Arktorius Malakath's Story

Locked away in the great blade Banatrix the soul of the Lord of the Underworld waited and watched the world of men. His forces were hard at work trying to bring him back to his icy throne but for now Arktorius Malakath was forced to remain in his prison created by Mora Ven. While he could have been enraged or going mad with hate the Reaper of Souls was patient and calm. His anger, while present, was like the calm befroe the storm. He personified rumbling thunder in the distance as the sky darkened on the world of men. He could sense the prayers of his faithful and granted them the joy of hearing his voice. Unlike Mora or Caylim or Lilith his voice was not melodious or inviting. It was not warm or soothing. His voice was cold and ghostly, like the whisper of a killer creeping into your home in the dead of night.

"I hear your pleas..."

Arktorius said into the mind of the five members of his cult praying in the candle light of his temple miles away from the Hold of Mora. The faithful were all on their knees and bowed, placing their heads on the cold stone floor once their patrons voice filled their minds.

"Dark Lord... he have assembled as you requested. Your faithful are ready to move on your commmand."

The faithful who spoke was a human who had made his name known to the detah God before. Serving faithfully since his imprsionment, the human named Inglip was a fanatic originally from Mora's Hold but had since led a march of the faithful to the cold and snow in the north to worship their God in peace.

"Good... It is time to set events in motion. Send my forces to the pit. Release Lilith..."

Athos watched as Caylim inspected the head of the beast. As she inspected the head he inspected the body, kneeling beside it as he carefully searched for anything that stood out. The first and most obvious was the fact that it was still in wolf form. Upon death a lycan would revert back to its original form be that elf, human, dwarf ect. Yet this one had not done so. Athos ran his hand along the matted and bloodied course fur of the beast searching for clues to the oddity of it finding little of use. The assassin couldn't help but feel the chill in the air as if something very wrong was happening, something that they would all have to face very soon. He got to his feet and made his way after Caylim and the rest of the group so they may get underway.

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Meanwhile, deep in a long forgotten forest six acolytes made their way into the heart of the unknown all for the love of their chosen God. Worshipers of Death itself these followers of Arktorius have been given a holy mission and they were faithfully seeing it through. Leading the expedition was Lord Inglip. Once an elven scholar and teacher who was fascinated with the story of Frostmourne. The ancient blade of the God of Death.

As the legend goes upon the imprisonment of the Old Gods Frostmourne was lost. It was found several years later by an expedition of adventurers seeking answers to a town that had descended into madness. Murders were abound and rape was common. Mothers abused their children, husbands abused their wives. The little sleepy village had degraded into a literal hell on earth. The adventures tracked the source of the corruption to a dark forest just north of the village. Planted in the ground was the ancient blade of Arktorius, Frostmourne The Icy Touch of Death. It's dark power resonating outward and had killed the forest long ago, the trees and plant life around it had withered and died. To the adventurers horror it was planted at the base of a small river that fed into the town's water supply. Realizing that this was the source of the corruption the adventurers removed the blade. The decision sealed their fate. The group of once life long friends began turning on each other. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months the tensions grew worse. Now far away from the sleepy village the influence of the Dark Lord reached a fever pitch and blood fed the blade for the first time since the imprisonment of it's master. The adventures fought over the sword, seeking control of it. The battle resulted in all of them dead lying on a cold crypt floor in a long forgotten tomb they had been foolishly seeking riches in.

Inglip, then a simple scholar set out after the blade, to see if the legends were true. Finding the blade proved it to be so but unlike the others he oddly was able to bond with the blade accepting the corruption. He tried not to master it for he knew it had but one master but instead allied himself with it, protecting it as it protected him. It granted him a connection to the imprisoned Lord of the Underworld and their work together began. Inglip devoted himself to Arktorius, abandoning his life of study he knew only the words of his new master. Soon the elf grew darker and more harsh, a man who was once kind and patient had twisted into someone who was quick to anger and willing to tear the hearts from anyone who got in his way. All the while with Frostmourne whispering the words of the God of Evil into his mind. As it is said whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal. Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.

Now head of the Church of Arktorius and Lord of all the Acolytes Inglip has become a figure head for the return of their Dark Master. His extensive skill with magic added with the power of Frostmourne has made him a powerful force to be reckoned with. He walks now through the dark forest, his leather boots stepping softly on the moist ground as morning dew clings to the foliage. His robes fluttering around him as he moves through the morning light that managed to break through the canopy of the ancient wood. His five men behind him, none saying a word as they gripped their staves.

"Here."

Inglip finally said, breaking the silence as he rose his hand to issue the halt. His men all obediently stopped to look upon the foreboding cave.

"This is where she is being held."

He said as his men began to form a half circle at the base of the cave. Deep within the cave in a dark pit created to hold Tiamat, she stirred beneath the ebony waves of the magical prison. Each of the acolytes planted their staves in the ground in front of them before cupping their hands and allowing magical flame to spark to life. The orange glow from their flames brought faint, flickering light to the eerie area as Inglip stood in the center chanting in a low tone. His prayers echoed out into the ether as he drew the mighty blade Frostmourne. He knelt before the mouth the cave as the power within swelled with anticipation. The Mother of Monsters could feel the potential for her imminent release, the time had come for her to once again stalk the world.

"And so by the power of the King of the Frozen Throne, Lord of the Underworld and God of Death... I release you."

With that Inglip plunged the blade into the dirt and bluish light exploded outward. The dark magic sent cracks running along the ground and through the whole of the cave. The fissures created roared with ghostly blue light as dark essence snapped the bonds created to hold Lilith enthralled. Her prison shattered, the Mistress of the Black Lust was now...free.

Inglip could almost feel the gleaming jaws pierce his flesh when the massive paw of the dragon batted the wolf out of the air with ease.

