wrist of his other outstretched arm, bringing the blade down along the length of it, blood steadily pouring out and onto the sand until it pooled. His face grew quickly pale, but he remained standing. He had endured much worse pains...

   "Here is my gift of immortal blood to bathe the earth, and from this, I breath into new life." He weakly leaned forward, breathed in deeply and exhaled onto the sand, the pool of blood, then fell back and sat dumbly on the sand. "Life..." He said slowly.

   The pool of blood already was acting strangely, moving and rippling as though small stones were being dropped into it. It convulsed, bubbled and continue to ripple, and suddenly began lifting up off the ground and into the air. It moved, encircling itself and dipping back and through and out of the sand, forming something. It became a body, and a head, and arms and legs until something was there, some naked and pale form of something laying there in the sand.

   Dadiras crawled toward it, the strange thing, and cradled its bald head in his arms, long ears protruding from it.

   "Breath, and live, my child, for you are the first of many." Dadiras said to it, the being suddenly gasping for air. Dadiras smiled, his teeth a row of blood stained fangs. "You shall be my Elves."

   Shadow. That is what the world would quickly know.

   Years passed and many changes came. The lands of the North were given a name - one to seperate themselves from the growing evil in the south. Nurach they called it, those endless fields and hills, that forest land of scattered lakes and seas, mountains and rivers.

   Yet shadow was what the world knew beneath the rift of mountains.

   Desert, endless deserts for a thousand days, and further beyond that an equally desolate land. Barren with only the scattered beginnings of life, a cruely formed land by the hands of mad gods.

   The ones who had horns, the forgotten children of Hekrosk who wanted chaos above order, order above chaos. The living Demons of this age, this first age, the beginning of time lost in the sea of the Void.

   All was lost now in the far south, along the bays and the Gulf of Coprus, for a new master had arisen from the ash, the dust, and the blood of fallen foes.

   War was all they knew. War was all the shadow let them know.

   Elves, those immortal fiends, beautiful and endless, powerful and zealously loyal to God.

   God, this is what the Demon, the shadow had become.

   This is what the world would quickly know. The furious rage that was once the one beneath the feet, the hated one, the one they pushed aside as a monster.

   He would be that monster now, but a god of them, a beast of beings who would rain only death and destruction down upon his enemies.

   Yes, this was how it was. A sinful Lord, their Sire, the Elves forever loyal.

   Forever loyal.

   The Elves were a proud species, excellent in warfare as they marched forward across the desolation, the sands, and into the northlands. They were similiar in appearance to that of their Human predecessors, but most usually taller and with a certain elegance. Their hair naturally of darker shade, they grew it long and tied it behind their heads in braids, laced behind their pointed ears.

   Their most important difference was their immortality. Age was nothing to them, only to increase that beauty, that strength, and only at the end of the blade could they die.

   This was a great advantage, regardless of their other features, over that of their most hated human brothers. They, the creation of Amyn, would grow old and die while a single elf could live eternally and bring life to a hundred others in their long lineages.

   Fierce in the battlefield, the females even were often seen carrying a blade or spear and shelled in armor.

   Ferocious, yes, this was how their Sire made them.

   Dadiras was pleased.

   The Elves were all part of his plans, a deep and twisting ideal that rooted itself low in his mind. Elves, a perfection of form, far greater than any human. They were his blood.

   And they marched for his blood, in his name, bearing his banner.

   Thick steel on their form, hands gripped tightly along a metal rod which reached high into the air, topped with a long and flowing banner.

   Black like midnight, trimmed in red and, in its center, the sigil of God himself.

   That eye, that all seeing eye. A symbol of his power. A symbol of his destructive force.

   This was war, and he would fight until the end.

   An army now was marching north, and slowly but surely Dadiras' soldiers made their way deeper and deeper into Nurach.

   When this war first began, the Human had little to no protection. They needed to no armies, no soldiers, no guards, no armor or even weapons. They were simple people with simple lives, but now conscripted into a life they were not made for, but a life that Dadiras knew they would one day embrace.

   Though all around them men were dying of their old age, their diseases, never before had a man been struck down by the icy touch of a cold, forged blade.

   The idea of death became quickly renewed to them, the idea of war planted in their primitive mind like a seed.

   The first step toward the end, the infection of man, the removal of their naivity.

   Even Amyn could not hope to repair the damage this war would bring.

   For surely, Dadiras would sit atop his throne, Amyn's head in his hands as he laughed, victory eternally his.

   And even Amyn could not hope to stop this, have he not a head.

   Dadiras was smiled in pleasure with just the thought.

   Changes in him had been made now as well. Years of new life in the South, in the nation he named Sesibul which sat within a large penisula which reached around the edges of the Coprus and into the Nameless Seas, his kingdom made him into a new thing.

   The same as always, perhaps, but more controlled, less influenced by his eccentrics, his madness, his sadism.

   His hair was short now, cut trim so it sat roughly on his head. Hardly the long locks he once had. He held a much more powerful stance now, preferring the tall standing to bask in his newfound power. Elegance was now his own, robed not in the bloodstained rags of his first days but now that of flowing black cloth, a red sash, topped with a heavy hood which often sat atop his head, hiding his face in shadow.

   Shadow. Silence. Death.

   Domination.

   Dadiras.

   Demon.

   On the north-western tip of Sesibul was a fortress city, Dadiras' own little Citadel called Sennatal, which in the Azerulian God-tongue means 'Sentinal'. Dadiras felt this a suitable name, as it sat as the largest port on the entire gulf, and served as a certain guardpost to any approaching fleet.

   A purposely made decision to place one's capital city on the edge of the sea. Though possibly invaded by enemy ships, little could be more intimidating than high walls along the coast, at their bases steel spikes protruding; long docks filled with battle-ready vessels with black sails, and in the midst of it all a massive black tower that touched the clouds, banners flowing from every parapet, and a misty air which limited visibility.

   Further, a great city of tall buildings, a mazelike series of streets. Elves lived here in their homes, behind each door another warrior.

   This was Sennatal, Sesibul, the Kingdom of Dadiras.

   The Icon of Sin.

   Shadow. That is what the world would quickly know.

   The Citadel now looked the same as it always did, a massive white tower outset among the mountainous green and blue of the sky, the thriving city beneath it which wrapped around the great courtyards and gardens, up onto the hills and into the earth itself. The city was growing beyond and beyond its original boundaries.

   Other cities and villages had been constructed, but all of them combined still could not match the sheer size that was continuously becoming of the Citadel.

   Those few of the gods who remained lived within these same walls, hardly ever trekking too far outside in fear of Dadiras to leap out of the trees and take them. A foolish fear, but perhaps at the same time, justified. They wanted to live, and the only place they felt assured of their safety was here - beyond layers of expendable human protection.

   Amyn disagreed with the self-righteousness of the gods, but perhaps they deserved it. He cherished his humans are did not want to see them be used as a shield, but in the end, that's what they were to even him. The gods, too, held insurmountable power within themselves, even though few of them had learned or even tried to tap into it.

   Dadiras had, even Natronach some before he went away. Amyn still was their leader, and he was strong, but not nearly as much as that of the Demon.

   The Demon... that is what they had learned so strongly to call him.

   No longer did he sit among the ranks of gods, but fear below to the title of demon. A hated foe, an enemy of all that was good.

   Good? That is what they are making here? A world polluted by death and decay, the iron axes of humans cutting down trees building their cities, their iron hammers driving nails into wood.

