Eris Blackwood
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The forest seemed a little brighter than usual as a faint ray of light peeked over the horizon, signaling the start of a new day. Such rituals were unheard of in Doomwood, and the sudden appearance of light would send a disturbing message to the citizens of the forest; that the Shadowscythe had lost.
But Sepulchure was not one to admit defeat. The Emperor had been weakened in the battle, but the pain he felt was nothing compared to the fire of his resolve. In one hand, his doomblade, the mark of his power, capable of devouring armies with a single swipe, and in the another, a pitch blade cloth, the mark of his authority, over darkness and himself.
"It seems the servant has become the master at last," the blade hissed. Sepulchure raised the sword and tossed it towards a tree, its blade piercing deep into the trunk.
"Silence yourself," the doomknight commanded. "I'm contemplating whether or not to destroy you."
"Hahahaha! You mean for the stabbing you in the back thing?" the doomblade laughed.
Suddenly a dark figure materialized in front of the tree. It formed a humanoid shape, but its body was made up entirely of shadow. In place of hands, it had three large, hooked claws, and on its faces were a pair of glowing red eyes and an enormous grin. The figure crawled up to Sepulchure and put an arm around his shoulder.
"I don't blame you for being upset over that, but getting rid of me wouldn't help you," it said. "I'm the only thing you have left."
"And why is that?" the doomknight asked rhetorically.
"Now, now, let's not go pointing fingers," the doomblade sneered. "If I recall correctly, you were the one who called for my help. And I so graciously obliged," it hissed, disappearing before morphing into a reptilian form as it snaked along the doomknight's armor.
"I know you better than any of them. You were never Alteon's little lap dog. Even Darkness doesn't have to power to alter souls, it can only brings out their true power," it explained. "Being a so called hero, peace, justice. Those were never things that suited you." The creature paused for a moment, as if expecting a response, but the doomknight kept silent.
"You're one true passion was always battle. But not just battle, victory!" the doomblade continued, grinning as it licked each of its pointy teeth. "The first time you faced true defeat, oh, it must make your skin burn just thinking if it! Rescuing her was never the most important thing for you. What you really wanted was vengeance on the one who thought he could destroy you. And when you were lying in the depths of the Necropolis, your soul screaming for a second chance, the Master granted your wish."
"To never again face defeat," Sepulchure finished.
"But if you really think about it," the doomblade insisted. "If I hadn't stabbed you, you would have the ultimate orb and then what? You would be forced to slave away at the master's bidding. And look at you now! The most powerful beginning Lore has ever known is nothing but a scrap of cloth in your hands! HAHAHAHA!"
"Not quite..." Sepulchure seethed. He waved a hand over the shadowy form, causing it to dissipate. "Not yet."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your kind aren't killed so easily," Sepulchure pulled the blade out from the tree. As he laid his hand upon the hilt, he felt a strange docility, as if the sword was shirking from his grasp.
"That was just a shell," he went on. "You are going to tell me where and how to find him. So that I may make him suffer the rest of eternity by my own hand!"
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