"On your feet, my dear boy, I hate to say i told you so, but be prepared for a fight!"

The dragons said almost gleefully. Inglip turned to marshal his remaining men. He was down to three acoyltes to the small horde of lycans.

"We must-"

He began but his words were cut short as antoher of his loyal men fell as a lycan pounced on him. It's massive jaws tearing through his gut savagely. Inglip cursed under his bretah before raisnig his hand to send magical lightning at the beast. His hand charged with white hot lightning when suddenly his mind was filled with an echoing dark voice.

"Feed...Frostmourne...

Inglip's eyes widened in shock and joy at the sound of his Lord and Master.

"Your will Arktorius..."

He said as he lowered his hand and drew the ancient blade.

"...My hands!"

He roared before charging at the lycan. The beast was so preoccupied with devouring his prey he did not notice the charging elf. Inglip brought the blade down hard, splitting the spine in twain. The lycan let loose a death howl as the blade snatched the life from the creature. Frostmourne reveled in the blood, it relished the pain and agony of the dying creature. A second lycan leapt at Inglip only to be struck down by magical fire as the mage cast a cone of flame to shoot from his free hand to engulf the beast. The smell of burning flesh and fur filled the surrounding area. Two more charged the Head of the Church of Arktorius only to be felled by dark lighting cast by the staves of the other remaining acolytes. Inglip turned and the three worshippers of Death fell into position beside the massive black dragon adding their dark magic and the power of Frostmourne to the strength of the dragon to fend off the advancing pack of rabid werewolves.

The battle stopped with a thunderous boom as Lilith, The Mother of Monsters finally broke free of her prison. Her sheer presence was overhwelming as the acolytes fell over themselves in lust filled passion. Inglip could feel his blood burning for her. Her sultry curves were enough to make him go mad with desire, he took a fumbling step forward as she began to speak when a cold voice filled his head and halted his body. The pure darkness of the voice within drowned out everything else. The sounds of the whimpering wolves, the dragon, even the words of Lust herself. All was muted by the voice that filled Inglip's mind.

"Still your heart mortal and remember whom you serve..."

Inglip couldn't move, his body refused to bend to his commands. There was but one will and the Death God wanted the elven mage to know that. Everything within Inglips body screamed at him to rush to Lilith's side, beg her for her favor. If he was lucky perhaps she would take him as a pet, a plaything. Anything would suffice then a pain unlike anything he'd ever felt crippled his mind and Inglip fell to his knees in pain as an unbearable amount of pressure filled his mind.

"On your knees.... You are MINE Inglip... The warmth of Lilith's touch will not save you from my icy grasp should you betray me."

Frostmourne radiated with cold anger as the displeasure of the Death God pulsated within the blade. Inglip's hand hissed as the flesh began to blacken from the utter cold of the blade. The pain mixed with the power of Arktorius words freed Inglip from Lilith's influence enough to allow him to think on his own though he was still not able to speak aloud.

"I... I am so utterly sorry my master... I c-cannot control myself... she...she is like nothing I've ever experienced before."

Inglip spoke within his own mind in order to communicate with Death. The response was not what he expected as his mind was filled with the deep, yet terrifying chuckle of the God of the Underworld.

"Of course she is, mortal... She is a Goddess... She is Lust Incarnate... and you are but a worm in her presence."

The laugh faded leaving Inglip hollow and cold but the voice spoke again, this time his words were well measured and without a hint of emotion beside the flicker of anger.

"I will grant you the strength to remain composed during this encounter. Yet my powers are muted in my prison so you must remain focused."

"Yes Master."

Inglip replied in thought. The pressure subsided and Inglip regained command over his body. He rose to his feet, admittedly more than a little shaky as he slowly rose his gaze to fall upon Lilith once again. His initial instinct was to race to her side once again but this time Arktorius' influence proved enough to cool his blood and give him the strength to resist. The Head of the Church of Arktorius swallowed hard, his mouth dry from nerves as well as thirst. He forced himself to take the first step. His movements were painful and difficult but manageable. Frostmourne still coursed with the presence of the God but eased its punishment of the elf. He sheathed Frostmourne before painfully flexing his frostbitten hand to get some measure of feeling back in it. Inglip then bretahed out hesitantly before making his way to stand before Lilith where the other two acolytes were howling like mad men as the pure passion consumed them. He looked down at them in disgust before looking up at Lilith.

"Kneel before her... Show her the due respect or you will be dead before you can open your mouth."

Inglip respectfully dropped to one knee and bowed his head before speaking.

"Mistress of the Black Lust, it is an honor most high. I am Inglip, Head of the Church of Arktorius. I have come on my master's bidding. He desired you to be free of your bonds and so it has been done in His name."

Inglip said, careful to keep his tone with the utmost respect at all times. While his words seemed calm and collected his body and mind were at war as the influence of two Gods weighed heavy on him all the while Inglip's own mind struggled just to remain whole.

Inglip stood on wavering feet, the elven mage and supreme follower of Arktorius Malakath witnessed the power of the Lilith, the fury of the banished Baron and the control of Death itself. Lilith turned no longer interested in him as she began to speak aloud to the dragon who had flown away. He collapsed to the floor, his hands in the damp dirt. His fellow acolytes began to slowly pull themselves from the touch of the Temptress leaving them with a confused and fearful expression. They rushed to Inglip's side and slowly helped them to his feet.

"Lord Inglip, are you well? Has she harmed you?"

One asked. Inglip shook his head weakly.

"There would be little we could do if she had... Draw a sigil, take us to the temple. I must...reflect on the days events."

