"The tree... I had heard about it but never-" He gasps for air. "I didn't know- ."

"No one did. Because no one had to." Theus cuts him off, closing his eyes to feel embers of those fleeting emotions. "But you now know. You know what not even his closest confidants knew."

"Theus, Luminosity is only achieved by power tamed... and only tamed by..." Brutus' words hang in the air, a dagger ready to impale Theus' heart with just one word:

"Love." Theus answers. "'The purest magic, revealed only by complete and unyielding trust, a predicament of two wills forever decided to unite.'"

"Quote philosophers all you want, Theus. Their arguments are worthless when faced with truthful, lived experiences." Brutus scoffs. "That is something that should be remembered. A reminder that..." Brutus chuckles, "...that good still resides."

Theus chuckles to himself. Brutus notices. "Do you not believe that? After what you experienced? Do you know how long I have been looking for that?!" He is angry. Envious. "I spent YEARS looking for what you had, and you LAUGH IT OFF?!"

Theus doesn't flinch. "There is still half a story to tell, Brutus."

"And why should I? Why waste my energies on a killer who witnessed true good, and laughed at it?" Brutus scoffs.

"Because if the telling of stories is your calling, I would imagine you would want a complete picture." Theus smiles. "And because you don't know what else you will experience through me."

"More mockery." Brutus' tone turns into apathy. "Do you know how many people I scoured for that? How many I looked into, Thought into, looking for what you gave me willingly? These chains..." he lifts his wrists and they rattle with heavy metal, "...all I was doing was looking for beauty. A reason to believe there is more to life than survival. And for my pains, bondage to a cell in perpetuity. And in these halls of stone, made to keep the most disgusting among us, I find a light long thought extinguished." He chuckles to himself. "Life has the most interesting way of torturing us. But you would know." Brutus slips into Theus' mind once more. "Tell me the rest of the story, murderer."

Theus is taken to the Throne Room. He stands at the platform a few steps below the Throne. The First Lycan's Stand remains close to the King; the last bastion before His Lord. At the base of the stairs, several Lycans stand ready to draw swords. From the balcony of the tower come the sounds of war: metal clashing, explosions, the roar of mighty beasts. 

The door in leading to the Throne Room is opened by Cultists, absorbed by the tendrils of the Dark. From the opened door seeps a Dark mist, and from the mist walks forth Valoreth, Omen of the Dark. Clad in dark rhodium armor the Omen walks forth, releasing expanding mists with every step. The Cultists kneel in presence of Death's Harbinger, and when the door behind him closes, they remain to their lifeless state.

"Eipril." Valoreth speaks, dark fumes leaving his mouth. "It has been a long time."

"Your armies face certain destruction, Omen. Retreat, and they shall be spared." The King speaks. "Refuse, and watch your loyalists succumb to the very Fate you wish to spread."

Valoreth laughs. "All these years, and you still refuse to accept who truly holds the cards. Open your ears, My King, and hear the blood of your people being shed." The Omen lifts a hand and a pillar of smoke races towards the King. The Lycans draw their swords and cut the mists with swords imbued with the power of the sky. Electricity sparkles in the wake of the now-gone mist. "Lycans cutting at smoke. O how the mighty have fallen. I recall a time when the Lycans alone turned the tide of battles. Pulling victory from the jaws of defeat. Yet now, as thousands are massacred, they stand by their King." Valoreth's golden eyes fixate on Theus. "And you, First Lycan. Devotion runs heavy on you..." The Omen walks forward, Lycans ready their blades. "...yet Duty calls you. It pains you-"

"Stop!" A Lycan orders, "Stop, or be stopped!"

Valoreth stops, considering. His golden eyes brighten, and he smiles. He takes another step, and the Lycan lunges. The sword lights up with white lightning, each stroke leaving an electric aftershock. The Omen dodges each lunge with ease, leaving dark mists after every move. Eventually, the Lycan is surrounded in a circle of dark fog, which turns into a liquid and gathers at his feet like a puddle. Valoreth looks at his prey, tricked, and snaps his fingers. Tendrils spring from the puddle grasping the soldier with immovable strenght, and as he screams, he is dragged down into the puddle. As his head vanishes, a mist covers it and when it moves, all that remains is enchanted armor.

