Azazel's Story

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A strong wind began to pick up out of nowhere and storm clouds followed by earth shattering thunder rolled in, it was almost as if there would be a storm right out of the clear blue, as the winds grew stronger a small whirlwind of dust kicked up near the Mother of Monsters in all her lustful spite. To those around it would appear as if Lilith herself was willing the dreadful weather into existence but of all people she would certainly be able to understand, it was non other than Azazel himself who's spirit was awakened from it's deep slumber within the cursed weapon that sealed him as he felt what his brothers and sisters no doubt felt as their outcast sister was freed from her prison, though he still retained power while sealed up it was nothing more than a spectacle compared to the disaster he could bring about once freed. The whirlwind grew rapidly to the height of a man and then dissipated just as quickly as it came leaving in it's absence an unclothed man who's body was perfectly toned and snow white hair that grew beyond his ankles, even though it was merely a projection of the Old God's spirit it held a commanded presence as it stood perfectly upright and facing Lilith.

" It appears our spiteful sister has returned to this world before us " his voice echoed in the wind it was as stoic and calm as his expression, contrary to mortal artistic representation he was not a brutish god perpetually consumed by anger. " You haven't aged a day " he jested "If you can indulge my curiosity, by what fool's hands have you been freed from your imprisonment? "

Even though he appeared to be standing there among them his vision was limited from inside the seal, Praxus and his other kin have been awake far longer than he and were more accustomed to communicating in such a way, for him it took considerable focus to slip enough of himself through the seal to appear in front of Lilith so from his point of view all that was visible was her in a sea of black.

" Also, if you are free then it must mean events have been put into motion by Praxus no doubt to free the rest of us, and while I care little what horrors you inflict on the ungrateful humanity that flocked to the cover of their mortal gods as they betrayed us, you must know the others will stop at nothing to return you to your imprisonment. "

Even as he spoke his glorious form wavered in and out of existence

More Ghosts.

She was getting annoyed. What, was there a giant sign with an arrow saying 'Hey, come bug Lilith' pointing at this place. When she was bound no one bothered to visit- soon as she can stretch he legs though, everyone and their grandmother pops in. The Storm-God chose his time wrong however, her ire was already stoked; that pitiful creature, dragon-thing, had spoken DOWN to her. Down. To a GODDESS. He had signed his own death warrant.

She stood, and peered through the whirlwind- ignoring the boring rant of yet ANOTHER Old God. It was getting easier and easier to ignore them.

"Yeah..yeah..wrath, what-not. Im free, you're not. Old Man covered it already. Move." she discounted Azazel, and walked past him without so much as a backwards glance. They were bound in a sword, she was free to walk the earth. Why would she bother listening to the idiots? Did they forget that the only reason she was bested last time was through trickery? In a toe-to-toe battle she and her children were more than a match for the rest of the Gods. Absence had rid them of the fear...she would see to that in time. First this mortal.

Drakenvold seemed to have forgotten something. She was a god.

With a jerk of her right hand, and a flexing of her power she reminded him.

Though not a goddess of earth or of stone she was still quite a powerful being, so as she acted..the stones reacted. Her will, her force, her RAGE tore away the top layer of earth that formed the petty fool's cave. A single motion on her part...and Drakenvold could see the sun from his living room. Tons of raw stone was slung through the air, to land with an earth-shattering crash several hundred feet away.

Wings extended, her eyes blazing purple infernos, she raised her other hand to point a clawed finger at the dragon-thing. "Whelp, you WILL bow to me, as maker of those GREATER than yourself. You WILL pay me the respect I deserve..or I shall pick my teeth with your ribs." Radiating power, her flesh gaining a crimson hue, already the ground at her pointed heels was turning black. It was never wise to be rude to one who could literally move mountains.

Her will would extend, whip-like, aiming to strike the foolish dragon-thing, a light attack to be sure, but one that should it hit would remove the breath from him- aimed dead center of his chest as it were. A simple extension of power; most would think of it as a 'telekinetic strike' if it came from a human psychic- coming from a goddess however it would be far more complex and powerful.

Being that the strike was an extension, a tendril whipped outward, Lilith reserved a degree of control over it- should she need to alter it's course or add extra force, she could at will. Should the strike hit it would create an audible 'pop' as the air would part at it's impact point; a sonic boom, much like when one cracks a real whip. Unfortunately for Drakenvold the strike is about five times faster, and entirely invisible. Not even a sound of whistling wind would be a warning.