He said, his voice wavering from exhaustion. The acolyte did his duty obediently, carefully using his magic to create a magical transportation sigil that once stepped in, would transport the trio to the Temple of Malakath. Once done the two worshipers helped Inglip into the sigil while a familiar voice whispered in his mind.

"Well done..."

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Athos had taken up watch as the others hunkered down for bed. Being one of the only ones who managed to resist the unnatural urges on his own merit he was not suffering the tiring side effects the others apparently were. Still he found himself unable to find rest and instead took up his vigil at the edge of the barrier, staring out into the darkness for any signs of danger. His mind deep in contemplation of the gravity of their situation. They weren't moving fast enough. They were suffering delay after delay and now they were at a stand still. With a dark thought Athos counted the world fortunate indeed that the Old Gods had not enlisted him to steal the blade for if they had... Baron Praxus and his kin would have already set foot on Athera once again.

From his prison within Banatrix the God of Death and source of all evil watched with amusement as his brothers attempted to bully and intimidate Lilith with their hollow displays of power. Arktorius was never one for such displays, he had no reason to show others how powerful he was by puffing up his chest and making a pretty exhibit of it. He was Death Incarnate, they all knew his power for it was the only absolute. None could escape him for he would come to all in due time. Mortal and demon and immortal and even the Gods themselves would feel his icy touch when their time came. When all the wars had been raged, death would remain. When all the rage of every storm had blown itself out, death would remain. When every monster in every corner of the world had finally met it's end either from the blade of a champion or the slow decay of time, death would remain. He would always be there even when mortal kind forgot about them and turned to even newer Gods or even more absurd, abandoned worship altogether, He would still be there watching from the shadows and waiting. Suddenly a pang of energy found it's way to the imprisoned Lord of The Underworld and a dark grin etched it's way onto his grim face. The power fluctuation could mean only one thing. Arktorius released a thought into the nether, intended for the Soul of War itself and his brother, Baron Praxus the King of the Gods.

"Brother... the sword nears the Grim Forge..."

Within the blade Banatrix the long buried fury of the God of the Underworld had been invoked. Lilith, the Mother of Monsters had betrayed Arktorius Malakath and his rage had been pulled fourth by the one called Lust. Once lovers and occasional allies but this most recent transgression threatened everything. The God of Death felt regret for the first time in centuries. Regret he had not heeded his brothers request and dealt with Lilith in the way Baron Praxus had originally designed. Now however he had another problem all together. The problem of the behemoth she had unleashed upon Athera to stop the thief from bringing the blade to the Grim Forge.

Alone in his quarters in the Temple of Malakath Inglip sat in silent prayer. Before him was Frostmourne, on it's pedestal it radiated dark power. The air in the room was chilled to the point where every breath that left Inglip's lungs could be seen as vapor from his lips. The Ancient Sword itself was emanating raw power as the eyes on the hilt continuously glowed with bluish light and icy vapor swirled around it slowly. Suddenly the glowing increased and the room began to violently shake with the fury of a God.

"SHE DARES?!"

The roar of the God of Evil caused blinding pain to explode in the mind of the elven head of the Church of Arktorius. He fell to the ground clutching his skull in agony as the only response he could muster was a scream of pure torment.

"AFTER WHAT I DID?! SHE THINKS SHE CAN BETRAY THE GOD OF DEATH?! I SHOULD HAVE RIPPED HER SOUL FROM BLEEDING CORPSE AND CAST IT INTO OBLIVION!!!"

The rage of Arktorius was a pain unlike any Inglip had ever experienced before. He feared if he could not calm his lord and master at least a small amount he would surely die here, curled up in a ball on the floor of his room.

"M-Master! Please! I-I can't take much more!"

The voice in Inglip's mind let loose a low growl as if ready to sheer his consciousness in half but instead showed restraint.

"Through Frostmourne you are my sole connection to the outside world... count yourself fortunate for that Inglip."

"I do Great Lord of the Dead."

Inglip pushed himself to a kneeling position as his head beaded with sweat from the subsiding pain.

"J-Just tell me what I must do my lord and it shall be done."

"The harlot seeks to ensure our permanent imprisonment. She has unleashed a titan to kill the thief my brother had steal the blade Banatrix. The beast is in flight as we speak."

Inglip swallowed hard at the ghostly words of his master. The Titan's of old were powerful beasts beyond imagining. Rivaled only by the Gods themselves they could wipe the world clean of life should the Gods not keep them beneath their heels.

"I sense your fear my minion..."

Arktorius warned dangerously within the elf's mind. Inglip nodded slowly yet set his jaw in determination.

"I am afraid great master of Darkness but I shall face any fear, even the Titans themselves for you."

The God of Death was pleased with his servants conviction and his words reflected that. They abandoned some of the demonic snarl they once had and adopted a more ghostly yet calm sound to them.

"Cast a sigil. I will guide you to the thief. Take the blade then cast a second sigil, this one to the Grim Forge. Do this and you shall finally receive the reward you so rightfully earned."

A grin of pure exhalation and joy dawned on Inglip's face as he leapt to his feet.

"Your will, my hands."

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The thief stumbled forward, the bloodied stump where his arm once was dripped the precious life blood that he was now in short supply of. He had hastily bandaged it days prior yet it had done little to save him. The human's skin had a pale complection to it and his body was covered in cold, sickly sweat. His eyes were set in and dark circles had formed around them as the fever wracked his body.

"You are close to my masters realm now..."

The voice startled the thief to the core of his being and he whirled on it, knife in hand ready to skewer whoever had spoken. To his surprise there stood an elf, with long chestnut hair and flowing robes hanging from his thin frame. On his hip was a large scabbard that held a ornate looking sword that seemed to be pouring magical energies from it. Inglip stepped forward with a confident smile on his face.

"Rest easy servant of Baron Praxus, I have come to aid you."