"Such pity." The Omen turns to look at Eipril. "He had such devotion. I could see it in his eyes." The King remains seated, unflinching. "Lycans! Look at your King! Your Lord allows your death and sheds no tears. He enchants the armor but refuses to enchant the soldier. He values the armor over the bearer." A grin appears on Valoreth's face.

"Enough!" Eipril stands. The Omen touched a nerve. "There is no need for useless bloodshed. It's over, Omen. Tell your armies to back off while they still can."

"Listen to their screams, King! You are outnumbered ten-to-one. My beasts roams the skies, my Trolls wreak havoc on your cities. My Exiles break your spells, my bounty hunters ravage your outposts. What power do you hold that can best me?" The Omen raises a challenge. "Show me what you could use, so I can retreat safely."

"Lycans." The King speaks. "He speaks nothing but lies. However, if any of you wish to leave, I will not stop you." His Lycans remain still, complete faith devoted to their Lord. "Then step aside my Lycans. Allow him to approach." The King's knights step away from the stairs leading to the Throne, and the Omen walks between them. "Do you remember the old nursery stories we were told, Omen? About the Witch-Kings of the Lands Afar?"

"'Exiles of this very Kingdom, forced to wander the wastes beyond jurisdiction as punishment for their trespassing against the laws of Magic. In their exile, they joined to create an embodiment of Fate. They siphoned the very life of the Lands Afar, reduced them to rot and ash. And for their efforts, three rings were birthed.'" Valoreth laughs. "A fairy tale to keep despotic monarchs at bay. What was it? 'If true evil is presented, the rings will join to purge the land with the very force that they were imbued with.'"

Eipril remains silent. Theus' heart begins to beat faster. Anticipation breeds his anxiety. Valoreth realises the implication. "No. Impossible."

With a mere hand gesture, Eipril releases a golden shockwave that reveals the Throne Room to be filled with soldiers of the Omen. "Are you afraid, Valoreth?"

Valoreth draws his sword. "No. But precautions are always in order. You would know."

"I warn you for the last time. Leave. No one here needs to die." Eiprils blue eyes begin to shimmer. "So I recommend you tell your archer to lower his bow before his arm gives in."

The Omen takes a step, dark mists releasing in front of him, prodding for traps. "You don't need that. I trust my court."

"Lesser mistakes have led to bigger consequences." He takes another step, tendrils climb up the Throne. "It's over."

"It is. Just don't say you weren't warned." The King turns to remove his crown and places it on the Throne. "I am sorry," he says with his back to his enemies, "that it came to this." He begins to turn to face Valoreth, and the archer's arm gives in. The arrow is released, and goes straight for Eiprils head. He drops to the ground, and the Omen turns to look at his soldier, immediately turning him into black dust without uttering a single word. Valoreth lies still, unsure how to proceed. The Lycans look at Theus, waiting for his order.

Theus lies frozen in shock, but he knows his King is not dead. Deep inside his mind he feels him Thinking, and only two words manifest. "Forgive me."

Golden light begins to emanate from the crouched King, and it transforms him. Misty threads of gold, grey, and black emanate from within and surround him as he begins to stand up, revealing his clothes have turned into armor. Golden metals shimmer and move around his body as if they were liquids. His royal cloak turns silver, and his eyes and mouth turn black. He continues to stand up, until he no longer touches the foot of the Throne. He curls into a ball as the air in the room turns cold and rushes towards the figure hovering over the Throne. Winds blow from all directions towards the King that remove the fire from candles and fireplaces. The enemies reach for something to hold on to as the winds become stronger, some driving their weapons into the ground as an attempt to not be sucked in. Valoreth drives his sword into the base of the stairs and tried to conjure a black mist to shield him. But he already had been given his chance to leave and live, and refused.

The first soldier of the Omen loses his grip. He gets sucked into the air, and as he is about to hit Eipril, he smashes against a golden barrier that absorbs him. The wind dies down, and in a burst of gold, silver, and black, the King uncurls releasing a shockwave of golden energy that vaporises all of Valoreth's soldiers into black dust. The explosion is so violent that is tears apart whole sections of the Throne Room, sending boulders flying in every direction. The Omen raises his hand to hold off the continuous shockwave, but his armor has been reduced to ash. In a matter of seconds he follows, and all that remains is his sword impaled at the base of the stairs.

Theus is not affected at all. He didn't feel the winds, nor the violence of the explosions. His Lycans, however, are gone. And all that remains is their armor. 

