Teresa used to be a poet adored by all who heard her enchanting words.

Sacchariferous
they proved to be, sweeter than honey. She was recognized throughout the land, and tale of her
talent travelled far, from east to west. Verse after verse, line after line, she would captivate
crowds through intricate, fascinating rhymes. She would make a person fall in love with a tiny
little bird princess, who was lost in a fleeting storm. The bird was trying to find her way back
home with a broken wing. Teresa made the crowd cheer for the adventurous young squirrel,
who finds the little princess and sets on a journey to help the her get back to the Soaring Wings
castle. How she had made them hate the Black Snake of the woods who originally had
kidnapped the princess, but had lost her in the hands of the treacherous storm and seemed
relentless in finding her again. In the final stanza she had broken their hearts when the
courageous squirrel manages to save the princess and take her back home but loses his own
life, for he had suffered a fatal injury, battling the mischievous snake. They laughed and they
cried, jumped and screamed, they awww-ed and booh-ed, all for her enticing songs.

Teresa was a painter, her drawings were hung on the walls of every castle and mansion
in the kingdom of Slom. Hundreds would beg of her to do portraits of their loved ones or family
members, dead or alive. They would ask her to immortalize a scenery most dear to their hearts
so they could cherish such memories for as long as they lived. Tales told of nights when her
drawings would come to life, dancing about in celebration. Her magic, real or not, had found its
place in everyones heart.

She was a small town baker, waking up every morning before sunrise, moving his bowls,
trimming his shaggy beard, heading to his shop while scratching his arse. He wasnt the best at
his job nor the brightest, but at least he was the only one around who could bake some edible
bread more or less. I could give em stones for all they knew. Theyd still break it over dinner
with a thank you mester Dicard, sir. and scoff it down in a flash, the fools! he bemused,
sniggering. He had a wife too as he could recollect. The woman was not a sight in any way, but
would spread her legs for him all the same. There he would find her warm and wet enough.
Shed given him two kids. Or was it three? Ungrateful buggers all of them! Who cares how many
there were. They were all mouths to feed when all was said and done.

She was a jester, or he was. A beggar starving to death. A powerful king, a gallant
knight, a mother, a sister, a thief, a child and many, many more. She was all and she was
Teresa:

A maiden of fourteen, who had ran away from home but could not remember why. Did I
have a fight with father? Was it because he wanted to marry me to that drunken old man? Oh
Gods have mercy! NOT HIM! Not that fat fool. She could recall how his stifling breath stank of
tobacco and alcohol. A stale pungent smell, mixed with his sweat. His puffed eyes were red and
his teeth were crooked. Whenever he smiled she would get the chills. She could picture him in
her mind, leering at her curves, following her around the room with big lecherous eyes. Big red,
puffy eyes!

When she found out about her father's plans, she had wrapped her favourite shawl
around her shoulders, leaving the house before dusk settled. By the time the cruel hands of
night had cut open the heart of day, painting the edges of the world with crimson, she was far
away from home, enough to slow her pace down. The clouds were heavy and mournful. It will
rain soon, she reflected. She could have gone back home before it started. No one would
suspect that she had fled and if she hurried, she could make it back just in time for supper. NO!
she forced herself to move forward.

Teresas life wasnt anything special. An ordinary life, for an ordinary girl, who lived in an
ordinary house with ordinary parents looking after her. But she knew something extraordinary
awaited her at the end of her journey. She had a feeling in her gut. Something wicked, she
muttered to herself. I can travel the world. See all there is to see, and fall in love. In due time of
course. She started imagining her prince charming. He would be tall, oh very tall! with bright
eyes and a smile to die for. He will be such a gentleman and treat me like a proper lady. He
would keep her safe from harm and would give her many children. Two healthy boys and a
beautiful girl. They would have a happy house together, living an amazing life.