"I need no help from you elf! Leave me be!"

The thief shouted in return. His weak state of mind and body had left him delusional and irrational. Inglip stepped forward unphased.

"If you are truly the servant of the King of the Gods then you would recognize this."

Inglip said as his hand went to the sword on his hip. Slowly he drew the ancient blade and the ringing sound of the sword leaving it's scabbard filled the air between the two servants of the Old Gods.

"Behold... Frostmourne. The blade of my master. The King of the Damned and Bringer of Darkness. Arktorius Malakath."

The sight of the blade of the Death God gave the thief pause as he stared at it in awe. The haunting whispers of the Lord of the Dead began drifting out from the blade yet only Inglip could understand it's words.

"The beast nears... Take the blade."

Inglip's eyes flicked up and locked onto the wavering gaze of the thief.

"As we speak a hell on leathery wings comes for you on the winds. Sent by the Goddess of Lust it will devour you whole and take Banatrix back to it's sultry mistress. I cannot allow that to come to pass."

He said darkly. The thief seemed to finally be hearing reason.

"T-Then what must I do?"

Inglip crossed the distance between the two, Frostmourne whispering in his hand.

"Die..."

With that he sunk the blade deep into the gut of the one who had stabbed the Goddess of Justice and stolen her legendary sword. The thief cried out in pain as he fell to the dirt, the last of his life force leaving his body. Inglip turned as a deafening screech broke through the clouds. He turned to look back at the distant black shape on the horizon.

"Too late Lady Lust."

He said with a smile as he grabbed Banatrix from the corpse and created a second sigil. In the next instant he stood before the Black Anvil. On the Island off the coast of the 5 holds Inglip stood in the Grim Forge with the prison blade of the Old Gods in his hands. The power swelling around the blade was at a fever pitch as the Gods within could feel how close they were to achieving what they've wanted above all else for the past 100 years. The sword in Inglips other had was humming with power as well as the essence of it's dark master called out to his servant.

"Destroy it! Release me!"

Inglip stepped forward to look down on the pit of lava with the only heat strong enough to destroy Banatrix, the fires that created so too could destroy. Inglip held out the blade, it hovered over the key to the Old Gods release in the hands of the elf. His eyes stared deep into the blade, the ancient and powerful magic that keapt the Old Gods enthralled resonated with energy.

"With this action, I bring about a new era that will shake the very foundations of the world."

With that he released his hold on Banatrix and it fell into the fiery chasm. In that moment time seemed to slow. The world stood still and all knew what was coming. The sacrifice of the New Gods led by Mora Ven had been undone in that moment as the blade met the flame. Banatrix met it's end and the prison that held the Old Gods was destroyed. To whatever fate may come, The Old Gods were once again... Free...

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Drakenvold could feel the power of the almighty creature behind him. It was at this time he thanked the power of creation for giving him wings, for the journey would have been long and taxing on foot, and he would have been lunch by then. Even the allied forces situated at the grim forge would be hard pressed to knock such a beast from the skies. When he arrived at the volcanic island after a few days of travelling he felt a pang of dissapointment as he looked at his men. Hordes of gibbering darklings just stood there idly, some lowering themselves to scratch their backsides while some just stared blankly at a wall. Idiots, he thought to himself , they were supposed to be all ready and organised by the time he got there. "What the hell are you worthless meat bags doing? Get back to work, you slackers! Man those cannons! Archers, take your positions! Elites, man the ballistae! Those without a designated task, go lug back as much ammunition as you possibly can, lug till your backs break, unless you are keen on the idea of us using YOU as spare ammo!"
His horde began to make a mad dash as they strove to accomplish the tasks their master had set them. With his eyepatch, his bloodied features and the crazed glint in his one good eye made him look the part of a wily sea captain, except his ship was an island, and it could not move.

With bated breath, the Old Ones awaited the arrival of the almost unstoppable beast.

Athera fell into darkness. The world was blanketed by it. No light from the moon could be seen, the stars glimmering was muted, even the faint glow from candle light seemed to be enveloped in darkness. The light, like the hope, was taken away and in that moment the cold came. On winds long since forgotten an icy chill blew over Atherea. Trees took on a hint of frost. Animals shivered in the unnatural cold. Mother's held their children in fear as they tried to keep them warm. On the Island home of the Black Anvil voices could be heard rising up from the ground. Fissures formed and from the fissures blue light ebbed out of it. It was from these cracks that the voices radiated. The Chorus of the Damned. Chanting hauntingly out they sang the praises of the return of their hellish master. The ancient blade Frostmourne began to hum with power before levitating out of Inglip's hands. Frostmourne floated before him as the song of the dead grew louder and more frantic. It was as if the drums from the center of the world were beating out the triumphant return of its master all from the mouths of the dead. Frigid darkness formed into the forge and began swirling around the blade. At first it was little more than a writhing mass of dark essence but soon the essence took form. Hands reached out of the darkness gloved in magnificent deathly gauntlets. Booted feet followed stepping foot for the first time in a hundred years on the surface of Atherea. The body followed and the whole of the dark and terrible armor was on full display as the hands grasped the ancient blade. Last was the head of the Dark Lord to form itself from the frigid darkness. The haunting helm of the King of the Dead was a terrifying sight to behold as his eyes glew brightly with blue, smokey light. The God of Death, Master of Darkness, Essence of Evil had returned to Athera. Arktorius Malakath raised his mighty sword high in exhalation as the chants of the undead reached their climax. Children wailed in fear as the voices of the dead filled their ears. Women fell to their trembling knees as tears streamed down their cheeks while the haunting tribute overwhelmed them. Men screamed out in terror as they cupped their hands over their ears in their feeble attempts to drown out the haunting song. Pure terror gripped tight the hearts of all those on Atherea as Arktorius Malakath returned to the world. The Death God breathed deep the air of Atherea with long awaited ecstasy. The Black Soul of the Void allowed the maddening terror to hold firm for a few more delicious moments before he allowed it to dissipate and the world to return to normal. Fed by the countless souls of those who have perished during his absence his power returned to him quickly as he stood there in all his unholy magnificence.