It would be wise for the being to take it's lashing, and beg for mercy...this was equivalent of a poke in the chest from her. He didn't want to see her REALLY get riled up.

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...

Ignore

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.

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 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.

Drakenvold was dissapointed at first, but knew that Azazel was probably right. Still, all that forbidden knowledge crammed in there......

But then he felt the tremors, and his doubts vanished, Baron Praxus had returned, and he let out a vicious cry to war;

"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 possess it, will we CRUSH the false gods.... and reign supreme!

And then the island erupted in a chilling chorus of proud war cries and stomping. Pride welled into Drakenvold's black heart, though he did not join in with the whooping and hollering, instead he burst into song. A deep, melodious tune taught to him by his mother, whom he murdered. It was a song that spoke of the legendary Draconus, the first free dragon leader, who led his kin to battle with Lilith's hordes eons ago, to show their true independence. When his mother had sang it to him, the melody was soft and filled with pride and a sense of courage. When Drakenvold sang it, the melody was deep and haunting, with a rugged, warlike quality. Drakenvold felt the back of his robe flutter as a shiver was sent down little Speck's spine as his master sang the sinister tune. His voice was not as loud as the Baron's, but most on the island heard the tune, the Baron himself included. This was Drakenvold's way of showing true respect to his old friend, not with some feet kissing, or some sucky -uppity speech of unyielding devotion, but with a melody of rage, death and war. He laughed at himself for fretting about Liliths monster, the Baron and his brothers could easily handle it. The beast could go stuff itself, the main priority was the ax, and the fall of the new gods. Drakenvold eagerly awaited the knowledge of his part to play in the coming battle. He had still not forgotten his promise to Caylim's splintered company;

"If we ever meet again on the fields of battle, I shall crush you. Farewell, my little failures."

Still, he found it odd that Lilith would send a single beast to deal with three immortal gods, a raging army of cultists, hordes of incompetent but highly strong Darklings and himself, a dragon who had aged slower than most and lived for many more years than most of his kin. The beast did not stand a chance, so why had the whore sent it? Drakenvold had a nagging doubt that she was up to something, as usual.

Drakenvold stared at the awesome sight of his old friend. Praxus was clad in immense spiky armour but even with all that on Drakenvold could feel the muscle tissue beneath rippling. Drakenvold bowed and cleared his throat, making sure to get the Baron's attention. "My dear friend, it warms my blackened heart to know you are free. Soon this world will feel your wrath and ill be there to cheer you on. But, my good man, first, I have a..... how can I put this....proposition." he smiled craftily, he knew his tricksy demeanor amused the Baron, and what could he say? He lived to entertain. "There is a teensy bit of rust on the cogs that work the means of our domination. You probably know this, but to the slight north east of here is a chain of islands known as the pridelands, home to the Kitsune people. They are great warriors and hunters and are the first line of defence against us should we OFFICIALLY declare war on Atherea, and pose a great threat. Now, we could do it YOUR way, and crush them completely, which will work, or we can do it my way, as i believe your way is a waste of talent. You see, if they joined us, wed have some of the finest warriors in Atherea on our side. That is why i propose you let me and Speck fly off to the pride lands, alone so they know our intentions are not hostile, and NEGOTIATE with them." He made sure to emphasise the word 'negotiate', as he doubted the Baron had heard of that word much. "Their queen, Crenn, has pledged loyalty to the House of Mora, but she is very young and foolish, I'm sure I can bend her mind in the right direction. Besides, intel tells me theyve been having a spot of bother with some tremors, and me coming to their aid might help in them changing their minds. Also, it will do me well to get away from this rabble, I hear the coffee they brew there is absolutley delectable, ill bring you and your brothers back some, if youd like." He turned to look out of the window to the north sea. "Of course, ill keep you updated via the ruby crown. If things go tits up then ill make one of my infamously daring escapes and THEN you can have your way with the kitsune. Either way, we win. What do you say to that offer, god of war?" He implied, turning to flash the Baron an unpleasant, toothy grin which exposed his sparkling white, razor sharp teeth. After all, it just wouldn't do for the esteemed messenger of ruin to have plaque, he had a reputation to uphold.