Vizon strode up the blackened metal stairs, his footfalls as silent as a wraith despite the thick armor he wore. He moved at a leisurely pace up the vast dark corridor, not wishing to seem hurried by his lord’s summons to the other attendees. His timing for the meeting would be perfect, not early enough to display eager loyalty like some of these other whipped dogs, but not late enough to provoke his lord’s ire.

Glancing back, he watched Reign struggle to follow in his wake. The worm was already breathing heavily despite having climbed only a few thousand steps. Vizon let out a tsk of annoyance—clearly, the insect was in need of more physical training when they got back. The worthless brat’s pace might even ruin Vizon’s perfect timeliness.

He flew up the last hundred yards of stairs in a fraction of a second, then turned to wait for his leech to arrive. The scar beneath his right eye started to itch and he had to refrain from rubbing it as he stood there. It was an old habit—although the wound had long since healed, he still found himself giving in to it on occasion. It took another several long agonizing seconds before the child finally reached the top landing, panting heavily to catch his breath.

“Silence,” he demanded, letting the ire of being kept waiting seep into his voice. The instant reaction brought him a sense of satisfaction as the obedient dog immediately clamped his mouth shut, chest shuddering as he struggled to suppress his breathing.

Satisfied that no further punishment was in order, Vizon whirled and strode confidently to the doors leading to the council room, his tail right on his heels.

They approached the entryway, the doors towering above him large enough to fit a full-sized titan through. He glared at the Nightguards, whose hulking figures barred entry to everyone not part of the inner circle. As one of the four shrouds within The Order of Lazarus, he needed no introduction, and if any of these brutes inquired otherwise they would soon wish they hadn’t.

Luckily for all the guards posted here, not one said a word. As one they lumbered over to the doors, their heavy footfalls the only sound that could be heard within the Keep, besides of course, the still-laborious breathing from the parasite behind him. Together they heaved against the doors, their bulging muscles strained against the heavy weight momentarily before both doors finally started to rotate inwards, opening soundlessly from the silent force of the elite guard.

Each one of them boasted strength equal to or greater than any Battlemaster in fighting prowess, as was the minimum for those who watched over the central keep. To Vizon they were all worthless pawns to be used and discarded.

He marched confidently into the council room and took the only empty seat of the four black ebony thrones that surrounded a large circular table. The room was a rather simple design, unbefitting of someone of his caliber, much less that of his lord.

Countless murals on the walls depicted the ancient battles and trials his master had faced. The murals had been enchanted to allow an accurate representation to step from one painting to the next and reenact their scenes. Vizon watched the painted figure as it moved from Saint to Champion before finally making its ascension.

The shadows of the large chamber darkened and started to swirl together from all corners of the room, interrupting the current scene of the mural as it animated a fight with a raging hydra. The leech fell to his knees behind Vizon, his face going pale from either the sudden cold or the ambient whispers of madness that soon filled every inch of the central chamber.

Probably both, he thought cynically as he glanced away from the wide-eyed mess that was his inheritor. Vizon himself was slightly unsettled by the whispers whose insistent voices gave promise of fame and fortune should he strike down those around him. The others sitting in the room didn’t seem disturbed in the least. The second Shroud, Bauldur, glanced his way and gave him a pitying look that only served to remind Vizon of his own inferiority in the chain of power.

The other two Shrouds gazed up to the massive throne looming over their table, where the swirling darkness had begun to manifest. The throne was made from the darkened bones of some cataclysmic monster their lord was tasked to kill for his ascension, and it towered in the air to the point where it disappeared in the shadowed ceiling. The monster itself was said to have stretched for miles but having a throne that high would’ve been absurd.

On either side of the grand throne hovered two green torches, each containing the soul of one of the Shrouds. Vizon gazed unflinchingly at the flame of his own torch to distract his mind from the voices by watching some of his memory flicker in the fire. He saw himself level the city of Ashwood, the townsfolk running and screaming as his magic slowly consumed each one.

Then the fire shifted and it showed him gazing down upon a man as he cried over the mutilated bodies of his wife and son, clutching them both in trembling arms. The man’s face was twisted with uncontrollable hatred and grief as he sobbed. That scene brought a slight smile to Vizon’s lips—it was one of his fondest memories. The jagged scar beneath his right eye itched once again as he relived that day.