"And so, the cold of the void returns to bring death to the world of the living. Quake in fear mortals for the God of the Underworld has returned."

The demonic sound of his ghostly voice reached the ears of every being on Atherea and in that moment, fear reigned supreme.

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Azazel came next with a greater theatric display of power like his first appearance while still shackled within the blade, from the hellish flames of the Grim Forge came a mighty winged beast moving at unimaginable speed straight up into the sky like a rocket, once reaching maximum height the dragon spread it's wings to break it's hasty ascension and let out a mighty roar that shook the earth. The dragon golden scales glistened with a powerful light that pierced the unnatural darkness cast by his brother only moments before the darkness returned with ominous clouds, as the dragons wings began to beat to maintain altitude they created strong gales that could be felt across Athera followed by heavy rains that signified the return of the storm god. Mighty thunderclaps reverberated through out the land as the dragon's body began to glow with a brilliant golden light, then without warning the dragon's form transformed into a bolt of pure energy comparable to a bolt of lightning and struck the ground with force that shattered the ground, kicking up a huge cloud of dirt and rubble.

When the dust cleared there in the place were the golden light struck was the form of a man with brilliant golden hair which grew well beyond the length of his own body, the body itself appeared to be chiseled by a master craftsmen and left completely uncovered, not a shred of clothing or bulky armor unlike his cold brother. His eyes were pitch black while his irises glowed with the same golden light, Azazel was truly a marvel to behold with a fury to match. He could feel power drumming within him, growing, it would be some time before he was once again at full strength and prepared to obliterate the pestilential new Gods and punish the mankind that turned their backs on him and his brothers.

" We are finally free "

he said as he took a long breath of air and held out his hand with his palms down, several bolts of lightning rained down to his hand in rapid succession and when the barrage of energy concluded Azazel held in his hand a golden staff, the nameless weapon surged with power within his grasps and as he held it up to the sky the mighty gales that were a result of his previous display were seized along with the deafening thunder. If he didn't make sure to contain his power it would threaten to rip apart the very world they intended to take back

" Arktorius, I suggest you contain yourself as well, less all be destroyed before we are given the chance to reclaim it "

He said to his brother in a stern tone without even looking his way. His expression remained stoic as he glanced around at the fissure spilling a ghostly blue light, with his brothers release it would seem the boundaries between their world and the underworld were blurring, an issue that required immediate attention. There was no telling what kind of chaos would be caused next when the rest of his brethren followed from their confinement, from what he could see their immediate weakened states caused their powers to spiral out of control as the crossed over into Athera.

The God of Death and Lord of the Void watched with pride as his radiant brother soared into the sky. His golden scales gleaming in his Goddly light as his massive wings flew on the winds of Atherea once again. His power swelled and the land felt the repercussions of it. Lightning stabbed the earth with its rage filled fury while gale force winds tore at it relentlessly. The seas rose and fell in response as the winds created masses of typhoons and hurricanes. The spectacle put a grim grin on the face of Malakath for of all of his heavenly kin Azazel's talent for death on a continental if not global scale was well known. It was he who once wiped the world nearly clean with a great flood. It was he who cast it into an ice age. The latter was Arktorius' personal favorite. Then the lightning of the God of Storms struck the ground with a force not felt since his imprisonment. In the crater created stood his beautiful brother. Pristine features unmarred by scars of even cloth. Azazal had always been a thing of pure terrifying beauty be that in dragon or human form. Arktorius watched on without a word from his demonic tongue as his brother formed his nameless weapon and the sky's crackled in response. The foreboding dark clouds growled with the fury of the storm as the God of Rage stood once again on the home he had been banished from.

" Arktorius, I suggest you contain yourself as well, less all be destroyed before we are given the chance to reclaim it "

He said, his eyes cautiously eyeing the fissures that had opened in the ground upon Arktorius' return. With these gates to the underworld open all manner of demon, ghoul and woeful soul could pour out and seek vengeance on the those who still possessed the life they so craved. Arktorius allowed a ghostly smile to etch his way onto his haunting face.

"Perhaps you are right brother... It appears the souls of the dead have not fed on the blood of the living in so long they forget their place."

With a wave of his gauntleted hand the earth trembled as the fissures closed themselves. The shrieks of the damned echoed out into Athera as the Death God refused their request for slaughter... at least for now. This done He who was the murderous intent in the hearts of men stepped forward to stand beside his brother.

"Lilith foolishly sends one of her beasts in hopes to halt our ascension. It failed in it's attempt to stop the blade bearer but still it draws nears..."

The haunting words of the God of the Underworld was not lost on his acolyte who was still standing a few yards away. Inglip shivered in fear as his mind grappled with what it could mean. If Lilith's monster sought to stop him it obviously had failed yet why would it continue? Was it soaring to it's death? For what purpose could there be in throwing it's life away in a battle it had no hope of winning. Not even the strongest of Lilith's children could think to stand against but one of the first three bothers let alone two of them. Even in their weakened states no creature but a God could stand against them yet still it flew. Inglip feared for what reason their could be in this. What dark plan had Lilith concocted to further dig the knife into the back of his master.

