It was with nervous footsteps that Lily passed through the doorway, swallowing hard as she tried to suppress her imagination. He was the king, the strongest man in all of Altaros. He had murdered his own city to solidify his seat of power, afraid of usurpation. Her fingers would not stop trembling as she smelled the paranoia and madness that lingered in the air.

The great hall was a massive construction of alabaster and elaborate gold carvings, stretching up to the glass-image ceiling. Ornate statues of soldiers lined the sides, each one different in its stance and armament. Some bore swords that gleamed in the brilliant light streaming in from colored windows, others spears nearly twice as tall as a man, and others still longbows with arrows nocked and ready to fire. Tapestries along the walls bore the sigils of various houses of power, families of influence in the Capital. It seemed partly a cathedral, from the grand and regal appearance.

Or rather, the appearance that it used to have. Sculptures and stitchings were not what attracted her gaze; rather, she found her eyes drawn to the rampant magic that flowed through the room. Strands of purple mahji danced like snakes through the air, weaving in and out of spontaneous spells and brimming with power.She was shocked to even find green marai present, decaying and warped. The magic was free-flowing, twisting and coiling in serpentine motions, yet they formed a massive net-like image in the air as they writhed. Lily found that the harder she looked, the finer the strands of magic became. Their detail became impossibly small, growing finer and finer the more she looked, until finally she made out images in them.

“Impressed, are we not? A hundred thousand ravens watch over every corner of this realm. I saw you dying in the Outlands, saw you fleeing through the Peaks. I saw it all.” rang out a deep voice from the other side of the hall, and she saw King Alerick resting on his throne. Hurriedly, she kneeled, afraid to do anything that might find an arrow in her throat; one does dance with a madman, after all—she knew so from rather personal experience. Yet Joy did not move behind her, and she hurriedly hissed “Kneel.” before the king could say anything.

“There is no need for demon to. That will be enough.” the king boomed quite jovially, apparently in a pleasant mood as he waved his hand for her to rise. “I have known that you would be coming for quite some time. It is fortunate that you came now and not earlier. We had a mild stint in the city, but all the disagreements have been sorted out.” As she watched, his eyes danced with amusement and wild light, glinting eerily in the magic-colored light. Truly a madman, she remarked, although she noted that she was one as well.

“My king, I could not help but notice the empty streets. Are the people—” she began hesitantly, but King Alerick suddenly cut her off with a vicious tone.

“Traitors! Usurpers and turncoats who lusted after my power. They dared to challenge me, here, in my own palace! They shouted in the streets and rioted in my halls. I had every last one of them put to the blade, and their families as well. Their polluted bloodlines were torn out by the roots.” He ranted with a fervent passion, standing up as his voice crescendoed. “I am the king, the true king. And you—you girl, are you one of them?” His gaze suddenly turned to her, his eyes sharp enough to pierce steel. Yet before she could respond, another voice spoke in the hall that she had not been expecting, had not even ever heard.

“Please, my king. We have need for them, remember?” rasped a voice that stepped out of the shadows behind the throne. Its owner was a wizened old man, his head smooth and devoid of hair. He wore a robe of purple and red that stretched out onto the ground, ornately covered with runes and scratchings. A faint scar traced along his cheekbone, running under his left eye. “Please calm yourself, my king.” A faint smile danced on his pale face, making her quiver in discomfort.

“My king, forgive my insolence, but who is this man?” she asked nervously, aware of those piercing eyes stabbing into her skull. Behind her , she heard Joy digging his claws into the stone as the tension in the room heightened. She dared not move her hands closer to her blades, lest the king order her executed. How did I find myself in this madness? This was not how it was to happen.

“He is the Grand Magister, girl. The strongest channeler to grace the lands, and the only loyal branch on this whole rotten tree. You will not disrespect him, or the—” he replied, only to be cut off by the Magister who gestured to the magic that hung in the air.

“They come, my king. Watch.” As he pointed, the spell danced and wove around his outstretched finger, the purple coiling like wraiths. There were images spun by the mahji, and Lily saw a massive procession of figures crossing the lands. They were faint, indistinct at first, yet as she looked further she saw them riding horses. Men and women and children, they streamed over the horizon like a flood. And as the image began even more focused, Lily confirmed the sneaking suspicion that she had: they were the Malifori. She made out their fanned skin, their braided hair and their characteristic bows. They rode with a strangeness about them, an uncharacteristic silence and stiffness in their motions.

“What magic?” Joy grunted out from behind her in surprise, yet before she could respond the king spoke to his Magister with rushed words.

“Is this the army that you promised me? Loyal and unflagging?” he demanded, reaching out with a fist to grab them and by his robe. Lily saw a brief look of annoyance flicker across the Magister’s face before disappearing, but the king seemed not to notice.

“Aye, my king. Look how they rush to your side in your time of need.” he soothed, as if speaking to a petulant child, and the king quickly turned back to the image with fervent, excited eyes. As Lily watched as well, she found herself stunned by creeping dread.

The Malifori grew more clear in the picture, and she found slithering lines of black on their skin. They were like veins of shadow, pulsing obscenely, abhorrently. Black mist curled from the Malifori’s skin, gathering like a dark cloud around the horsemen. Even their mounts were not untouched by the corruption, shadows shrouding their hooves and blackening their eyes. It was a horrifying procession, and utterly terrifying army of damnation. They were claimed by Skal’ai.