She never figured out why she made for that alleyway, or when? But by the time she
came to her senses, she was in a part of town unknown to her. Every corner had an alarmingly
red gleam to it and the shadows stretched farther than natural. There were voices too, cries of
agony and pain or so she imagined. The voices seemed to warn her, but she paid them no
heed. Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. It was trying to frighten her, to make her run
back home with her tail between her legs. She pressed on nonetheless, the enormity of her
actions catching up with her with a pinch of paranoia. Doubts started to waver her resolve. She
had no solid plan. Maybe she could find an inn for the night. There would be no reason for them
to turn such a lovely girl down. yes! They should be more than happy to welcome me and give
me a room. Maybe Ill ask them to draw me bath. A nice warm bath to wash away all the stress.
She would follow her instincts from here on out. The world would provide for her, she was
certain of that.
It was by then when she heard a distinct noise. Faint at first, but it grew louder as she
came closer to its source. It was the sound a sharp object would make, flying at high speed,
cutting through air and whizzing by. She was drowned by a sense of surreal tranquility. She
walked aimlessly, tumbling forward. She passed by a locked door, walked over a puddle, kicked
over an empty canister, and came up to him.

He was in the shadows, eyes burning with blood. Teresa couldnt utter a single word.
She had seen her fate there and then, and knew that she was to die by the hands of the
looming monster. He moved forward, floating. He wasnt hiding in the shadows of the wall, he
was part of them. An eight foot demon. Part shadow, part fire. He opened his mouth, a
bottomless pit of horror. His voice was the unnerving sound of sandpaper scratching on wood.
His words alien to her, sentences said in an entirely different language. The language of hell
itself.

That is when she died. Teresa saw her death as she left her melting body behind and
became one with the monster. The smell of burnt flesh filled her nostrils and then there was
darkness.

She climbed up a turnpike stair to abyss. All around her were spirals of flames and
souls. she could make out faces or other features, twisted and grotesque.When she reached the
top, millions of hands clawed at her, tearing her into pieces. Then she was whole again, but not
herself. She was part of someone else sharing their dreams, their memories. it was becoming
progressively harder to keep her identity to herself. In there, they were all one and different. She
could no longer say if she was a girl or a boy, human or zooltan, of heavens or if she belonged
to hell. She was just another trapped soul inside the Shadow Fiend, about to lose all sanity. Or
maybe she already had? She couldnt say for certain if she was Teresa anymore, nor could she
claim she was Teresa in the first place. She had all these memories that did not belong to her.
She screamed and screamed. Nevermore chuckled.

He walked through the silent hall, the pungent smell of burnt skin wafted through the air.
Its scent, intoxicating the Holy chamber. His, was a scraggly figure, an abomination made of fire
and shadow. His long arms were complemented with sharp claws, while he had spikes jutting
out of his back. His chest opened to a fiery core and his lower abdomen ended abruptly in a
lump that left him with no feet. This mass of corrupted irregularity glided through the air of the
vast hall, undisturbed but only by the memories of his freshly acquired soul. It amused him; the
vanity in which humans tried to retain their individuality once consumed by a higher intelligence.
He had thousands upon thousands of souls burning inside of him. Some still fighting to maintain
their originality, others had long lost their sanity, becoming an empty shell of once an auspicious
personality. Not that it matter to Nevermore, he would consume and ravage any being the
same. It was souls he was after, it didn't matter where he got them as long as he did. He was a
hoarder of sorts, a soul collector.

It was bucketing outside. Blustering winds smashing their phantom bodies against the
solid formation of the polished black rock that formed the Silent Hall. The hall was a bulk of
quasi spherical stone breaking free from the surface of the ocean like a mole on the clear water
surface. It was surrounded on four sides by pointy promontory that made reaching the stone
almost impossible. Unless of course one was to get there through a portal path meant only to
reach the hall, then that particular individual would enjoy the trip of their lives. It would be as
easy as spreading butter on bread. The hall acted as a neutral zone for the entire universe. For
it was at this very rocky formation at a period antedating time itself, where The Whisperer sang
the song of foundation and gave birth to creation. For that purpose alone they had chosen to
convene here. Since there was no other place on earth or in depths of hell, where three of the
seven demon lords-with the history that they shared- could gather and not bring it down to a
smouldering ruin.

