A/N: Cross-posted to tumblr and AO3. I wrote this in fifteen minutes. Enjoy.
It was too late for him to do anything. Lord English could feel himself burning up from the inside out, and he was helpless. Every power, every ability, every bit of strength had been sapped from his body, and he was burning. They could not kill him, could not possibly hope to confront him directly and have a chance of winning, so they had tricked him. He had been tricked, and though his strength was vast and his capabilities many, he had been unable to see it. They had hidden the plan deep in the furthest, darkest, most barren reaches of the game in the universe, and he had fallen into it. He had fallen, and he was falling and burning and they had watched him fall and they had locked the universe behind him and thrown away the key.
He was burning and he hadn't moved in hours (or was it weeks or years or seconds), hadn't so much as twitched a muscle (or so he thought, maybe he'd been screaming this whole time), but somehow, without his say-so, his mouth began to open. If he had been able to focus on anything but the burning, the fire that was infinitely hotter than fire, he might have wondered why or how. His mouth opened and he tried to scream but he couldn't and, for reasons he would never understand, Lord English spoke aloud the last words he would ever utter in a voice that had never been his own, never to be heard by anyone:
"I SERVE NONE BUT KORROK."