   This was the world he started, one of chaos. Nothing like the absolute order of what was Hekrosk, and that was they had always intended to make. Even Dadiras wanted it so strongly, but he feared how such a thing would bring it about if he were allowed.

   That was what he was doing, though. Driving war against man with his armies, burning and pillaging as they went. An army - an entire race that was bred as both warriors and aristocrats.

   "I hate him." Hmethur said, his face in a scowling expression. Years had past now, the once young boy cowering in the bushes was a tall, strong and muscular man, his hair dark and styled similarly to how his father's once was - short back and longer bangs.

   "Of course you hate him, Brother." Llemora said, having grown herself now into a voluptuous, young woman. She was wearing a flowing white dress, contrasting that of her long dark hair. "He makes war with you and he always wins."

   Hmethur scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He was agitated, the continuous news of defeat in the south clearly getting to him. Llemora, the loving sister she was, chose to expose this weakness as often as possible.

   "He isn't like any other god, that Dadiras." Hmethur began to say. "He's a Demon, a bastard of a god."

   Llemora sighed, strode over to the balcony and glanced down out over the city. The humans there were still bustling in the streets, working and building, living their lives. "He goes into battle with them." She said.

   Hmethur glanced at her, not understanding.

   "Into battle," She said. "With his soldiers. Those Elves of his."

   Hmethur nodded, "He does."

   "And you don't. You send your little humans with a scrap of metal in their hands and hope for good luck." She cocked her head to one side, grinning slightly.

   Her brother took a deep growl of a breath, "What are you trying to say, Sister?"

   "What I am trying to say," She smiled widely, "Is that you sit about the Citadel, flaunting those big arms of yours, but dare not go into the field."

   "Be quiet, Llemora. You sound as though you admire him."

   "At times it seems he has more honor than-"

   Hmethur cut her off. "He killed our father, Llemora!"

   She stopped talking, recoiled a bit as the expression of her face changed to that a grievous one.

   "Please, Hmethur, let's not-"

   "No, Llemora. Let us talk of how our father died, his blood drained, his very eyes torn out of his head."

   Llemora said nothing, turned away from the balcony and began heading for the archway out of the room.

   "Llemora!" Hmethur yelled at her back, but she did not stop and left away out sight. She was gone, and he knew it would be useless to follow her.

   Hmethur turned to look out over the city now, released a deep sigh. He hated to do that to her, but she did not understand. She seemed to refuse to believe all that had happened, all that was.

   Dadiras was a monster to be destroyed, an infestation to be cleansed. There was no way in the end he could ever be allowed to live... But would it ever come to that? Defeat after defeat was being reported, a new courier every day bringing word of another troop lost, another border fortification razed to the ground.

   Another city of hundreds, of thousands, slaughtered or enslaved.

   At this point, few could imagine which fate would be the worst.

   Here at the Citadel, at the metropolis which surrounded it, there was no sign of war. Only peace, prosperity, and growing life. This was what Llemora saw, all she ever saw.

   Days earlier Amyn had told him a story of Dadiras in those old days. He had told many stories of such things before, of the young pale man he had found, so alone, devastatingly frightened of the world around him. He seemed to be an evolving thing, a plethora of emotion trapped in one body. Such pain, such sadness... and now, such anger.

   Hmethur sighed again. It was all he could do to try and slow Dadiras' march down, but to ever kill the the Demon himself? He had often dreamed, imagined some great climatic battle, the holding of that bloodied, horned head in his hands. It was a fantasy though he realized as sat awake.

   He feared Dadiras could never be stopped.

   So much power... So much that was impossible to understand.

   Dadiras was a complex thing - a warrior, and at the same time, a poet. A thing bred for war, but a manipulative creature who lured entire legions into his command, only to kill them or ship them on great ships back to his homeland to suffer nameless tortures.

   He was afraid.

   So much to fear...

   In these times of war, there is little peace to be found anywhere. In the deepest reaches lie the seeds of destruction that Dadiras himself implanted, but too often the Demon himself reaped what he sowed.

   Few places could be found now as calm as the soft waters of the Eastern Seas. The coast there was covered in soft sand and smooth pebbles, just off the beach a wall of beautiful trees, standing tall and covered in deep azure leaves.

   Here it was far from the bloodshed in the north, far from the chaos of the south. Here it was tranquility, and in the cool night air, the stars and moon shining overhead, it was all the more serene.

   Dadiras walked slowly along the sands, his bare feet sinking deeply into its moistness. He wore simple, comfortable clothing covered in a loose hooded robe, the hood of which rested now behind his shoulders. Eyes closed, he thought deeply to himself, listening only the symphony of nature about him. The ebbing tides, the softly chirping insects, the sound of the wind in the brush - they were all instruments to this harmonious orchestra.

   Through all his conquest, the blood spilled by his own hands, it was important for him to simply get away. Cleansing his thoughts, a restful spirit helped keep him sane.

   Anything to forget those nightmares, those thousands of years of pain.

   There was a new sound then - a strange one, coming from the water. Dadiras slowed to a stop, saw then the surface of the sea near the coast suddenly becoming disturbed, a bright glow becoming brighter beneath. Unsure, he retreated back into the shadow of the trees, eyes intent on the water. He remained unseen, watching only to see what would come next.

   Suddenly, something appeared to rise out of the water, slowly at first. As it lifted up, it became apparent it was a person, a woman.

   Dadiras watched her as she lifted higher above the surface, seemlessly floating several feet above it. Water beaded over her body, a flowing white dress completely dry as each drop seemed to roll off of her.

   He took a step forward, making sure to remain hidden but could not resist to try and look closer.

   As the woman floated, she lifted her head, and with her eyes closed, stared upward. Soft ebony locks fell down to her shoulders as the last of the water began to flow unhindered down across her supple body.

   Stepping a few paces back into the brush, Dadiras thought deeply. What is this thing I see? He thought to himself, then said quietly to himself, "No thing could be so divine."

   Hesitantly at first, he lifted his robes hood of his head, softly stepping back out onto the sand. She was there still, levitating, eyes closed and lost in some other world of her own.

   For a moment longer he simply watched her, his face, his eyes, his horns - all of it lost behind the darkness of that hood. Finally, he began to speak.

   "What is this I behold, she who has risen out of the sea?" He called, the woman suddenly turning a pair of dark eyes toward him, surprised. He quickly continued, "Such beauty, could be not but the Morning Star."

   She crossed her arms, in some attempt to cover herself. "Who are you?" She asked, her voice lulling but strong.

   Dadiras lowered his head, concealing himself even more behind his veil. "I am simply an admirer of your grace."

   She was silent a moment, glared lightly, "And you often because a voyeur to those who think they are alone?"

   He smiled, though she could not see it. "Only for you, my Morning Star."

   She weakly smiled herself, seemed to relax the grip around herself. "But still you are so rude as to not tell me your name?"

   "I am as I said, an admirer." He replied, "And a secret admirer at that."

   Lightly she laughed, but for Dadiras it seemed enough to make him feel so alive. "Then perhaps I should prove the better of us," She said. "My name is Llemora Inemat."

   Inemat's daughter? Dadiras thought, So much she has changed from that little girl I once knew.

   "Your father was great," Dadiras said to her. "His loss is still a thing of mourning."

   "You knew him?" She asked.

   "I know many things."

   "Yet I still know nothing of you," Llemora said, drifting closer to land. As she approached, Dadiras retreated a few steps, watching as she placed her feet upon the sand.

   As she did, Dadiras said, "Perhaps that is for the better?"

   She looked at him, trying to see past his disguise.

   Dadiras again lowered his head, retreated once more another step closer to the trees. "I... must leave." He began to turn away, but she stopped him.