Nevermore was contemplating over which one of his demon-overlord counterparts he
hates the most as he passed by one of the braziers placed beside a marble pillar holding the
ceiling. There were a number of such pillars each characterized by their own braziers, giving the
gloomy atmosphere a serene feel. The fires created small pools of light in the ongoing darkness
that had swallowed the hall. The flames reacted to his fire, being born from an inferior cousin of
a cousin of a brothers bastard child; all flames were distant relatives to those born of its purest
form. Disgraceful beings who could only burn until that which fueled them could supported their
miserable life span. They couldn't burn on their own like most greater demons could. And these
brazier flames knew their lowly place when confronted by the immensity of his fire, they
quavered as he passed by , the light they shone thin and sickly, stifled by his burning desire. He
moved towards the centre of the hall, where the meeting was to take place.

It was of scarce occasion, for the three of them to meet in person. They would preferably
communicate through lesser servant or avatars and manifestations of their true forms. Always
being wary of hidden plans the others might have to capture them -in some cases for a second
or a third time-. But matters needed their immediate and utmost attention, alas they finally
agreed upon gathering on a neutral ground where none could use their powers against the other
two. Not that any of them were happy about it, their hatred for one another ran cold and deep,
the history between them shaggy and scarred with wounds of betrayal.

He reached a round table, erected out of stone. White light, scintillating through the
ceiling, covered its entire width. Four undeniably ill-fitted chairs were brought up around it.
Nevermore had no intention of sitting down. Even in a place as protected as this, one couldn't
be too careful. A triangle was carved in the middle of the table, each of its sides criss crossed by
ancient glyphs. The lines undulating across the smooth surface like a pattern left behind by an
ice skater. He had a soul like that inside him. In some places people would wear peculiar shoes
that allowed them to slide over frozen ground on blades, and they had made an even stranger
dance out of it. He had snatched up the dancers soul right there upon the same stage he was
meant to perform the following day. The message carved on the table amused Nevermore and
the power in it stopped him from placing his palm down on the table. The magic was too old.
And too pure for my liking.

There he stands, the great Shadow Fiend. Collector of souls. The blessed Darkfire. said a
hoarse voice from somewhere behind him. From the edge of shadows, a bulky figure walked
into the light. Outgrowths embraced his skinless face, exposing his skull. His eyes were burning
deep in their sockets. With no lips, his teeth, protruding out of his jaws gave him a malicious
look. The muscles on his jaw stretched back, making it look as if he was smiling all the time.
His skin glowed with an unholy purple light. His body was muffled by a cloak of black smoke.
Chains rattled against his chest and the metal plate covering his privates. What comes
from shadows, can be one, once more. he added as he made for the table. Chuckling.

Hold your glib tongue, Giblet. Ozh acha voizh! replied Nevermore, spitting the words
out like poison. He knew the crude nickname would stir the Shadow Demon up. The rain outside
began to abate, just as the flames of anger grew restless within him.

Yes, you are mine no longer. For a time that is, said Shadow Demon, meekly. But
youve got debts to pay. He stretched every syllable, making each word sting.

Nevermore exploded with anger, raising his arms, planning to incinerate the other
demon where he was standing. But as he tried, before mustering any flames, all power got
sucked out of him leaving him breathless.

No, no, no my friend. Inside here, we cannot harm one another. Every attempt at
retribution is silenced by the old power, Shadow Demon lectured Nevermore, not concerned
about any retaliation. He went on as if nothing had happened, Where is our discarded friend
anyways? O the fallen one from grace, where are you? shouting the last words in to the
imposing blackness of the hall.
Lucifer and I should have finished you long ago, claimed Nevermore, incensed. He
could still taste the bitterness of the hollow spirit he had devoured long ago. The owner had
been corrupted by Shadow Demon, only a mere vessel, used to carry out his cunning masters
biddings. Distraught by the growing popularity of his cult, Nevermore and Doom had decided to
put an end to his plans. But their attempts proved to bear no fruit, as they unwillingly granted the
demon even more influence over the material realm when they meddled with his business and
crushed him to smithereens. Somehow his shadowy poison found a new way to corrupt the
inhabitants of the realm and his powers over them grew ten folds. He even had managed to
summon Nevermore using a Warlocks powers and bind him to his will through an ancient seal.
Breaking free of his grasp had proven to be troublesome. I will consume you, once this is all
done. Declared, Nevermore.

Unperturbed, Shadow Demon ran his fingers around the edge of the table, and retracted
them momentarily, feigning ignorance. He had his own agenda for joining forces with the other
two, of course. They all did. And their host was fully aware of that too. Hence he had pleaded for
the three of them to work together, inviting them to the Silent Hall. Nevermore delved back deep
within to a cellar where he kept the most prized of his collection, like aged wine.