All at once, the whispers dropped in volume as the shadows parted to reveal a man lounging on the main throne. His back leaned against an armrest several times his height, and the ends of his feet didn’t come halfway to touching the other end of the massive seat. As one, Vizon and the other three figures seated around the table stood and bowed deeply to their lord. Even the brat who was unable to stand still managed to slam his head forcefully against the hard metal floor to show his submission.

“Take your seats,” Lazarus’s voice called out, silky and quiet but still carrying clearly to everyone who was meant to hear it. The voice always held a note of command, one that brokered no argument nor allowed for hesitation. Vizon and the rest of the Shroud immediately sat back down in their own thrones.

“First Shroud, Thane, your report.” Lazarus looked over at Thane, showing her respect that he reserved for her position and power alone. Thane folded her hands in front of her and began prattling off some details of battles she had fought and individuals of interest she had met with or killed over the past year. Thane held a tall, lean build with long, black hair that flowed loosely down her back. Her sharp features might be considered fair if it weren’t for her all too serious demeanor and unnerving eyes that shone like pitch night.

Overall, Vizon thought of her as a highly uninteresting and reserved person. She was too strait-laced and never seemed to care for the schemes of the other Shrouds. It was as if she placed herself on a pedestal above their petty squabbles. Her high-horse attitude had always grated heavily on his nerves.

The sure way she carried herself had long cemented within Vizon a desire to break the woman and see her grovel at his feet. His mind flashed back to the whispers and their incessant need for him to grab his weapon and run Thane through. He pried those thoughts from his mind—he wasn’t strong enough to win against any of the council members in a fight, at least not yet.

Thane finished her report and Lazarus immediately returned to his old lounging position against his chair, fingers twitching as if playing an invisible harp. The rest of the council waited patiently for several moments until their lord finally spoke again. “Bauldur, what news do you have of the Dark Continent?”

Bauldur’s voice was a deep baritone pitch, and he spoke slowly as if it took intense concentration to even mutter a single word. Vizon’s first impression of the man had been that of a simple dumb brute. He certainly looked the type, with short brown hair, a plain face and an eight-foot-tall build of pure muscle, but over the decades of working together, he had come to realize the hulking man possessed a keen intelligence. Every word he spoke mirrored his battling style in that it was carefully and strategically planned out. “I traveled to Allistar’s territory. The rumors of his death seem…likely. His continent has fallen. I’ve sent a platoon to investigate further.”

An unfamiliar sensation washed over Vizon and it took him a second to realize it for what it was, shock. Rumors of Allistar’s death had been circulating across the globe for the past several months, but he had paid them no mind. Allistar was an Alliance god and designated with overseeing Evaskia, an island continent across the Nava Sea. To think there was a being besides Lazarus out there both willing and powerful enough to kill him was disturbing news.

His death would have released such an immeasurable amount of energy that it might have rendered all of Evaskia uninhabitable. The island continent had already been a harsh and deadly jungle to begin with. The vast mutations a god’s death would inflict on its creatures and environment would certainly make the place interesting and utterly uninhabitable for the next few cycles. He made a note to pay the island a personal visit before the dogs of the Alliance swarmed the place.

Lazarus paused the twirling of his fingers for just a moment as he digested the news. “If Allistar has indeed been killed, then the continent may be considered not fallen but lost.”

Bauldur’s face paled at the news. A fallen continent could eventually be reclaimed, but land considered “lost” could never be taken back. “The men?” Bauldur inquired, his tone grim.

“You may consider them dead. Selene?” The indifferent god pushed on to the next report as if the lives of thousands of his followers meant less to him than the dirt underneath his boot.

Unfazed by their lord’s reaction, Selene immediately started to recount her own developments. The sorceress was as callous as Lazarus, her only redeeming quality being her beauty. The woman had undoubtedly used magic to shape her body to such a perfect and enticing form. Her face was pearl-white and perfectly angled with high cheekbones, large violet eyes and full lips. Her long, dark purple hair draped across her back and seemingly glowed with its own inner light.

Today she wore a long quicksilver necklace, embroidered with a dazzling red ruby glistening between her large breasts. It was accompanied by a dark violet dress that complemented her eyes, with a slit down the front that stretched all the way to her waist in a long V and was barely held together by a small gold chain that looked ready to burst at any moment from the strain of keeping her chest held in the thin fabric.

Vizon had slept with prostitutes more modestly dressed than the woman, but none more beautiful. Rather than appealing, he found himself annoyed by the whole display. It was obviously an outfit meant to garner the attention of a single person.