   "Wait..." She said, a hand reaching toward him. He looked back to her, and after a moment she asked simply, "Will I see my admirer again?"

   Dadiras nodded slowly, "I will see you here again, soon." With that, he disappeared into the trees. He thought of her deeply, feeling as though he had just left a piece of himself behind.

   Llemora too watched him drift away, part of her so strongly wondering of this man, whoever he was. She did not know for sure what to think, but she knew she would see him again.

   For this meeting would become but the first of many.

   Amyn sighed deeply as Hmethur yelled threats and accusations. The court was filled with nothing but echoing hatred, anger, disgust. Those high, marble walls carved ornately seemed dull against the roar of this god's voice.

   Hmethur was furious.

   "Do you lie with our enemy?!" He shouted, a fist flailing through the air to his side. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his face red with his frustration.

   "Even in war, there is diplomacy." Amyn said, calmly, standing atop the carpetted dais with his hands clenched together behind himself.

   Hmethur laughed sarcastically, "So you call Dadiras, that monster himself, here to meet with you?" He scoffed, "Do you forget, oh great Amyn, everything he has done to me? To you! To all of us!"

   Amyn took a breath, growing agitated with Hmethur's condescending attitude. "I know all well what he has done, of the very thing that I had set loose upon this world." He took a step forward, pointed outward a strong hand at Hmethur. "When he is here, you shall not touch him! Though he is mad, he is not entirely unreasonable. If a deal can be made, this war will end here, now. The people's lives will be spared, and-"

   Hmethur cut him off, "The people's lives!?" He seemed more angry than he ever was. "He has killed gods, Amyn! So many times you have told us all before that gods cannot die, but he has done it!"

   Amyn, finally, sat in his throne. "Gods cannot truly die, but Dadiras is preventing their resurrection." He paused a moment, then: "But these are all things I must speak with him about. Only Dadiras can free them to return to their form! If I can coerce him-"

   Again, "No, Amyn! You do not understand at all! Dadiras is nothing-"

   Suddenly, the towering stone doors of the court opened quickly, rolling back and slamming into the walls. In their wake stood the Demon Dadiras.

   "Oh, my brothers!" He said, bowing his head lightly, "Do not let me interrupt your fun."

   Here was Dadiras, standing within halls he had not set foot in for a thousand years. He was armored, a strong layered black cuirass covering his body, dark leather running down his arms and legs. A pair of matching greaves and pauldrons were trimmed in gold, a crimson colored sash falling down over his legs. Thick chain coiled around his waist in some sort of cruel belt - all of this more for show than anything else.

   As he stepped forward along the cool marble floor, his bare feet pressing into it, there seemed to be a faint trail of smoke following him. He seemed more dark, more sinister than usual or remembered, his eyes a deeper red and his scars and various tatoos more defined. His horns, even, seemed longer and more demonic.

   After all, a god of his standard can look however he pleases.

   As Dadiras grew closer, Hmethur seemed both increasingly angered and frightened. The sweat beading on his forehead grew cool, his skin clammy. He shut his mouth tightly, his teeth grinding together as he watched, eyes wide.

   Dadiras stopped next to him, laughed lightly. "You've become wild, boy. Not the child I once knew with his father's eyes."

   Hmethur seemed to gasp for air, shouted something nonsensical, a cursing jibberish that reflected his feelings. He turned and began to leave the hall, his feet stomping along the way.

   Amyn said nothing, only kept his eyes intently fixed on Dadiras who seemed casual and aloof, despite his deviant appearance.

   As Hmethur stepped through the doorway and back into the main antechamber, he saw Llemora there delicately walking along. She looked at him a moment, sighing, "What could be troubling my poor brother now?"

   Not stopping, he simply passed by her, but as he did said quickly, "Dadiras is here!" He went outside, to disappear somewhere else.

   Llemora simply stood there a moment, blinking her dark eyes. Dadiras, here in the citadel? Immediately she stepped toward the court hall's entrance, and with the door to it still wide open, could easily look within and watch what was happening.

   She had not seen Dadiras before. Oh, not since she was a little girl. She put aside her memories of that day, too fascinated of what was standing not too far ahead of her.

   Dadiras' back was to her, looking up at Amyn. Chuckling, Dadiras began to speak, "It bides me well to know that everything here is still strongly within your grasp, Amyn."

   Llemora's heart raced. That voice! She thought, No...

   Amyn seemed to sigh lightly, then: "It is good to see you again as well, Dadiras."

   "Of course." Dadiras said. "And I am sure there is much idle talk we could tire ourselves with, but I feel as though that is not why you have called me here."

   "Very well," Amyn replied, for a moment lifting his eyes to see Llemora standing in the doorway, half-hidden by the wall.

   Dadiras, noticing Amyn's change of glance, looked behind himself. For a moment, he and Llemora made eye contact, but quickly she slid away and hid somewhere unseen.

   Dadiras said nothing, did nothing but simply look back to Amyn. Now was not the time for distractions.

   Llemora, though, held a hand over her chest, felt the beating of her heart. "Dadiras?" She said out loud to herself. I've never seen his face... How could he be that man? His voice... She took a deep breath, He looked at me, he saw me. Does he even now not want me to know?

   She turned her head, looked at the doorway, but from where she was standing could not see inside. Still, she could hear their voices, speaking again to each other. Is this Dadiras really the thing they say he is?

   "I'll put it all very bluntly for you, Dadiras." Amyn began, gripping the arms of his throne. "This war between us must end."

   "You take too much credit for yourself, Amyn. This war is not between you and I, but rather between me and the world." He smiled, "I no longer want to have to kill any of you unless I must, but ah..." He placed his hands together in front of himself, their tips tapping against each other. "... You just always seem to get in my way." There was a dark seriousness about him, those deep red eyes glaring.

   Amyn simply stared at him a moment, then sighed. "There must be a deal we can work out. The lands in the far south-west are already yours, and I can guarantee your security in them. If you must, the entire western coast can be yours." There seemed desperation in his voice, "Even the uncharted lands further out across the sea - all of that could be left for you to solely claim with our assurance not to interfere."

   Dadiras smiled, "I do not want uncharted islands or but a single coast of Nurach - I have told you what I want, and what I want is all of it. The forests, the rivers, the mountains, the deserts. Every last handful of dirt."

   Dadiras' third eye jerked back and forth, seeming to look around the room. Amyn took notice, his own eyes narrowing as he watched it.

   "Tell me, Dadiras. What do you see with that eye of yours?" Amyn asked.

   "What do I see now?" Dadiras said, still smiling. "I look, and I see the end. I see the Edge and what is beyond. I see the fabric of existence laid out before me and I see the flow of time; energy like a river. I see all that has happened, pieces of what will come. My victory is assured, Amyn, and nothing you can do will stop me. Only I possess the strength to wield this world."

   Amyn said nothing a moment, but finally, "Then you have remembered your strength."

   "I have remembered many things, recalled what I once had."

   "Would you return there?" Amyn asked quickly.

   "To Hekrosk?" Dadiras replied. "No. That is of things I do not know, nor do I wish to know. Even if I could return, they would not have me back."

   "I do not doubt you truly see what you say, but the future is not a definite thing. I will not sit idly, Dadiras. I will not watch you destroy Azerul unchallenged."

   "Then we have both said enough. This court has ended, and I shall see you on the field." Dadiras said, suddenly turning and heading back toward the hall's large entrance. Without hesitation, he walked into the antechamber.