The Void
Sat upon a throne of skull Void Splitter's true body sat watching over the Void as he had done for the past 100 years. The red realm rained blood and fire onto the gore and filth that made the ground. To a creature not born of the Void would drive them mad, but those born of the Void are already mad. So Void Splitter remained in the realm of blood and violence watching lost souls hunt each other. Then it started to change in front of him. The red of the world turned blue slowly and the madness ebbed away. Void Splitter knew what it meant and it scared him greatly causing him to shake in his chair. He was about to loose his control of the Void to its true king of the Void.

Since he couldn't move this form he just stared forward uttering one word, "Arktorius..."

The God of Death felt a shifting in his domain, not just the influence of his return but the retreat of another. Something else had been calling The Underworld home during his absence. Arktorius tilted his haunting gaze down to look upon his realm with interest.

"You will forgive me if I do not await the return of our brother. I know his power well and need not a display of it."

With that he turned to his servant Inglip, looming over the elven mage forebodingly.

"You... You have proven yourself to me mortal and you shall receive your reward as promised... in time."

With a wave of his hand Inglip was transported back to his room in the Temple of Malakath to await his prize. This done Arktorius' body began to resonate blueish black energy as his body shifted from the world of men to the nether. It shimmered and faded from existence only to reappear in a place of pure unholy disbelief. Mountains of ice jaggedly shot upwards from the groud and stabbed the sky of the world below in response to the return of it's master. The deathly wind howled in triumph, bringing with it a frigidness that could freeze the blood in the veins of any mortal. The dead all chanted his name in ghastly worship of their master. The Underworld, the seat of power for the King of the Damned and yet, another sat on the throne of the Void. A demon in truest form sat shaking in terror at the return of the true king. Arktorius stared up at him with his haunting blue eyes smoking with pure power. As with the rest of his realm the throne itself changed in response to Malakaths presence. The throne of skulls froze over and encased itself in unforgiving ice. The false ruler who had taken up residence in the realm of the dead was restrained by the throne he so carelessly claimed for himself, the ice forming over his limbs holding him enthralled. Arktorius moved slowly, his footfalls were like the steps of doom as he made his approach. The dead all howled in unison at the slaughter that was to come. The Master of the Void, King of Death and Darkness stood now, looming over the creature with displeasure on his face.

"Usurper..."

He said, his voice a haunting whisper. His hand shot out and wrapped around the throat of Void Splitter before ripping him from the throne. The ice around his limps shattered under the force and the being hung their limply, dangling in the grasp of the God of Death.

"Show me what mad thoughts led you to believe you could claim dominion over MY realm."

With those words Arktorius Malakath layed the mind of Void Splitter out to bear. For the God of the Underworld to enter your mind it could be painless, unnoticeable if he wished it so. This was most certainly NOT painless. Arktorius flayed his mind as he ripped it open wide. Void Splitter screamed in unimaginable agony as his mind was torn asunder through the simple presence of the Death God entering inside it. Arktorius saw its birth from the void. Witnessed the creation of the blade with the same name. Observed its choosing of its champion Cauld Neth. Then an interesting sight indeed. The champion of the usurper was locked in combat with the Mistress of the Black Lust. She had called fourth Nightmare incarnate and at the moment Cauld was battling for his life. The sight pleased Arktorius as the sting from Lilith's betrayal was still fresh in his mind. Malakath exited the mind of Void Splitter much to the relief of the creature. Casually Arktorius let loose his hold on Void Splitter and allowed him to drop to the frozen ground in a heap. The Master of the Void turned away from him and took his rightful place on the frozen throne.

"Your misadventures amuse me young one. So much so that I shall spare you the fate of oblivion. Infact... I shall reward you. You, who challenges the Mother of Monsters. For as it is now your champion stands not a chance of surviving the next few moments. The blade Void Spliiter he wields is incomplete. Made of you it is not whole.. and must be made one."

Arktorius Malakath rose one hand and Void Splitters body began to glow. Dark energy swirled around him and invaded his very being. The creature of the Void screamed in torment as the essence consumed him and ripped him from Malakath's realm. Arktorius entered then the mind of Cauld Neth, the once champion of the creature from the Void now, if he so chose, the agent of the True Master of the Void.

"Here my voice Cauld Neth. I am Arktorius Malakath, the One and Only Lord of the Void. You're benefactor has graciously appraised me of your current predicament and I grant you a boon. First I make your weapon whole."

As he spoke the demonic blade in Cauld's hands began to shake violently as dark power swirled around it. The being from the Void that had so foolishly thought to claim the throne of the dead for himself was now being inserted into his own creation. Reconnected with what of him lay in the blade all of Void Splitter was now the weapon of Cauld Neth. He wielded all the power of the creature from the void in his hands, a formidable force to be reckoned with for sure but the King of the Damned was not done.

"My benevolence goes further..."

As his words echoed in the mind of Cauld the ground around the bearer of Void Splitter and the Nightmare began to tremble. Cracks formed in the earth and blue light began to eek its way out. Smokey blue essence poured fourth and with it, the hands of the dead. Out of the rifts made between the land of the living and the underworld crawled out a horde of draugr . Undead warriors who have long since died in wars forgotten ages ago. Fearsome ghouls who know not pain or fear but only the need to kill. They hear only the call of their master and the battle drums of war.

"Behold... The dead rise to fight at your side, bearer of Void Splitter. My gift to you."

Arktorius lounged back now, pleased with his work. Lilith would know without a doubt who was at work here. She would soon see the price for betraying the God of Death. She saw fit to aid his enemies and so too shall he aid hers. The battle was now truly about to begin and Arktorius Malakath would watch every second of it.

76 years ago,

Mora Ven and sealed some of the old god's inside Banatrix with the help of other new gods. One of the new gods was her brother Aron. After reaching peace, Aron went into a long slumber under the House of Mora.

Today,
Multiple dark energies hits the House of Mora and brought chaos to humanity. Those dark energies is felt by Aron and he awakens.