It was another hour before Doom finally arrived. The sound nails make on chalkboard
followed as he stumbled into the light, dragging his clunk of fiery sword behind him. The shrill
was coming from the edge of the sword scrapping the polished stones. Lucifer looked battered,
clearly oblivious to the amount of noise the sword was causing. It dawned on him when Shadow
Demon took a jibe at it. By all means. That sound is so soothing, Id imagine you were playing a
harp, if I hadnt lost my hearing already.

Lucifer looked at him absently, then considered and lifted the hefty mass up. You are
as pleasant as I can remember, dear friend. Then he turned to Nevermore, giving him a
sanctimonious nod as he reached for one of the chairs.

He was clad in red bristling armour from hoof to horn. Easily over towering the other two
demons in height, Doom still had the grace-if it can be called that- of a time before his
banishment. That, coupled with his imposing tone, gave his insatiable greed and seething
madness a darker tone than most of his brethren. The burnt crisps of his once magnificent
wings, were tokens of his defiance, as well as reminders for him to burn the entire foundation of
creation down on itself. His giant sword was inferno come alive. Fiery tongues licked its every
edge, dancing on its surface to a hidden melody. A swing of it could cut and roast any being in
one smooth motion. As he sat down, he let his sword lean against the table.

And why were you so late, if I maybe so bold to ask ... dear friend? Shadow Demon
asked. He despised both Nevermore and Doom but if he had to pick a favourite to torment for all
eternity, that would be Lucifer ten out of nine times. He could always stir Nevermore up that was
easy, but Lucifer, he was different. He always looked down on him and that, Shadow Demon
could not stomach.
Simmer down, will you? pleaded Lucifer, rubbing his brow, as if trying to dispel an
unwanted thought. The branding he had gotten there eons ago was still burning crimson. He
continued. I had a run at him again. and managed to jump into the portal with my head barely
intact.
He...? he stopped mid-sentence as he realized whom they were talking about. Shadow
Demon only knew of a handful of creatures who could stand on par with a demon lord, and even
a smaller number that could prove difficult to deal with. But amongst them all, there was only
one who proved to be most persistent. So he managed to add, How could have he known
where you were meant to use the portal? We were granted safe passage!

Nevermore had had his full share of all this nonsense. So he raised a hand, Enough
with your bickering! Were all here so lets get started. We will deal with him later.

We are not all here. Surely our great lord can see that our common benefactor is
absent. Or is it too much for your brilliant mind to comprehend that?

As if on cue, a fourth figure walked into the circle. He was shrouded by a frozen mist.
The fires in the braziers close by, flickered as a bone chilling cold penetrated the hall following
the newcomer. A wisp of frozen crystals rose from his body, swirling aimlessly as they went out
of view. His voice was a whisper, words turned to frost as they left his mouth. As he spoke, his
jaws made the crackling sound of ice. The three of Seven bless the house of Unspoken. May
your fires burn eternally and your hunger know no end. He took a breath and went on, Shall
we begin with our preparation then, you unholy Ones?

Doom smiled. Shadow Demon turned towards Nevermore and said, If I didnt know any
better, Id say he is trying to swoon us.

With this, the newcomer cachinnated, howling as loud as possible. His laughter the
sound of ice shard breaking free of a glacier. Between that he managed to say, Dear Giblet, I
dont need to pamper the such of you. It seems to me that you lot needs my help more than I
need anything from you. He waved a hand, dismissing any possible retort the hissing demon
might have had and continued, I thought we were here for business, no? Since we are done
with the pleasantries, let us get down to it.

Nevermore was glad, He wasnt known for his patience amongst the demonkind and the
sooner they were done with this facade, the sooner he could go back to his soul hunting. Oh
delicious souls.
The meeting went on for a time. It seemed that the reports were true; there were indeed
sightings of Furions return after his long absence and that he was on the move. Their plan to
make him show his hands early had worked as well. They knew putting high enough a bounty
on his head would turn unwanted attention towards him. That meant that there were more eyes
following him and his gang of misfits around. Their sources claimed that he too had started
looking for Sylla, hoping to find the seed. This had made their job much easier since they were
looking for the same thing, albeit not, for the same reasons. It was brought to them by their
benefactor that if corrupted, the seed could bring about carnage in its most literal sense. And
carnage is what demons thrive on.