   Llemora, still pressed against a wall, suddenly stood straight and lowered her hands to her side, stepping into the light. She stared at him as he grew closer, as his eyes turned and met hers.

   For a moment, he appeared less grim, less grave, his features becoming softer. Still the same man, the same darkness, but more... appealing.

   He said nothing to her as he passed by, but a certain, unspoken understanding was exchanged.

   Dadiras... She thought as he too then headed outside, a single creature so feared by even Amyn himself. Will he meet me again on the sea?

   The sky was cool and filled with the dim glow of stars, all of them but a backlit shine for the aura that was the moon. The sky was overcast, a beautiful wall of clouds which floated up out of the sea, a low fog which ran across it and the dark, black waters.

   The sand seemed a pale color, moist with the growing tides and filled with scattered stones and shells. Here though, where Llemora stood, the sand seemed all the more pure.

   As she stared out into the distance, watching the waters flow, she crossed her hands over her chest to rub her arms. The cool air seemed to embrace her, the moisture settling on her skin, but she found pleasure from it.

   Somewhere far away there was a light sound of thunder, quickly dulled by the sound of another wave hitting against the shore.

   Thoughts were racing through her mind, of days past here on the beach, and especially the sight and realizations gathered from Dadiras' presence at the Citadel. She felt hesitant to be here now, of what things she knew and what she did not want to know. Maybe she should listen to her brother and fear that monster. Maybe this was all a dream, a fantasy, or some sick lie meant only to lift her up and then leave her int he dust.

   But could this fantasy be true?

   What if I really do... She thought to herself, held herself tighter and turned her gaze away from the sea. ... What if from the moment I saw him he has been lying?

   As she took a breath, she heard a light rustling in the trees. At first she thought it the wind, but then she saw, some distance away, that robed figure step out onto the beach.

   She turned to him, could not help but lightly smile, but all he did was stare out to the horizon.

   "I thought you would not come." She said.

   He hesitated a moment, then: "I promised you always I would come."

   That voice... She thought again to herself a moment. Dadiras' voice.

   Slowly, she took a step toward him, arms falling to her sides. "I have thought about it, and I have told you so much about myself but I know almost nothing of you."

   Dadiras said nothing, and she took another few steps.

   "You told me that you knew my father before he died, that you once knew my brother and I while we were still children."

   "This is true." He said, his eyes still set on the sea. She took another step.

   "But that is all I know, isn't it?" She said, "You say you understand many things, but you will tell me how you know them."

   "It is all a dark reality that you could not fully accept." He quickly replied. She took one more step, now an arm's length away from him. The dull sound of thunder again was in the distance.

   "Who are you to tell me this? To tell me so many things; my beauty, the glow of my eyes. And you are here and I know nothing of you. You do not let me know you, you do not let me know your eyes." She bit her lip. "Is it because they are my father's eyes?"

   He turned his head, said nothing.

   "Why do you come here?" She asked.

   He took a breath, "You do something to me that I cannot understand."

   "Not even you, hm? A dark reality, perhaps?"

   He laughed lightly, "Perhaps." He turned toward her, and though she could not see it, she knew he gravely smiled.

   Llemora looked at him, slowly moved even closer. She began to lift her hand, reaching up to touch his hood. She took its thick cloth, began to pull it back.

   "No." He said, turning his still hooded head away, his own hand suddenly gripping tightly around her wrist. He pushed her hand away and let go.

   "Why will you not let me see your face!?" Llemora cried, rubbing her wrist and retreating a step away from him. Thunder returned again, louder this time.

   "You know why." He said simply, slightly turning his back to her.

   "Do I?"

   "I saw how you looked at me as I left Amyn's court. You know who I am."

   She looked to the sand, to her hand, and back to this hooded figure before her. "Then let me see your face." She paused, thought carefully for what to say, then, "Let me the see the face of the one I love."

   Dadiras turned to her, his eyes staring into her's from behind that shadow. Slowly now, she again stepped close to him, lifting her hands to pull back his hood. He did not resist as she brought it back behind his shoulders. His brutal face, those red eyes, those horns upon his forehead - it was all there now, glowing in the moonlight as they both stood alone on that beach, graced only with the sound of the ebbing tides, a low thunder, and the soft sprinkling of new rain.

   And they kissed.

   "Damn him, that monster!" Hmethur yelled.

   Here in the Citadel stood again Hmethur and his sister Llemora, in a room they often met and stayed in, a high balcony which overlooked the fledgling human city, the forests, the mountains, the river.

   It was a view of great beauty, but now marred by a thick humid air and foggy wind. It was the end of summer, the near coming of the winter months.

   As Hmethur gripped tightly the thick balcony railing, Llemora came and stood next to him, saying nothing.

   "So much has happened..." Hmethur began, trying to collect his thoughts. "Dadiras has pushed his armies even closer now, turning the territory east of Rechina into a no man's land. He's even so bold to attack fortresses in the desert Barren."

   "Thus is war." Llemora said, watching people move around like insects in the streets below.

   Hmethur cursed, looked to her, "Have you heard what else he has done?" He paused a moment, then: "Slaves! He's taken human slaves from the island nations, entire Rechin tribes to be brought back to Sesibul. Packed them onto his black ships and took them across the gulf." He scoffed, "I'm surprised he didn't make them swim."

   Again, Llemora said nothing and let him continue his ranting. She knew it best not to interrupt him unless she needed to. She argued far too often with the man already on more menial things - for once she thought it smart to hold her tongue.

   "I can feel it, sister." Hmethur began again, moving now into the center of the oblong shaped room. "There will be a swift end to this war, and it will be soon. One final battle, a final conflict. Amyn is preparing, and I am prepared.

   He continued, "Natronach lives, Llemora. Amyn is seeking his assistance to defeat Dadiras. Against such a combined force even the Demon and his Elves will have no hope for victory."

   "You hope to kill him." Llemora said slowly, watching her brother in contemplation.

   "Kill him, his elves... I'd wipe that entire damned peninsula of Sesibul off of Nurach if I could."

   She shook her head, "I do not think he is as horrible as you make him to be, brother. We started this war with him. He is simply... fighting back."

   Hmethur slowly turned and looked at her, his eyes wide in disbelief. "How can you say what you do? How can you look upon that creature who killed our father, who has destroyed our lands, our people, and see him only with favor?"

   Llemora chose her words carefully, "He is not perfect, Hmethur, but he fights for a cause he believes is just."

   For a moment Hmethur said nothing, stared at her with glaring eyes. "Domination? Death? Bloodshed?" He made a wry expression, "How is such a horror justified by any reason? You say he is only fighting back, but he is slowly destroying us all. So often you try to defend him, but you will not tell me why."

   "I do not need to explain myself to you." Llemora said, turning her head to look away from him.

   He stepped closer to her, brought his face near hers. "I know you sneak away at night, Llemora. I do not know where you go, but I know that you do. And what you tell me now brings me only fear of what out there in the wild you could be up to."

   Immediately she looked up into his dark eyes, pushed herself away and scoffed, "Who are you to question my actions? I am not a child, Hmethur." Her voice grew extremely agitated, "You have never been there to protect me, and I will not allow you to start playing the role of my brother now. You have lost that chance long ago."

   "Llemora..." He began to say, lifting his hands in front of himself in plea.

   She ignored him, "I can do what I want, Hmethur."

   "Then who are you to tell me what to do?" He turned away, began pacing to the other side of the room. "I am your brother, whether you like it or not, and what you do concerns me. You disappear, your drift away, and even you defend a madman. What is becoming of you?"

   "What has become of you, brother? Who are you?" She asked in rebuttal.