Selene stood up to give her report, bowing low to reveal more of her figure to Lazarus, the movement having the undesired side effect of briefly flashing the rest of the court. Bauldur glanced away, Vizon rolled his eyes, but both Thane and Lazarus were unperturbed—the former waiting for the report, the latter still playing his unseen harp. As she finished her bow, Vizon glimpsed a flash of irritation flicker across her face at being so handily ignored, and he smiled.

“My lord…” Her pristine voice purred out the words. “I’ve been toying with the experiments as you’ve desired, and much to my deep pleasure, the summoning ritual yet again bore fruit this cycle. The portal is proving a little too aggressive for me to properly grasp, and without your guiding hand, I fear I may have to play with it a while longer before it deigns to behave.” With the last statement, she looked up to him with wide pleading eyes.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to manage the assignment.” Lazarus waved the issue away with a flick of his wrist as he spoke, not once sparing a glance at Selene. Vizon had to suppress a broader grin; it served the vixen right.

Selene retook her seat, her face downcast as yet another one of her advances was turned down. “As you wish, my lord.” Her voice held a pitiful tone and Vizon had the sudden impulse to run to her side to comfort the woman. His grin lessened slightly as her words stole away some of his glee, damn charismatic woman.

“And Selene?” She looked up solemnly at her lord as he spoke. “Stabilize the portal for me and I’ll give you a personal hand on the next project.” Immediately, her face transformed into a look of joyous admiration, and even the darkness of the keep seemed to recede from her exuberance.

“It will be done, my lord!” she hurriedly replied, her cheeks growing red from whatever lewd thoughts she was having. Vizon could only marvel at how easily she was manipulated. The woman was sure to work herself ragged now for Lazarus, who in return would spend maybe five minutes readying her with even more work.

Lazarus gestured offhandedly towards Vizon, motioning for the final report. I’m not even worth a few words in his mind, Vizon thought as he stood to speak. “As per your request, my lord, I have spent my time ensuring the friendship of the surrounding nations away from the gaze of their Alliance overseers. As of yet, we have secured the loyalty of The Broken Empire, Erridor and Vezetch.”

Lazarus motioned for Vizon to return to his seat, which he did. “Vezetch will suit my needs nicely. There is an object of power they’ve kept hidden beneath the sands they built their capital upon. Thane, you will retrieve the artifact and handle the local deity should he intervene. Well done, Vizon.”

He ended his last words with a ghost of a smile. Vizon was dumbfounded—nobody except Thane was ever acknowledged for their work. Whatever item he had made available must be of monumental importance to his lord’s schemes.

“Selene and Thane already have their assignments. Bauldur, you will spend the next cycle strengthening yourself in the tower, along with your usual duties of troop management. Additionally, I want you to look into what caused Allistar’s death. Such a threat should not be allowed to exist beneath our notice. Vizon, you and Reign will ensure the transition of the new cycle’s harvest, before continuing to establish further relations with other neighboring nations.”

Vizon’s scar began to burn on hearing his assignment. Truly, Lazarus was grateful for his accomplishment. He couldn’t stop the smile from returning to his lips as he bowed in acknowledgment. He had been waiting for this order for a very long time.

“Dismissed,” Lazarus said as his presence immediately vanished from the room. The shadows around the room reoriented themselves and the whispers abruptly ceased. Thane followed quickly, her form bubbling up and disappearing in a cloud of black smoke as she whisked away to her next task.

Selene paused for a moment and gave Vizon a playful wink. “Until next time.” she said with a devious look as her gorgeous figure glistened and grew translucent before shattering into a spray of gemstones.

Bauldur in turn stepped lightly out of his throne and gently pushed the heavy chair back into place with one massive hand. “Show-offs,” he muttered before walking to the exit and casually swinging the monolithic doors open like he was entering a common tavern.

Vizon sighed. They were all “show-offs” whether they intended to be or not. He got out of his chair and turned to face the leech, who was panting heavily on the ground with sweat dripping down his downtrodden face. He would have to keep an eye on him—the presence of Lazarus could make lesser men go insane. “We’re leaving,” Vizon stated as he strode past the child.

“Where may I ask, are we going, my lord?” the leech spluttered out as he clambered sluggishly to his feet.

Even the annoying high-pitched voice of the brat behind him couldn’t dampen his good mood. “To pay a visit to a few old friends.”