But that wasnt the only thing they were after. Not in the slightest, Shadow Fiend purred
in an outmost malign way. Right now there were too many contenders for the Evil of the Year
awards making sharing part of the trophy gained from all the chaos that was about to unfold, not
as profitable. They had to make sure that all the big players present in this game, would remove
each other before the three demon-lords could make their own move. They had decided that a
blow to the material world, would ripple through all the other planes,leaving nothing but a
devastating calamity. And then I will destroy the others, consume The Old One, and have all the
souls for the taking. Just the thought of consuming the elemental beings essences could drive
him into a frenzy. Dont forget the sword though. Shadow fiend leaned back to take another look
at the ever burning cleaver. Lucifers blade accumulated the souls of all fallen foes, and to
Shadow Fiend that was a treat to be owned.

Dooms calm voice brought him back to reality, Regarding the matter of Nessaj, how do
you propose we get rid of him, our most benevolent friend? Addressing the old creature of the
Hall. He is one of the four and the eldest. Getting rid of him would be the most onerous of
tasks

Their mysterious host, shook his head, making tiny snowflakes fall, dancing, till they
reached the shining floor. His eyes shining brightly through the frozen mist. Whatever he was,
he was indeed old, that much was for certain. He said with a wary tone, the strain of all the
plotting showing itself, Night follows the day, and day follows the night. The cycle repeats itself
for an eternity. For one is elusive and the other enduring. But what happens if one catches the
other? He made dramatic pause. Chaos will ensue.

Shadow Demon chuckled in response, Our senile friend, has lost all wits with age.
Talking in riddles are we? Whats next, reciting the history of our misfortunate kind?

And how old might you be, my dear lord?

Just a couple of thousand years. Give or take. Still in my prime, Id say.

If only there were no magical restrictions binding him down, Nevermore would have
made a smoking barbeque out of the garrulous fool. Doom seemed to share the same notion.
He clasped the hilt of his burning blade, raising it, even though he knew that would be as far as
he could dare. Enough with this mockery! Tell me what you mean by your madness and spare
us the pretence, plainly irritated. He continued, this time addressing the Shadow Demon, And
you! No more vapid remarks. Hold your poisonous words for ones with the ear for it.

If one ever wanted to see a high class demonlord wounded, this would be the only time
for it. And Nevermore made a mental note to savour the taste of this memory for times to come.
Shadow Demon on the other hand, managed to keep quiet, plainly scorned.

The aged creature continued, unphased by all the talk, I was merely referring to the
twins; of Light and Dark. What if it was possible to arrange for Nessaj to finally catch Ezalor?

There was no need to say more. The ominous sniggering of the demon lords was plain
enough. If Chaos Knight ever managed to capture the Keeper of the Light himself, then
darkness might have won already and they would only need to start rampaging. The only
question was: How?

And Shadow Demon did not hesitate to express his doubt, despite the mouthful he had
just received moments ago. And how do you propose we do that? I believe you have a plan
already.

Their host shrugged his shoulders, making a noise that could only be a suppressed
laugh. We might have a plan, yes. Or, we might have Ezalor in chains right here below us,
pointing to an area between Nevermore and Doom.

Shadow Fiend was on the verge of asking about whatever he meant by we, when the
enormity of the words caught up with him. He managed to struggle out of his chair, shocked,
and stare incredulously at the old snowman. The others somewhat had the same reaction.
Finally he managed to blurt the words out, Here? right now? His fiery mouth would water at
the thought of the delish flavour of Ezalors soul, if only his physique would allow it.

Lucifer was the most composed of the three and asked the obvious question, How?
How did you managed to capture Ezalor when the Chaos Knight himself had difficulty doing
so?

The misty creature said in a low, but cheerful tone, We granted him safe passage.

The words felt bitter in Nevermores mouth. He could see that others had somewhat of a
same reaction. They too had been offered safe passage and he couldnt help but remember that
Doom had been delayed, since he was ambushed as he was about to take the portal. What
does he mean by we again? I dont like this old fool, he is hiding something from us. The
thought was unsettling. The silent Hall was meant to act as a neutral-zone for all sides. If they
had started taking part in the war, what was there to say that all this wasnt a plot to overthrow
the three themselves.

