Sarnakog gazed across the battlefield. His legions, as numerous as they were mighty, seemed to stretch towards the horizon, an army made to conquer, not just a nation, or a continent, but the world. And he had damn near done so. At one point, his dominion, his empire, encompassed most of the world. The suns never set on the Xosha Empire. Until they did.

One of the last holdouts against his reign was the Kingdom of Abrusta, known for their mastery of the arcane. Which was why Sarnakog waited so long to assault them. He respected them, and feared what measures they had hidden, what trump cards they had prepared. And so he waited, built up his empire, his army, his own personal power, to the point where he believed that even Abrusta’s secret weapons would stand no chance. How wrong he’d been.

At first, Sarnakog had thought they were just a team of elites, some of the King’s Guard, perhaps. And they were, but they were abnormal even for elites. As a team, they could stand toe-to-toe with his generals, demons who had lived longer than the country the team defended, and had crushed other nations even without an army. And the team kept getting better, stronger, more skilled, better at working together. Heroes, he heard whispered across the battlefield, by friend and foe alike. Beings from afar, summoned early in the war, to have time to learn, and train, so that they could grow enough to face Sarnakog himself in combat.

He had sallied forth, hellbent on putting a stop to their insolence. But every time he made to crush them, they fled, using magic to travel farther and faster than even he could. And they struck where he was not, slowly pushing the borders of his empire back to their original demarcation, and then more, until all that remained of his broken legions, his loyal soldiers, gathered around him, where he could defend anywhere the heroes dared to show their faces.

It became a stalemate of sorts. The heroes could never risk attacking all together, so they individually engaged in guerilla tactics. Sarnakog, on the other hand, could not risk moving against a solo hero, for fear of either ambush, or attacks on other flanks while he defended one.

And it was one such standoff, when Sarnakog had a wonderful idea. If his enemy could summon these so-called heroes from beyond, then why couldn’t he? He would need to know how Abrusta summoned the heroes though. With that in mind, Sarnakog tasked the Children of Envy, a cult worshipping the Prince of Envy, Leviathan, with stealing the secrets of the summoning from Abrusta. And once they had what he desired, Sarnakog could rid himself of the heroes who ruined his life’s work, and slaughtered his soldiers. Vengeance, after all, is a dish best served with a hearty side of irony.