   He stopped near a wall, placed a hand against it and ran his fingers down its smooth marble side. "We can't fight about this now, it is all irrelevant. But when I leave, you must stay here."

   "Leave?" Llemora asked quickly.

   He looked back to her, "To battle. It will be soon."

   She rose her brow, "Natronach is already mobilized?"

   "You do not need to know the specifics."

   "So you will tell me nothing and keep me here under arrest?" She felt ready to scream, "I will not have that!"

   He sighed angrily again, moved next to Llemora and seemed ready to lift a hand and strike her. "For once Llemora, listen to me, listen to reason. This is not only my will but the will of Amyn."

   She cried in frustration, pushed him aside and stormed out of the room. He began to follow her, calling, but she ignored him and quickened her pace. She couldn't stand to be here now, but she knew she must return eventually.

   Now though, she had to meet Dadiras again one more night. She had to warn him of the coming, of Hmethur and Amyn. Of the lost Natronach and his armies of beasts.

   She could only fear now for her love.

   Here we are, at the pinnacle of hate. A lost soul in the halls of victory. A forgotten soul, a spirit who grows stronger on the edge.

   I feel its call, the growing suffering inside of me. It is like a fire, a burning destruction which draws me within, and without I am nothing. But out of me it spreads as well, it deforms, it corrodes.

   I am the debauch, and my enemy is the Demon.

   There was no light here, only the irregular of sound of heavy footsteps. A dim glow, though, slowly began to lift in the distance, another footstep, the sound reverberating off the stone walls.

   This place, it was a massive fortress, lost beneath the surface of Dorian. Here a darkness hid, one which rivaled that of Dadiras.

   There was a dusty air, the place was filled with it. It lifted in clouds as each footstep landed, moreso as the distant sounds ahead grew louder.

   Somewhere at the end of that hall there was a chanting, a roaring, a thundering. And this creature now walking, whatever it was, headed straight toward it.

   I am tired, oh, upon the end. I am tired of the living, I am tired of the dead. They are all the same, what of them is different than the decay of existence? I am tired of men and of elves, but of all things I am tired of him.

   He, my deepest of allies, my worst of enemies.

   Dorian had been established as large territory, south of the Kreyan deserts in central Nurach, but for its own right was hardly more than a desert itself. It was a large savannah, thick with sand and crags, dry plateaus and little vegetation other than the occasional field of waist-high grasses.

   The mountains there were plentiful, stretching over the landscape like fingers out of the earth. They formed what was like a wall that surrounded the territory, the only thing stopping its expanse was the sudden abruptness of the sea.

   Those nameless waters, beyond which no man knew what lie.

   Here though the air was thicker than on the surface, an underground maze of stale gusts and fog. There was the heat of bodies, sweat, blood, a taste of flesh on the wind. More awkwardly paced footsteps, a louder roar.

   For too long I've waited here in the shadow. It is time the Beast makes his return, to show this world the strength I still possess. They have forgotten me, they have forgotten me, but here I stand. Soon I will stand forever remembered, forever remembered.

   Oh, my brothers. Forgive me of my sins.

   A gateway was close now, from beneath it a dusty light flowed into the shadow. As the approaching figure grew closer, it lifted a concealed hand to push against the hallway's massive door. It was thick and made of wood, filled with splinters and knots. As it slowly pressed open, the roar behind it lifting to new heights. Light flooded into the hall...

   The expanse now set was vast, an open underground cavern filled with hundreds of creatures, moving and writhing about, massive things with long horns, gnawing fangs and claws. They howled and roared with deep guttural sounds, their bodies covered in thick fur. Their feet were like hooves, and their arms were strong tendrils of bone and muscle. They were wild, they were monsters.

   And the Beast who stood before them now at the cavern entrance was just as grotesque.

   Standing slouched sideways, it was tall and morbidly obese, the very veins in its flesh seeming to protrude. It was covered in loose cloths and leathers, straps of thick bandage and other materials. A short arm gripped the top of a long cane which helped support it. It eyes were thin and wide, set above a pompous nose and thin lips, behind which lie a row of fangs. Its head was filled with wiry hair, meeting a thick beard on its chin. Two large, twisted horns reached upward and curled back behind a pair of pointed ears.

   This monster, this Beast...

   This was all that was left of Natronach.

   Lifting his free hand, Natronach roared over the crowd of creatures before him.

   "Hold, my chillldren!" He cried, his voice a deep low with a disturbing, foggy whine behind it. As he spoke, it was in an unfamiliar tongue, "Hear me now!"

   The orgy quickly came to a stop, the monsters looking up to their master, to their god.

   Natronach continued, "Oh, my beautiful Tronach, you who are made of my blood, know that your days of victory have finally come." He smiled widely, a toothy, maddening grin. "Amyn has come to us and whimpered a plea, and I am inclined to submit. For if we fight now, we can kill that dreadful Whelp Dadiras and his bastard Elves!"

   The squadron of Tronach howled, "Natronach!" "War!" "Kill the Elves!"

   Natronach waved his fat hand again, bringing them once more to silence. He took a gasping breath, then: "And our fun shall not end there, my children. We shall killll the humans! We shall kill Amyn! We shall kill them all, until none are left but we!" He laughed, what sounded like a hundred men crushing their own skulls against a rock. "We go to war!"

   The crowd entered into uproar again, and Natronach simply watched smiling as they began again their madness.

   A single Tronach approached from behind Natronach, of similar appearance to the others but covered in a steel armor and sashed in black cloth. He had a sneering expression on his animal-face, a large hand gripping the hilt of a blunt hammer which rested over his shoulder. He looked up slightly to his god, lowered his head until Natronach noticed him.

   "What?" Natronach said simply, readjusting his stance, his posture failing even against the strong cane.

   The armored Tronach lifted his head, and above the roar, said, "Master, another group of human slaves has arrived." There seemed a disappointed or saddened undertone to his low voice. "They await you in your chambers."

   Natronach's face lit up, "Younger than last time, I hope." He began to turn around to head back into the hall.

   The Tronach slowly nodded, "You shall be pleased."

   "We shall see." Natronach said, beginning to saunter off. "Once they are ready here, prepare them." He called without looking back. "They must llllust for war."

   Dadiras stood alone here on the beach, a familiar place that he had come to many times before. This similar spot, among others he and Llemora visited along the eastern shore, was filled with the stretches of sands and growing trees along the edge. It was night now, like it usually was during their meetings, a time when they both knew they could come here and be alone with one another.

   Yet here Dadiras stood for now, by himself and staring out into the sea.

   He looked lost within himself, the night sky swirling with clouds far above his head, until finally drifting away to become a clean, clear midnight.

   The last of the sun had receeded beneath the horizon hours ago, and in this darkness there was nothing but the feel of energy and sounds of the wild. Here it was tranquil, a memory for Dadiras of the mountain path and river he often visited. Of the place he first saw Llemora and her brother, Hmethur. Though not truly seen like others could, he felt as though he learned so much about her even then as she reached up to him, herself at the time only a child.

   He had thought of many things these past days he had spent without seeing her. Thoughts of the growing war, a war he knew that would soon end. Thoughts of her, the woman he loved. Thoughts of here, on the night when she was supposed to meet him once more.

   He did not move from his spot as he heard her approach slowly at first out of the trees. He was still lost in himself, and almost groggily lifted his head to listen to her.

   "Dadiras!" She yelled from a distance, running barefoot down the beach in her beautiful white dress. It flowed in the wind as she came, but right now she did not seem as overjoyed to see him as she had before. At the same time, though, he could tell it was relief for her.