The silence was broken by none other than the crooked old creature, I see that my
friends have started doubting their sweetest host. That is to be understood. But we of the silent
order saw the need to hasten the flow of things, and a nudge was needed, so we took action.
But I promise you, no harm is meant to come to you here. After all, we share the same
interests.

It was difficult for any of them to trust in his words now despite all he claimed. The
meeting went on in haze, none wanting it to take longer than necessary. The demons felt the
need to get out of that wretched place at once. So once they agreed on leading Nessaj through
one of Shadow Demons most devout votary on how to find Ezalor, they were done. Eventually
their host called an end to their meeting, reluctantly. Simply being irritated by the mistrust and
hostility they showed towards him. As each demon scurried away from the table to be on their
way, he turned towards Shadow Fiend and said, Lord Nevermore, a word. If you will.

The last thing Nevermore saw before turning back was Giblets sly smirk and the smoke
trail left behind by Dooms burnt wings. He linger by the table unwillingly, yearning to be rid of
the curse of being powerless.

The old one pointed to a direction, opposite to where Nevermore had come from, This
way please. Urging him to follow. When He saw the demon hesitate, He shook his head and
waved a hand. The restrictions have been wavered. You may burn me to a crisp, if you as
much as feel like it. Now will you come?

The proposition was tempting, but something in the way he spoke had piqued
Nevermore's curiosity. So he followed behind by a safe distant, having his fire blast ready at a
wim. They walked for a while in silence, the path was never ending. They could as well be going
in circles and he wouldnt know. The darkness closed on them from either side like a solid wall.
One wouldn't expect a demon of his stature to be scared of the dark but there was something
strange about this isolation that Nevermore didn't like. His patience was running thin as a paper,
when unexpectedly out of the dark, a flight of stair appeared in front of them leading down to a
worn out black wooden door.

Behind the door was a long corridor that seemed to stretch forever. Each of the parallel
walls were dotted with doors. Some looked alike and some were made of different materials, or
covered in peculiar shapes and glyphs, or were of different sizes. They journeyed on, muttering
not a single word. Every soul in Nevermores core screaming, pleading for him to end the
miserable fool. But he kept his silence and followed.

They reached another door. this one larger than most. It was entirely made of an alloy
unknown to Nevermore. It had no handle or hinges. It could very well be another part of the
wall, except for the fact that it was not made out of stone. Bright white light cascaded through
the frame, fleeing the torment hidden behind it. There were muffled screams of pain coming
through as well and Nevermore had a clear idea about the prisoner on the other side causing
them.

But that wasnt the door they were after, for they walked another two hundred paces or
so before his guide stopped by a door honed out of Crystals the colour of which ranged from
shades of blue to that of dark purple. Nevermore couldn't find a handle on this one either, until
the figure in front of him reached for a part of the doors mid length, grabbing and twisting it;
twice to the right and once all around to the left. The door made a jarring sound as it opened
inwards. Inside, there was a small room devoid of any accessories apart from a stone counter.
On top if it, was an artefact that Nevermore desired most vigorously.

This cannot be. he exclaimed, not taking his eyes off of what was there in front of him.

His mysterious host placed a hand on his shoulder gesturing him in, saying sheepishly,
Yet, there it is. And it can be yours if you do something for me in return.

Nevermore knew there would be a catch to this. But for the briefest of moments he got
distracted by the lanky fingers that were touching him. It occurred to him that he hadn't noticed
his finger before. They almost look like

It did not matter. All he wanted was right there in front of him. Mine for the taking. What
do you want in return? he managed to say.

The Frosted mage made for the Ruby crystal, slim fingers closing around it like a cage.
He lifted it in swift motion and placed in Nevermores hands. I dont take well to insults, despite
what others might think. And tonight I had my patience tested. Might it be, there is something
that you could do about our shrewd demon friend and his cult. I would be so devastated if any
harm were to come to him without us being a part of it.

Nevermore smiled a wicked smile. For the Bloodstone in his hand, he would inflict the
most atrocious of harms. Never say, Nevermore!