As she watched, she recognized section of the Kingsroad that they were on, with the corpses lining the side and the smooth-paved stones. They were hardly a quarter of a day’s march from the Capital, and at the pace they were riding, they would arrive in half of an hour. She was stunned that they could ride so hard with such large a number, but then she realized the numbing shadow around them could drive them to the brink of collapse without sensation. Loyal and unflagging, the Magister had just said, and then she realized the import of the first word.

“Joy!” she cried out in panic, immediately reaching for her blade. The demon burst out from behind her with a blur of motion, magic crackling from its claws as it shattered stone with powerful strides. She had the blade half out of its sheath, Joy roaring mid-charge, when a sudden icy sensation froze her limbs. Joy crashed to the ground with a thud, stiffer than a statue. She watched as the Magister waved his hands, the free-flowing mahji wrapping around her and sinking into her as it bound her in chains. Her eyes watered, her lungs burning as she could not even take a breath. Slowly, she began to topple over, her body too rigid to even right itself until she struck the ground with a flare of pain in her shoulder.

“Now, my king. We must begin soon.” the Magister spoke, gesturing to the prone figures on the floor. He held a golden mantle in his hands, its surface ornate and rippling like the surface of a lake. Three empty sockets on its surface made her heart tremble as she realized what it was.

“Yes, yes. Give it to me. I am ready.” King Alerick replied impatiently, his face like a child about to receive a toy. Slowly, the Magister settled the collar over his head, gently lowering it until it rested on the king’s shoulder.

The instant that it touched the king’s flesh, shadows around the room suddenly flared to life, writhing and twisting as they joined the mahji and marai in a primal, impassioned dance. They grew and shrank like flickering candle flames, suddenly throwing themselves up the walls until they covered even the ceiling. The entire hall was swallowed by shadows, by Skal’ai. They crept around her foot, wrapping around her limbs and exuding that crow-cursed mist that numbed her heart.

Yet her eyes were drawn to the king, whose expression turned to agony the instant that the mantle touched him. He bore the look of a man unable to scream, his skin first flushing red, then growing a pale white. The shadows danced around him, suddenly lunging forward and burying themselves into his stomach. He coughed and screamed then, howled and wailed as his body was no longer rendered mute.

Guards streamed in through the door, brandishing their arms in worry. Their shouts of concern were abruptly halted when they saw the procession inside the palace. Madness, Lily realized with a coughing smile. It was all sheer madness.

The Magister waved a lazy hand, the runes carved into the soldiers cheeks suddenly weeping red blood. They crumbled to the ground without even a scream, dead as stone. Crimson pooled around their bodies, hungry Skal’ai inching forward hesitantly like vultures before descending to gorge upon the corpses.

The king’s wails did not abate as unfelt winds strew his hair wildly. Scarlet blood oozed slowly out of his wounds before stilling, crackling and freezing on his flesh. The Skal’ai were like worms as they tore into him, the mantle glowing gently as its bearer died. As the frenzy continued, Lily noticed that the Malifori were now crossing the final hill before the Capital. They rode at an unholy pace, their horses practically frothing at the mouths. As she watched, before her very eyes, some of the beasts were split open from the inside. Black lines cut through the stomachs and throats to birth shadows from inside. The black tide carried the Malifori the final distance, the men’s eyes pulsing black.

The Magister was chanting now, uttering guttural words in a bestial tongue as the king died before him. King Alerick’s screams were growing quieter, becoming more whimpers as the twitching of the shadows began to slow. Blood caked his embroidered clothing, cracking as he moved. As the Magister’s chanting reached a peak, the shadows suddenly pulled out, letting the king go. Without any support, his body did not collapse. He stood on those trembling legs, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. Black mist poured from the wound in his stomach, his skin growing paler and paler by the second.

His flesh aged before her eyes, becoming withered and wrinkled as the gash in his stomach began to stitch together. It was as if his life was being drained to heal the wound, his nails yellowing and becoming cracked. The shadows danced ominously behind him, black mist pluming like a shroud until his transformation was complete. Finally, he opened his eyelids, revealing eyes that were black as night, without shape, without form, without depth.

And upon the golden mantle, on that shimmering, fluid surface, Lily saw two blackstones glinting darkly.

“Hail.” whispered the Magister, his voice nearly cracking from some sensation in between reverence and fear. “Hail, to my lord.” He kneeled shakily, prostrating himself as what was once King Alerick stepped forward slowly. Lily saw the Malifori outside the city, loosing arrows at the crowds of refugees just outside the gates. The guards on the walls were unnaturally still, standing rigid in puddles of their own crimson blood.

Fear filled her heart, a helpless fear as she realized that Sin stood before her. The Sin of the stories, the Sin the legends, the Sin of nightmares. As he turned his neck to face her, she felt hysteria pierce through her skull like a lance. Sharp pain made her eke out a shuddering gasp as the shackles of magic around her fell away. She collapsed onto the ground, weeping blood from her eyes that splattered onto the stone.

Twice, I bore his will when I dreamt. It broke my mind, she remembered, trembling uncontrollably as she gazed up at the monster. Sin threw his arms out wide as he smiled, a horrific and unnatural expression on his ancient face. When he spoke, it was with a thousand voices that stretched across a thousand eons.

“Now, we approach the end.”