Aron was in a room under the House of Mora, lying on a rock bed and rock pillow. He has been that way for 76years but seems to be untouched by any stains or dusts. The room had no door and no windows. The room was bright as it was filled with orbs of soft lights. It was a closed room underground with no way of getting in or out. The room was protected by wards so that no mortal can intrude through the walls.

Aron was lying still, not moving. There were only some movements from his chest, the beating of his slowly beating heart.

After the second and third dark wave, Aron opened his eyes. Suddenly vanishing from the rock bed and rock. .... Aron had teleported.

Aron appeared at his big sister side, Mora Ven, on the highest point of the House of Mora. Mora Ven's counter for the dark wave isn't good enough. He unleashed his peaceful aura and tried and neutralize the dark waves that resonates from Grim Forge. two white wave doesn't counter three darkwave much but it helps. The sky was a little brighter than before. Most people can resist what they couldn't before. Aron caught Mora Ven before she collapse....

Drakenvold bowed respectfully to Azazel as he entered the shrine which housed the Grim Forge. He was bedecked in a ceremonial robe covered in the spiteful words of the ancient scriptures of the old gods, this robe was custom fit to his size and shape but was a tad too long at the back, meaning the end had to be carried by his extremely nervous darkling squire, whom he had lovingly dubbed "Speck". He noticed Arktorious had gone to do better things, whilst the Baron had still not fully emerged. Drakenvold smiled to himself, fashionably late, as always, he thought.

"My lord Azazel, you may not remember me, it has been so long, but you were the one who brought me into this dangerous game. My name is Drakenvold, longstanding ally and friend of your brother, Baron Praxus, who has still not shown his face, I see. A pity, I was hoping to play a good game of chess with the old boy!" Drakenvold paused and cursed, realising he was getting carried away, which isnt the best thing to do in the presence of a god. "Anyway." he continued "The reason i have come here to adress the matter of Lilith's creature. As you know it is headed this way, and while in my opinion the inevitable clash will be a tad one sided, as we have two gods on our side with a third on the way, I feel a.....connection to Lilith's older monsters and know of their unspeakable power. If we allow overconfidence to get the better of us then, especially in your, and i hope you dont mind me saying this, 'weakened' states then it could cause us more grievance than we had expected." He straightened up, looking straight at the handsome god, and could not help noticing how expertly chiselled his features were. He looked at his own scaly body from beneath his robe. He had really let himself go, all that food and ale hed had since he got here, he had to commend the darklings, for all their incompetence they made excellent cooks, especially when it came to red meat, which said a lot.

"As i was saying my lord, we dont know the full power of this beastie. We need to know exactly what we are up against so we can find any weaknesses and form an attack plan. Of course this will have to be done on the spot, as we need to get a glimpse of the beast first before we can identify it, which will be when it attacks. That is why i have a request, and it is understandable if you deny it." He motioned to the dark tower in the distance, situated in the middle of the island. A building that had been denied access to for many a century due to the sheer lunacy written between the pages of the books housed inside. He knew the old gods were not want to sticking their noses into books when there was enemies to cull, but Drakenvold was.

"Lord Azazel, god of the neverending storms of destruction and the tides of rage, my request is to be granted access to the forbidden library."

The steel of Banatrix was strong, but no metal was strong enough to withstand the fires of the Black Anvil. As the steel melted, the other 2 gods were released. But as a percotion, Mora had sealed the final and most frightening foe deep inside the sword. It wasnt until hours after it had been thrown in that the steel finaly melted away, the final ward preventing Barons escape finally broken.

The crowd of the Old Gods army chanted and shouted for the grand finally, the release of Baron Praxus. Suddenly, from the lava of the Anvil, an eruption cracked through the air like 1000 lightning bolts, the ground of Grim Forge shaking from the explosion. The crowd fell silent for a moment, watching the Black Anvil with anticipation. Again, the forge cracked the earth, this time harder than the last. Multan earth rose from the ground like springs, scorching and burning all they touched. Some fled, but the deticated waited still by the anvil until finally, a hand grasped the edge of the pool. A hand made of pure black magma, that slowly started to cool and rise from the pool still.

What was a hand, was now also an arm. From there, another hand and another arm while the springs started to fill with lava once more, shooting it every witch way, as if the island was breaking apart. Suddenly, the body, now taking shape as it still rose form the pool, let out a bestial scream of anger unlike any that even Azazel could even imagine. From the pool, the beast rose completely. Dripping the black magma of the forge, it stud 10 feet tall, a body far to large for any humanoid creature known to any of the realms. Again it roared out to the world, silencing anyone that made a sound. Even the island stopped its apocalyptic eruption, and fell completely silent.

As the lava covering him cooled, it hardened, making him a huge statue. There he stood for a few moments, before suddenly breaking through the encasing to reveal the Baron himself. With his first steps in Atherea in almost 100 years, the crowds started to chant again. But he himself didnt make a word before walking forward to his brother Malakath. "Brother...." He growled out in a deep tone before grabbing Malakath's throat, lifting him up high into the by only his throat. "YOU have done well brother...Without you, it may not have been possible that we stand in this accursed realm now." Suddenly he dropped his brother and turned to his dominion, all of them silent with excitement, then back to him. "When we crush this realm, and the false goddess, the souls of the mortals shall fill your Void, for you to take. The soul of Mora is the only one i require..."

Slowly he turned back to the masses witch watched his every move, and raised his hand high into the sky so his voice could be heard; "MY SERVANTS! You, have done well for a group of mortals. Now... The time has almost come... The only thing stopping us, is my ax... As soon as we posses it, we will CRUSH the false gods... And rain supreme!"