   She ran up next to him, only taking a moment to catch her breath.

   "Dadiras, I have to warn you." She spoke as though she was out of breath, her words coming quickly. "Natronach is alive, and he and Amyn are planning a trap for you."

   "I know." He said curtly. His eyes had been closed, and he was slowly beginning to open them.

   Natronach, that bastard Beast. Now conspiring with the very one whom Dadiras once considered a father.

   "I fear for your safety, my love." She continued, not really hearing him. "My brother, he too is in a fury." Genuine concern was in her voice as she stood wide eyed next to him. She wanted to throw her arms around him, over all things glad to see him again, but for now restrained herself from doing so.

   He nodded slowly in reply to her, "I have seen these things, and I have made preparations for them." She noticed his voice was overly calm. He seemed confident, or perhaps at least still half in a meditative trance. The third eye upon his forehead darted back and forth for but an instant, until resting calmly, staring into nothing.

   "Oh, Dadiras..." She started to relax, finally now fully catching her breath from the stress and spent energy. "I had to come and tell you, to know you would be safe."

   He shook his head, "Why do you worry so for me?"

   Llemora spoke quickly, almost sounding defensive, "Because I care for you."

   He stared at her, his thoughts filled with questions that he felt needed answering. "Even after you know what I've done? To your father, Inemat. Even perhaps what I may have to do to your brother."

   "I cannot explain why I do everything I do for you, Dadiras, but I know that you make me feel like no other ever could." She sighed heavily, "Inemat was attacked you out of fear, and you had just cause to defend yourself."

   Dadiras turned his head, his mind filling with memories of that moment so long ago. The very eyes of Inemat still lied within his own skull. Llemora continued.

   "Hmethur has gone mad over the years." Her voice was filled with sadness for a moment, disappointment. "He was never a brother to me."

   Sensing her emotions, Dadiras turned fully to her and softly placed his hands on her arms. Drawing closer to each other, Dadiras looked down into her dark eyes.

   "There are so many things in this world that I have seen, so much I could have, but of all things nothing brings me happiness like you do." As he looked into her then, he could not help but smile. "I am in love with you, my Morning Star."

   She smiled and laughed lightly, as he kissed her on the forehead and brought his hands down to meet hers. He continued to kiss her, bringing his lips to her cheek and to the side of her neck, until finally she turned her head to draw him up to her lips.

   With both their eyes closed, they pressed closely against each other. In the passion of their moment together, Dadiras said softly, "I wish to always be with you, Llemora."

   She smiled, "Then we will."

   Slowly he lifted his right hand up along her side, until he touched her face. They both opened their eyes and looked deeply into one another.

   "You're so beautiful," Dadiras said, pushing a strand of hair away from her eyes.

   She said nothing, kissed him once more on the lips.

   "Llemora..." He began, pausing a moment.

   The wind was lightly blowing through the trees, the only sound other than the washing of the waves up against the shore. The sand was fresh and moist, the smell of the sea lifting into the air. It was calm, a clear and starry sky looming overhead as a glowing full moon illuminated them.

   "Will you marry me?" He asked simply. Such a trivial thing, yet words which held so much strength and meaning.

   She was silent, her eyes wide and growing wet with tears. For a moment she sunk her head into his chest, then looked up into his face smiling. "I will." She said, both of them immediately beginning to kiss once more.

   As they stood there together in the night, embracing each other, lovers under the moon, there was a strange perfection about them.

   He, a demon and a monster.

   She, angelic and filled with beauty.

   Apart, to any eyes they were mirror images of each other. But in kiss, they were perfectly aligned.

   With a cloudy sky overhead, the Barrens in Kreya were a savanna terrain that served as a sort of border to the deeper, Kreyan deserts. The land here was the most tresspassable of any in the surrounded area, and the one who holds it would have clear entrance into both the northern and southern regions of the continent.

   So, of course, here was the ideal place to wage a deciding battle.

   Though some of Dadiras' forces were already stretching into the north, Amyn had assembled armies and pushed through and around them, coming here to greet a second wave of elven warriors who were originally intentioned to move on and assault the Citadel.

   Knowing that all of this would occur, the Dark Sire Dadiras himself travelled along with them. Ready for war, he walked among his solders. While others would set themselves atop high horses or chariots, he would be there in the mud and dirt with them. He was not here for some higher purpose, but here for the same purpose as his followers.

   He was here to fight, for both the necessity and the pleasure of it, and he would place himself among the front lines during it. No matter how long the struggle would take, he would be within the worst.

   Dadiras knew that one day this would come, a final battle that would decide the future of Azerul. Madness was here, vast armies gathering and ready to die for their gods, for some ideal that they themselves did not even believe in, but only in some blind fundamentalist fervor.

   As the Demon strongly stared out across the distance, he made out the moving and growing ranks of humans. Thousands of them scuttled along like leather-bound insects, forming long lines and rows across the sandy ground.

   Not far across from them, settling atop a high hill, were several hundred of the Tronach. Beastial creatures with a lust for war. If their Master had allowed them, they would of desired a feast on both the humans and Dadiras' elves. So for now they would listen to his will and direct all of their fury toward their greater foe.

   It was apparent that the humans felt out of place here in the desert lands, the sandy, rocky dirt rough beneath them. They were accustomed more to their calm, temperate areas in the north and extreme south of Nurach. Humans though could always prove resiliant and adaptable to many environments. Even in the lands of Sesibul they seemed to thrive just as well as the elves. At least, to thrive as best as any foreign slave could.

   Strangely at home here though were the other two races. Both of them had been birthed of the wastelands here, the vast expanse of nothing and dust - it made up what they were. Bred from blood and dirt, fighting over such terrain was more to their advantage.

   Dadiras found it hard to concentrate though on what was going on. Not because of the chaos which was growing around him, the thunderous steps of a thousand silver-armored soldiers forming in their batallions, but rather he thought of the sea, of the night, and of the moon.

   Here only the sun blazed down upon them, the musty scent of bodies crushing themselves against one another. This was a field of war, and in the end it would smell of only the putrid dead. This craggy field soon would be wet with varying shades of red.

   The Demon's mind was elsewhere though, his eyes seeing past the glaze of the sanguine sky to see his love, Llemora. He could imagine her now waiting in some high tower of the Citadel, sitting in an arched window and staring out into the south. Her mind filled with concern, hoping that when it all was over she would see Dadiras walking down that path toward her, and not her brother. And suddenly he felt clouded, an overwhelming ache to have her.

   It was here that these things must be decided. When all of this was over, finally he could truly be with she whom he loved. No longer would they be troubled with worries, there would be only the two of them. And he would give her the world.

   Dadiras felt disgusted a moment as he thought of Hmethur and Amyn. Hmethur had at times been more worthy of claiming the title of monster than Dadiras did, and Amyn... There was no simple way to describe his maddening influence. All things of him reminded Dadiras only of the collectivist horror of Hekrosk. To wield so much and to do nothing, to only press toward insane neautral equalities rather than to be allowed to make good use of ones specific talents.

   Considering now, Dadiras wondered if being trapped alone for so long in loneliness and pain had been beneficial.

   The other gods, with exception to Hmethur and Amyn, all held within the power to grow strong. They had forgotten, like Dadiras had, all of the powers they once possessed, but unlike him, they had not remembered any of it. They had not even tried. And even now they hid themselves like death fearing mortals behind the protection of the Citadel walls. None of them dared come here and fight.

   Perhaps they were only wise enough to know they would be slaughtered.