His King hovers in the air above him, and on his hands he sees three rings: two on his left hand, one gold and one black, and on his right a lone silver ring. He turns to Theus, and stares blankly at him in eyes consumed by darkness. Not a word is said or Thought, and he floats towards the balcony; now just a giant hole in the room. Below, in the battlefields, the murder has stopped. All forces are still, looking up at the center of the explosion. Theus walks to the balcony, and moves just enough to avoid the Omen's sword be launched into the battlefield. It impales in the space between the enemy and the defense, and the message is clear: only one side remains.

The King speaks. "Servants of the Dark. You are beaten." He moves his arms around, creating an unstable circle of energies. The same three colors run inside the orb, and he lunges it to the battlefield, making it encompass the whole of the invasive army. Tens of thousands lie trapped inside, among them some Lycan Commanders leading the defense. Then, Eipril extends a hand and a pillar of black smoke emanates violently towards the dome, covering it in a thick mist. Inside the dome, the smoke begins to seep in, absorbing those caught inside indiscriminately. Soldiers of Valoreth pulverize in front of each other, screaming as their flesh is consumed by the very force they claim to serve. Soldiers of the Kingdom are sucked into pools of dark liquid, their existence rendered innecessary by the will of Death. 

Theus feels his soldier's thoughts. He feels his Lycans Thinking. He feels the pain his Lord is causing.

"Eipril!" He screams at him, and just then realises the deafening noises around him. Wind rushing beyond comprehension takes over his hearing until he can't hear his own thoughts. But Theus does not relent. "Eipril!" He reaches for his cloak, but when touching it, gets thrown to the other side of the room. He smashes against the brick wall and is unable to move, forced against the wall as if being held my some invisible force. He is relentless. "Eipril! Eipril!" His King does not acknowledge him, so he resorts to the one thing that he knows he has no defense over: he Thinks into his King.

Theus find his' mind unrecognizable. Where just a few hours ago was an aboundance of beautiful and precious emotions, a black rot has taken over. He walks the halls of his King's memory and consciousness, only to find every moment he had seen before missing. Everything was covered in dark tendrils spreading across the vastness of his mind. Theus Thinks of the happiest memory, and sends energies of himself to find Luminosity. The last bastion of Eipril's memory. But he is kicked from the King's mind, and when he opens his eyes he finds black eyes staring directly into him: it worked. 

The King thinks into Theus' mind. "He told you it was his last night. He is gone now."

"I refuse to believe that." Theus forces himself into his mind again, and this time it is prepared. He clashes with the dark mist preventing his advance. He conjures up every spell he can remember to dispel the dark, but every hole made is reformed in seconds. The dark closes on him, holding limbs and pulling. In a last effort, he gathers all his might into one last spell, and white lightning forks out in every direction, not dispelling the darkness, but eliminating it entirely from his surroundings. Theus is released and drops to the ground, and knows that trick was only going to buy him little time, but time enough for his energies to find Luminosity. He gathers what little energies he has left, and releases it in all dimensions in a last ditch effort to bring back Eipril.

Moments pass, and the dark appears again, but not formless. It takes a human shape, an entity unknown, and it speaks to Theus. "Why, O First Lycan, fight? Am I not your King? Am I not your Closest Confidant? Am I not your purpose?" Theus feels tendrils grasp his head and start to seep into him. "You energy is spent. Your Lover remains taken. Your purpose is ruined. But rejoice! I bring purpose beyond belief!" 

Theus recoils against the prodding dark, and feels his memories be overtaken one by one. His family, erased. His life, erased. His service, his friendships, his Lycans and followers, all vanish in the dark mist. But it prodded too far, and came unto his deepest and most cherished memory. It stumbles into the Luminosity, and when the threat is felt, it releases energy beyond belief from within him. Blinding white light pushes the entity away, and from the settling dust appears a figure. Eipril lies still in the center, and Theus rushes to his side. He grabs him between his arms and holds his head up.

"Come back." He pleads. "Return to me." He leans in and kisses him, energy from within him sparkles, and Eipril opens his eyes. His golden eyes barely shine, but recognizes Theus. 

"Lover." He speaks, and caresses his face with his palm. "There is not much time. It will return, and I am it's unwilling vessel." He conjures a dagger of pure gold light and hands it to Theus. "I Love you, more than anything in the worlds."