With his final statement, the whole island shook with the stomps of 1000's of warriors, and countless war crys.

Azazel stood as still as a statue with the golden staff in crossed arms, he hadn't moved anything but his arms since arriving as he waited patiently for his brother to finally arrive, while waiting patiently he came to be visited by the familiar maw of the mortal creature known as Drakenvold.

"My lord Azazel, you may not remember me, it has been so long, but you were the one who brought me into this dangerous game. My name is Drakenvold, longstanding ally and friend of your brother, Baron Praxus, who has still not shown his face, I see. A pity, I was hoping to play a good game of chess with the old boy!"

Said the dragon, it had been long since he appeared before the dragon but time for the Gods held not the same meaning as it did for mortals, events that took place what seemed like many years to the dragon were fresh in his mind as if only moments had past. Even know he did not move a muscle nor did he bat an eye to acknowledge the existence of the dragon when he arrived, until he spoke however, a single brow rose as he heard the casual manner in which the dragon spoke of Baron Praxus though he did not feel the need to address it for it seemed the dragon realized his blunder. IT would seem even though the respect was still there, mortals such as he had forgotten how momentous it was to be in the presence of the old God, perhaps it was due to the casualness of being around the pathetically mortal " New " Gods, blemishes on their great history that was soon to be unwritten.

" Yes yes, I am very aware of my current state of weakness and I am all to aware that the creations of our hateful sister are not to be taken lightly, it is taking my brother far longer to rise no doubt that they attempted to take extra measure to ensure he would never be freed from that cursed blade, whatever wards they used will inevitably crumble under the pressure of the Grim Forge's legendary flames and when they do there is no hope for whatever beast comes our way. After being locked away so long even Lilith should be weakened though she will not show it, awakening her beast will undoubtedly take a great deal out of her and it will reflect directly on her creations , whatever attack dog she has let loose stands little chance "

Even as he spoke he could feel the earth beneath him rumble as his brother stirred, slowly he rose from the depths of the Grim Forge raising all manners of hell as he did so, as his body began to take shape Praxus let out an intense bestial roar of pure anger that shook the hearts of the mortal servants that stood awaiting the return of the " God of Gods ".

" That is an honer I cannot grant you alone, the forbidden library is not a place for mortals and the very fabric of a mortals being can come undone in moments just from stepping inside " He informed the dragon grimly, the earth continued to quake as Praxus went straight to harass Malakath.

"YOU have done well brother...Without you, it may not have been possible that we stand in this accursed realm now." he heard him say, after that Azazel sighed and shut his eyes to drown out his brothers shouting coupled with the noisy mortals that cheered him on. Finally making another move he turned to face his brothers

" Well met brother, well met, but let us not forget that we have other more pressing matters to deal with that may require us to put our vengeance and conquering on the back burner. We have to deal with our favorite little sister, not even a day of freedom and she's already throwing one of her infamous temper tantrums, she has let loose one of her abomination on us and frankly I do not wish to take responsibility for the actions of you two "

He said, referring of course to the idea to deceive Lilith and lock her away, no one can argue that it was a necessary action but he never fully agreed with it. As he said this he was fully prepared to blast Praxus to calm him down a little, he was fully aware of his brothers thirst for revenge as they all felt the same, even though Azazel was the god of rage his brother showed far less restraint on many many occasions. Example A being him lifting Malakath by his throat the moment he was fully mobile, Praxus was considered to be the God of Gods so it was easy for him to forget that they were not obligated to bow or submit to his whims, and Azazel was not prepared to deal with any acts of aggression such as that so soon after being released, as he himself was fighting to remain calm.

Cauld stood there in the prison of Void material as the echoing boom rattled his flesh. His ears bled profusely down his head and neck as blood frothed from his mouth. Soon the eyes on the armor stared to close one by one in sheer pain. His knees buckled beneath him forcing him to kneel. He had gone in over confident and under prepared. The only reason he was still sane was because of the Void's hot madness. Finally Cauld collapsed into the dirt his mind starting to grow cold and quiet, he could no longer hear Void Splitter hissing in the back of his skull. He felt the freezing hand of death sliding into his body and he accepted it watching the creature stare at him with such joy in its eyes. Cauld started to close his eyes as his breathing slowed.

"Here my voice Cauld Neth. I am Arktorius Malakath, the One and Only Lord of the Void. You're benefactor has graciously appraised me of your current predicament and I grant you a boon. First I make your weapon whole."

Cauld's eyes snapped open when the words flooded his mind. Then the power came all at once into him flood his nervous system with a shock that sent his body into spasms of a drastic scale. Even in the heavy mantle his body flopped about like a fish out of water. As sudden as it had come the power surge stopped leaving hims twitching in the dirt. After a second Cauld started to pick himself up as burning blue hieroglyphs appeared onto the pieces of armor of the mantle. When he had fully picked himself the eyes had opened, a chunk of the helmet was missing revealing his left eye, and Malakath burned on the crest of his helm. Void Splitter's blade glowed a ghostly blue while the organic material on its hilt pulsed with a new aura of energy.

As the dead began to crawl from the earth when Cauld hear the voice again in his head, "Behold... The dead rise to fight at your side, bearer of Void Splitter. My gift to you."

Cauld swallowed hard as he watched the gray creature dispatch the dead monsters. The creature stared at him and it unnerved him. He had tasted a bit of his power and wanted nothing to do with the creature, but then something slapped his mind with cold intent. It wasn't a familiar feeling something he didn't know how to handle. It was overwhelming, much too powerful for Cauld to take. This was a new form of madness a cold one that froze the original inferno that had occupied his mind's deepest reaches. Before he could stop his legs the pushed him forward at the creature, when he was in range Cauld's arms swung the sword at the monster freezing the air it cut through.