“Congratulations,” Aratmus smiled as he stood beside Elite. “You have accomplished what no one considered possible. The demon army is under our control.”

Aratmus turned and waved his men with him, climbing back up upon this ram chariot he set off into the sea of demons. The war horses pulling his chariot now trotted towards the portal, working their way through the ruins of carved rock and collapsed stone. Resisting the urge to panic in sight of the grotesque figures before them, the horses plated with armour for protection, looked stoic as they huffed and snorted boldly in their trott.

The portal, like a tear in the very air they breathed, swirled backwards like a water drain. The warping colours of black and green gripped the event horizon of the portal and twisted deep into its center; this circular motion almost hypnotised Aratmus as he pulled up alongside it. Stepping down off this ride he paused before the portal and admired it. It was his, and his alone. Here he stood, surrounded by an army of Dwarves, further surrounded by an army of demons, and before him, a sword that could give him an infinite amount of demons to fight with.

The sword began to glisten in the falling rain, the dark skies not enough to dull it's magical aura as the rain cleaned it of dust. His grin seemed to run ear to ear as he crouched before it, and then as he wrapped his hand around its hilt, both armies bowed before him. He pulled it with relative ease from the dirt, and the portal swallowed itself up behind him - ending itself with a final swirl that dissipated into nothing but thin air. The green glow that stretched into the sky faded and while the clouds did not disappear, a thin vale of sunlight appeared to beam through the centre and down onto Aratmus as he held the sword to the sky.

“VICTORY!” Aratmus shouted at the top of his voice. It was quickly echoed by his army who repeated his cheer again and again as the landscape of death became the landscape of celebration.

Elite, with helmet up top his head, watched as Aratmus and his men celebrated with the retrieval of the sword. Now the sword could be placed anywhere they wanted and the demons had a gateway into anywhere in the world. This dwarf, this king of dwarves and demons, was going to bring down not just the elves, but the world. All he needed to do it was a loyal skeleton who would help take down Ettermire, the rest he could do himself. Elite could see the future events play out in his mind, the collapse of Ettermire, the formation of a new Alerar, and then the invasion of the surrounding territories. More adventurers and and more armies would come to fight for their countries and death would plague this land for centuries to come.

But who set all of this in place? Who put the sword deep into the Tular Plains of Alerar and let an army through into this world. It was all perfectly aligned with a magical helmet that could control demons, and a magical horn that could control men. This wasn’t just luck, this was all planned. Aratmus is a man of the future, not a man of the past…

Elite looked around him, dwarf after dwarf, demon after demon, was anyone one of these seemingly random characters secretly helping to bring this man to power? Elite had no way of picking them out, no way of understanding how this all really happened.

“Storm.” Elite turned to him while he was still recovering from the earlier blast. “If you want to live, then I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Without another word, Elite looked back at everyone cheering, their weapons were dropped or lowered, and smiles all around. Elite waited for the right moment, staring across at Aratmus as he raised and lowered the sword with his victory chant in excitement. Then, as he enjoyed the brief bliss of power, his eyes finally connected with Elites.

Yes. Witness your own destruction.

As if to mock the moment Elite raised his hands to his head and lifted the helmet, tipping it and then swaying it under his sarcastic bow to the dwarven king. Then he slammed it into the ground, gripped his giant cleaver in both hands and cut down into the helmet splitting it into two pieces.

“NOOOOO!” Aratmus cried out to the surprise of his men. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU’LL KILL US ALL!”

“Not all of us.”

The celebrations stopped as if frozen in time, they all watched as Aratmus tried to run over to Elite. But it was too late, and as his men stopped him from going further, he could only watch as Elite struck it several more times to ensure its demise.

The eerie few moments pent up the nerves of the dwarves as they looked at each and then the demons that now surrounded them completely. For all their tactics and technology, there were just too many demons for them to win, and as the demons began to regain their individuality, the dwarves made the first strike.

The land erupted into war, blades clashed, armour sparked and blood sprayed across the battlefield. Elite, seemingly ignored by both sides as they battled for their lives, stood staring back at Aratmus. He and his most elite guards ushered him behind their self-made wall and defended their position. Elite grinned inside, not only was the devastation gratifying, but another deceiver was about to be vanquished.

He rested his cleaver up on his shoulders as he calmly began to walk forward, like a man walking in through a sunny field of bliss, this was becoming a wonderful day. Blood sprayed across his leg as a Dwarf fell victim beside him, and Elite smiled inside. He could imagine the feeling of the soft wet mud between his feet, and how the cold rain ran down his face, now this was a feeling he missed. This was his sunny beach moment, this was what it was all about. Punishment of the wicked, karma for the corruptors, and a heightened love of victory for only himself.

I’m coming up to get you. Do not run little mouse.

Aratmus was ushered onto his Ram Chariot and amongst all the slaughter, he looked like he could get away. The might of the chariot made it formidable as it tore through several ranks of demons like snails under foot. He looked scared and panicked as more and more of his men fell to the claws and teeth of the deformed demonic army, and now it was literally a last gasp attempt to escape.

Moving into a sprint Elite charged through the carnage, bodies crushed under foot as he tried to reach the escaping chariot, aided by the many demons that were crushed by its weight, the chariot slowed and Elite chucked his cleaver into its path. Accidentally skewering a demon in the process, the sudden landing was enough to turn the horses in another direction. Aratmus panicked and turned his horses into a pile of rubble and rocks, and a late swerve was not enough to stop the chariot’s right wheels from crashing. The Ram Chariot broke, the horses ran free and the broken right wheels flipped the chariot up and flinging Aratmus free.

Elite arrived by the crash. Retrieving his sword he brushed his bony fingers over it, knocking the blood and rusty chippings from it. Sorry. Being undead himself, seemed to grant him immunity as the horde ran around him and continued to attack the dwarven soldiers. Or maybe it was the connection he had so briefly with them, but either way, he stood unopposed.

Aratmus crawled out of the wreckage, coughing and holding his ribs he spit out some blood which stained into his beard. His gold armour was a mucky brown and damaged, and his crown no longer anywhere to be seen. A fallen King.

He clambered up to his feet with difficulty, and looked up to see Elite standing over him. “You vagabond. You haven’t achieved anything you set out for. Imagine the things I could have done for you.”

“On the contrary. I’ve accomplished exactly what I wanted. I have the sword, I have you, and your pathetic army of drones are being slain.”

“Why?” Aratmus pulled out a canteen and took a drink, spitting his bloody spittle into the dirt. “I could have got you anything. I offered you everything. You are not just a demon, why would you ever side with them?”

“I’ve not sided with the demons. I’m here for very different reasons. But until I fulfil those reasons, I enjoy taking down liars, deceivers and betrayers.”

Catching the actual demon sword in the corner of his eye he limped across to it, Elite seemingly letting him pick it up to defend himself. “You will pay for this, Marcus! I know who you are from history. Cazri told me everything. While I still have her, I’ll still get everything. Even with this set back.”

“Feel free to use my human name. But don’t think that grants you any power. You’re about to die. You betray your own people with magic, charming them into service. You bring nothing but death to your society, your race and your family. You plan on cursing this land to benefit only your own selfish desires. For this, you will die.”

“Magic? What are you talki…”

Aratmus’ questions stopped there as the Elite’s cleaver sliced through him like a butcher's cleaver through a dead pig. His lifeless stare remained frozen for several moments until he fell back and his blood drained into the wet mud of the battlefield floor.

Hmmm…Now what to do with this.

Elite reached down and recovered the demon sword from Aratmus’ hand.