The man sat there unconscious. He was tied to a chair in a dark room, but this darkness was surreal, it was like the darkness was alive. The man came around but was still confused. He struggled to remember the events from the night before. Then small sections faded into his memory. He was in a battlefield surrounded by explosions and flashing lights. People all around him fell to their deaths, falling victim to hell. Then he remembered something, something that had been hidden at the back of his mind. One man, just one man had caused all this horror and death. One man, with one name, the name that made the strongest of men quiver in fear. That name was... VILE to be exact. A sorcerer with immense power. A coldblooded killer.
He heard a door open and heavy, bounding footsteps travel round the very chair he was sat on. A light flickered on.
"So we finally meet Mr Pure." said Lord Vile in a deep, croaky voice.
"Why am I here, why do you need me Vile?" Mr Pure whimpered
"Oh, don't worry Mr Pure I will not hurt you, but my young apprentice...well, I can't promise anything." Vile said with a snigger.
A young boy, probably in his mid-teens, stepped through the door. He was holding a grenade. Mr Pure shrieked as the pin dropped to the ground.