   Though apart Amyn and Hmethur were no extreme threat to him, Dadiras realized all too well that together they could overtake him. Even then... The risks were high - he would have to somehow seperate them.

   As a squadron of calvary gathered in front of him, Dadiras stood armored in his usual attired. A thick black steel covered his body, overlaying thick wrapped leathers and chain mail. His feet, as he had always preferred, were barefoot.

   Taking a calculating breath, he lifted a helmet propped at his side and placed it over his head. A combination of dark steel and bone, the helm shaped itself into the skull of some mythical creature. A line of razor teeth lining its bottom, a pair of looming eyes formed slots for Dadiras' own to peer through, holes in the top to allow his horns to pierce. The skull had horns of its own, though, which were long and studded, curling back over his head. A black chainmail skirt hung down from it to his shoulders to protect his neck.

   As he took a long breath, thoughts once more drifted to Llemora. What had happened only a few nights before was something he could not ignore. The time they spent together on the beach, staying together into the morning. For those hours he could think of nothing but love for her. Not of his pains, of his war, of the world, but of her. Her smile, her scent, and the beautiful glow behind precious ebon eyes.

   His intensity here increased. He would make short work of everything here, all so he could be with her again as soon as possible. He forced himself to put her aside, to think of his pains, to think of his war. A resolution to it all would be realized today.

   Here would be a legendary battle, and after it was over, only Dadiras alone could allow himself to stand.

   But somehow, deep inside himself, he knew things were far from to be over. Though at times, in meditation, he could make out pieces of the future, even the slightest details, it was difficult and dangerous to dig too deep within. Fate could not be changed, regardless of how far ahead he gazed. It seemed the vague obscurity of his visions allowed him only enough information - never to know too much so that he could affect what might happen.

   For sure, he had no idea what would happen today. Yet within himself he knew. He would kill the Tronach, the humans. He would killed Hmethur, and with hands still stained with their blood, he would kill Amyn.

   All of it was a battle already for him, but in his mind. He could feel the conflicting energies tearing him apart from within, only heightening his physical rage on the outside. He could imagine himself not only thrusting his sword into Amyn's bloodied head, but also to skewer himself as well in some hope to end his pain.

   But he could not die, for he was a god. He was both blessed and cursed with immortality.

   Llemora, through all of this, still managed to creep her way into the underlying regions of his mind. How could he do this to her?

   A human sounding horn lifted volume, its long, tenor resonation raising into the wind. With the sound of it the elves stirred, and it was clear that the Tronach were already wanting to make their way down and around the cliffside to the field below, to charge across that field at their enemy.

   Once more, Dadiras took a calculated breath, lifting his right hand to his side and feeling as a sword materialized into place there. Flowing with a caustic glow of engraved fire, it came into existence. As he lifted it in front of himself, scarred hands gripped tightly to the hilt, the jagged edge pointing ever foreward.

   And all was silent. There was no more world, only the one before him here. There was no battle in his mind, but only the one here. There were no more troubles, there was no more Dadiras - there was only his sword.

   And charged they did into death and destruction.

   A battle like none other was in chaotic rage, a million thunderous footsteps deafened only by a symphony of maddening warcries. The land was a devestation, the air was a muddy gray of fading sunlight and misty clouds of blood. Thousands of corpses, lying dead in their mindeless slaughter, coold steel and cold flesh. Decapitated, impaled, ruined - all of them were the same now in death. No more reason to fight. No more reason for their pride, their lusts, their envious greeds. They were all dead now, and anymore served only as an obstacle for the living.

   A squadron of Tronach stampeded forward, each of them a mad bull. They were bred for this dark purpose they had today - to fight and to kill. But it did not slow Dadiras' blade. Honorable creature's, still. Perhaps some use, with further breeding, could make his own recently captured Tronach slaved valuable.

   Now though they collapsed around the Demon with surprising speed, screaming in choking, blood curling cries as they did. Dadiras lifted his sword, ready to strike another blow. New wounds marked his arms and body, new scars dug deeply into his thick armor. A horn of his bone helm had been shattered - impacted by a heavy steel mace wilded by a particularly large Tronach. Dadiras had made sure that one suffered before he died.

   While he concentrated mostly on Natronach's ill of fate children, Dadiras' Elven Elite struck hell against the humans. Hmethur had finally come into the field himself, though still Amyn sat headstrong behind lines of hopeless soldiers, too afraid to enter into the hectic fray. For now, if any trouble the Elves would find would be from that so-called 'God Hero of Man', Hmethur. It was good he and Amyn were separated, though. To take them one at a time was the most prudent tactic now.

   A burst of burning invisible energy shot wildly from Dadiras' body, any Tronach surrounding him within a radius exploding into bloody nothing. Oh, the perks of remembered power! He couldn't help but smile behind the shade of his helm as he watched them cower at his sudden disaply of power. They stubmled more as they saw him already running toward him, his hands gripped tightly to the hilt of his serrated edge blade. He was outright laughing now.

   It was unfortunate, Dadiras knew, that he could not spend more time playing with them. Though enjoyable, this could be no game now. There was the actual risk of him possibly losing this battle.

   And defeat did not mean rallying and regrouping. If Amyn was victorious here, it meant Dadiras was dead. No thing could draw him to surrender or, a sickening thought, to actually run away. He would have to make quick work of those who were in his way of Hmethur and Amyn. For not only himself, but for her as well.

   Be still, my love. Dadiras thought, hoping somehow Llemora could maybe hear him. I will come for you soon.

   With a fervor, Dadiras continued to press himself through the Tronach. Over half of them were bloody pulps strewn across the ground, and though the rest of them continued on their same fighting rage, the human resolve was steadily dropping.

   From a long distance, Hmethur could glance over and see the battle ensuing. He had no idea Dadiras was so powerful.

   Upon his own body was a strong silver armor, now stained in blood, which covered his entire body, except for his head. A wreath of plumed hair lined the back of his neck and down over his armor's shoulders across the front, the center of his breastplate marked with a symbolic bull's head.

   With the battle going on around him, he lifted his sword and struck it down over a elf bearing a shield. Hmethur's large sword seemlessly cut through the shield and into the elf's arm, and with one final screaming grunt, drove the sword further down and into the thing's head. The elf collapsed backwards, mutilated and dead.

   And a thousand more were still running toward him.

   Originally this battle here was meant to surprise Dadiras, the sudden fact of it, as well as the sheer outnumbering size of force. It was hoped with this, Dadiras could be overcome. Somehow he expected what would happen here, somehow...

   Damn her... Hmethur thought, impaling another elven soldier on the point of his blade.

   Thousands of humans had gathered here, and supported by the Tronach monstrosities, the elves should not of lasted this long. Dadiras' enemy held at least twice as many in number, but something...

   Something about Dadiras seemed to give them strength, heightened drive toward victory. Though the fighting between the humans and elves on this side was essentially a stalemate, the sight of Dadiras in the distance, lone slaughtering an entire army of Tronach, was having a terrible affect on the men's morale.

   Vinach o duloth. Victory or death. Hmethur could hear that echoing chant in his head. Dadiras was here, with an army who welcomed death just as much as victory. They were not afraid to die, their beliefs teaching them that those worthy shall be revived by Dadiras. Even the most destroyed of them still charged forward, a maddening look in their eyes, swords and spears above their heads.

   With deadly accuracy, a volley of arrows rained onto the soldiers around Hmethur. With only a few of the arrows actually missing, several dozen warriors fell over, dead.

