[ WP ] He finally broke the seal . But inside , the Evil One had not survived his captivity . Now he must decide what to say to his followers .

The Great Seal shattered in a flickering explosion of darkness. All was still as he peered into the exposed chamber. 
 
 He stayed perfectly still for one long, immeasurable moment. Many eyes watched the back of his head intently. He could almost taste the anticipation in the air. 
 
 `` My dear friends,'' he paused, `` the Evil One is dead.'' 
 
 Pandemonium broke out behind him. In the darkened cavern there were gathered a thousand sorcerors, warlocks and witches of the Old Age of Blood and Dark. With one simple sentence, he'd thrown their ranks into chaos. Any minute now, if nothing changed, there would be a bloodbath as magics of a variety unseen in any battle heretofore would be slung around by a thousand angry people. 
 
 A thousand little marionettes, dancing to his tune. The combined power to conquer a kingdom ready to tear itself apart at his whim. 
 
 Beneath his golden mask, his eyes slitted with satisfaction. A nearly rapturous sigh flowed inaudibly down his throat at the thought. He raised his golden staff and a crackle of lightning slammed into the centre of the cavern with a loud bang. He allowed it trace its way back to him, surrounding him in a golden corona of energy before dispersing it all at once. 
 
 A cold, dead silence fell among the ranks. 
 
 `` My friends, dear friends, do you think we are thwarted? Do you, perhaps believe that all hope is lost? That the Blood and Dark we have worked for for centuries will never come to be?'' 
 
 He could taste the resentment in the air. He did n't even need to see their faces. He turned back to the opened chamber, smiling at the bones inside. 
 
 `` This is the great'Evil One' we have all placed our hopes on. Look. Feel. Is he truly worth the respect we have honoured him with? Is he truly the strongest to so easily falter in the service of Blood and Dark?'' 
 
 `` Have some respect, you elfling bastard!'' 
 
 A sorceror strode forward, the crowd parting around him like water. He was a tall, broad-shouldered human man. An ermine cloak whipped about his shoulders and a great shield of obsidian covered his arm. Angrim, the Auramancer of the Sturmhold. 
 
 How perfect. No doubt there were a significant number in the crowd who still believed as he did. He would make a good example. 
 
 `` Respect?'' he tilted his head, `` Have I not shown respect? Here I am,'' he spread his arms, `` respecting the strength of Blood and Dark. That this creature behind me has failed to hold true to the cause is certainly no fault of mine.'' 
 
 `` You talk about strength?'' Angrim growled, `` Do you have strength then? Do you, a sorceror of not even a century's age, naively claim to be the strongest, the best to lead us into an age of Blood and Dark once more, in place of the Evil One?'' 
 
 He sighed. Angrim was so easy to toy with it was almost a shame he had to end the man. His fingers twitched against the grooves of his staff. All good things must come to an end however... he'd been letting his marionettes run wild enough for one day. 
 
 He spoke languidly, `` Well, Angrim of the Sturmhold. Do you think you can take me on?'' 
 
 He admired the way the muscles jumped in the man's jaw. He drank in the flex of his fingers and the reddening shade of his face. 
 
 Is he going to leap? Is he really going to try me in front of all of them? Will he really be this foolish after he has seen me best the Great Seal single-handedly? 
 
 All these thoughts filtered into his mind nearly simultaneously. He broke into a wide grin beneath his golden mask as the man broke into a charge. 
 
 Angrim was an impressive sorceror. He had lived for almost three centuries and in that time amassed a great army of golems to guard his tower in one of the most inhospitable parts of the world. Regretfully, his strength came at the cost of one sure weakness. 
 
 It had been an age since Angrim had sparred with a sentient being. 
 
 Golden light flickered in his hands. Angrim rushed towards him, a great beast of mist and energy forming behind him, its maw yawning towards him with the inevitability of a hurricane. He drew his staff as if about to call forth lightning again. Angrim's expression changed into one of vicious triumph- no doubt he knew that material attacks would not suffice against his aura beast. 
 
 Lightning poured out of the ceiling of the cavern, temporarily blinding the observers. He slashed out with a dagger, catching the man in the throat. Before the sorcerors could recover from his flash of light, he called forth a torrent of lightning to incinerate Angrim's body into a charred, indistinct mess. 
 
 He stepped over it, not bothering to acknowledge the kill. 
 
 `` My friends, we have much work to do for the cause.'' he spread his arms in a welcome gesture, `` Shall we begin?'' 
 
 A thousand little marionettes, dancing at his whim, and his whim only.