   It was obvious in this and previous skirmishes, the elves were very skilled in war. Unlike humans, they could not die by natural means. Some of them fighting here were hundreds of years old, having seen hundreds of battles. Each of them taking away experience, a bit of arrogance.

   Perhaps Hmethur was mistaken at calling this battle a stalemate. Dadiras was smart enough to put the young, inexperienced in the front lines. Once the last of them drew closer...

   He would have to kill that Demon himself, Hmethur knew. He would have to kill him. Or else there would be no end to this.

   So this is what you've been looking for all along?

   Dadiras lifted in front of himself his rigged blade, a furious look of infectious madness across his face. His eyes are bloodshot in his bloodlust, and he saw before him now a single foe among hundreds to be destroyed.

   Hmethur, that damnable brother of Llemora. Dadiras would enjoy this. But it was no time to play games. He would have to draw him off, away from the main bulk of the human soldiers and especially Amyn.

   The Demon cut through the phalanxed groups of troops, in his wake Elven elites bearing swords and spears. From a distance it appeared a shower of blood, as though Dadiras had now above all times entered into a particular rage. Hmethur, his own thoughts almost deafened above that of the screams of dying men, when he saw Dadiras steadily approaching.

   "...Coming straight for me." Hmethur thought quickly, pulling his sword out of the corpse of a fallen elf, rising it above his head as he held his ground.

   Could he hold is ground? Dadiras was like a bull in charge approaching him, plowing through a wall of steel, flesh, and bone like they were nothing. In any other moment he would welcome this coming, the chance to fight, but right now... He hadn't truly realized how powerful Dadiras was. He hadn't allowed himself to believe that he could actually ever lose.

   Could he rise victorious from this?

   Before he could even consider anything, the Demon was already upon him. It was a deft motion of clashing swords and dodging, the both of them against the other. For a long while they clashed, back and forth, sweat beading on each other's bodies. Blades flew and crashed against each other, the occasional pounding fist into each other's body and head. But it was apparent that Dadiras was winning. As powerful as Hmethur was, Dadiras the superior.

   As they fought, Hmethur felt overpowered, and after only a few more moments, he fell to one knee.

   Then Dadiras, with his empty hand, took strong hold onto Hmethur's hair. The young god let out a jerking shout of pain.

   "So this is what you've been looking for all along?" Dadiras said to him, both of their faces very close to each other. It was all happening in a moment, the battle slowed around them, both of their hands gripping tighter to respective weapons. Dadiras continued, his voice like a pounding, echoing force which struck Hmethur's body with every utterance. "You've come and you've seen me, for your entire life you've hated me for what I've done to you. But what have I done?" There was a silence, all things still a blur, this single second of time extended for an eternity. Hmethur grimaced. "Your father did not have to die, but his arrogance led him to destruction. Though I will say to your bloodline I owe many things. Inemat awakened me, and your sister bears my child."

   With that, Hmethur broke free of the trance set upon him, his voice rising to a thunderous cry.

   In the distance, Amyn realized the two were fighting and turned his head. Still in the rear lines, he had been too busy commanding his men to keep track of all things which were occuring. The battle here was massive, but how could he overlook Dadiras?

   Hmethur stood suddenly, knocking Dadiras back off balance. In a quick motion the warrior lifted his sword and thrusted it into Dadiras' midsection. Seemlessly the sword pierced through the demon.

   But it hit nothing.

   Breathing deeply, Hmethur relaxed long enough to see what had happened. Though his sword pierced through where Dadiras' gut should be, the entire lower half of his body seemed to be have been replaced by a misty black smoke.

   Though his upper body remained, his arms and hands, a demonic blade and a demonic grin.

   And in a swift motion, Hmethur's head lay on the ground separated from his body. As the corpse fell to its knees, blood flowing freely from the wound, it collapsed onto its side. Dadiras body reformed itself from the smoke and the mist of it dissapated, and he watched as Hmethur's body began to decay and turn to ash.

   Any remaining human soldiers immediately around him watched with fear, turned to run away. Though the elves kept rushing forward into the fray...

   Dadiras watched for a while at the dissintegrating remains of Hmethur's body, kneeling next to it and cupping a pile of ash in his open hand.

   "Yun, O naHmethur, ar dan a wal slew fugerin." Dadiras spoke aloud. You, O Great Hmethur, are dead and will sleep forever.

   Hail the will of God.

   Llemora sat with an idle glance into the south, her dark eyes staring deeply into the fog of the mountains, the more immediately, nearby plain and the stretch of forests. The city was quiet as night rose and the moon sat overhead, and for once in quite the while, Llemora felt a brief sense of tranquility.

   It was difficult to keep her mind free of troubles, though, with all that she knew was happening in this world. She could taste the air, remembered, somehow, the scent of the sea and imagined the nights she'd spent there.

   Oh, how many time she'd left all she knew to know only him. Dadiras... How she wished he could be in his arms now. If anything, to at least see him there and to know he was safe, and that he was alive.

   But why should she worry? He was powerful, extremely capable. He had his armies at his sides and alone a strength which rivaled that of Amyn. Dadiras was at war now, as he had been for too long already - but it was nearing an end. He had survived yet, although through less dire circumstances. Why should she worry? Perhaps it was because she loved him.

   Llemora wore her similar, traditional attire. A long, white dress flowed smoothly over her body, the soft, silky material gripping to her form. She had allowed her hair to grow longer now, reaching down past her shoulders in its deep, ebony brilliance. Her eyes seemed to shine, though filled with a certain sadness, reflecting the light of the now grey-glowing moon.

   On other nights it had shone red - an omen of sorts perhaps that it did not tonight. Already many considered a connection of it to Dadiras, so perhaps from their view the sight of it remaining that dull white was instead a blessing.

   What if Dadiras died? She could not imagine the consequences to her and her... Yes, her son.

   While it could not be seen through her physical appearance, she knew she was pregnant. With a hand set to her abdomen, she could feel the child growing within her, the child of Dadiras. Dadiras, he was the one she loved, and right now he was somewhere out of sight, making her brother regret his hatred.

   With a pair of tired eyes, Llemora looked out into the distance. Once all of this was over, all of this pain and war, things would be better, how they should be. The two of them could be together, finally for real. Those many eloping nights together had been beautiful, but she longed for the chance to spend all of her time with him.

   He needed her, and she needed him. He, to be free from his tortures and gain some sense of sanity; she, to know for she was no longer alone. In this world, it which seemed so horrible, always she would have him there with her. At times Llemora wondered why she had even been born into this place, why her mother and father had chosen to come here from that other realm. Like her brother as well, Llemora had been revered as the beginning of a new life, the firsts of a new generation.

   But most likely Hmethur was dead, and she was meant to wed his murderer. Perhaps that was her only purpose in this place - to be with Dadiras. To bear his children.

   "You will be strong," she said to herself aloud, her hand still resting on her belly. "And the child will be strong."

   Pulling herself away from the window and the long, landscape view, Llemora returned again to the halls of Amyn's Citadel. Dadiras often had told her what he would do with this place when he finally ruled it.

   "Move it," He would say, "Away from this dreaded north and into Sesibul. Take it's very foundations into my grasp and replace them on the edge of the sea, a symbol a victory to be seen across the gulf itself."

   "You mean to literally move it?" She remembered asking in reply, "To take the great tower itself and carry it across a continent?"

   He had smiled, "It is only a bit of rock and marble, and without Amyn on its throne it will be all the lighter."

   Memories like these flooded into her mind as she walked the dim halls, passing by thick archways and tapestries, the high ceilings above her lined with ornate carvings. A thousand wonderful memories...

   But he was so far away from her now.