AN: I really hate my brain and the ideas that come from it sometimes. Yet another story to add to the pile.

The War of the Rangers

Prologue: Darkness Arrives

Where am I?

The being on the floor shifted as awareness came flooding back to his mind. He recalled the triumph he had felt in his body as his forces had run roughshod over his opponents, their screams of pain sounding like music to his ancient ears. The final strike against the stronghold was a victory a long time in coming and he had sauntered onto the battlefield to revel in the dead and dying warriors at his feet. Yes, those who would survive would have a place in his Empire as forced conscripts, concubines or slaves; they would be bound to him until they died…only to be resurrected into his new army of the undead. Those that struggled and revolted would be used to feed his children, the walking steak his daughter mad married, and what his son had scraped off a wayward comet. That had been the plan anyway and everything was shaping up to lead into the beginning of it…until it had occurred.

It had begun with the feeling as though someone important had died, an echoing presence in his mind winking out with the flip of some unseen switch. He scarcely had the time to process the start of the emotions threatening to overwhelm him when the light appeared in the distance, racing closer with each second. He didn't look back at his armoured and shielded bunker, knowing it was too late for him to run. Communications with his generals fizzled into static as the light touched them, transforming them into nothingness within instants. In that moment, he finally understood everything that was happening and everything that was about to happen. Centuries of planning, waiting and scheming would be undone by one of the people he had called a friend a very long time ago.

He would not falter in the face of his death.

The light hit his body and, for a brief moment, he felt nothing but the purest love filling his body. Steadfastly refusing his friend's final offer to turn him into the man he once was, he ground his teeth together as he felt his body being atomized – one cell at a time until the inevitability of death claimed him. However, as he was finding out at the present moment, that did not seem to be the case. He was lying on a stone floor of some kind and there was thick and choking smoke hanging in the air. There were creatures around him as well, though his eyes had yet to adjust to the low levels of light. Closing his eyes for the moment, he searched for the core of his power and grasped it with all his strength, grateful that it had survived the light of his friend's death. He would wonder about what had happened later as it wasn't really his most pressing concern; though a small part of him did wonder about the events that surrounded it. Had the situation at the front really deteriorated that much from his earlier travels? What new manner of weapon had those thrice-cursed humans cooked up that would require a sacrifice of that magnitude?

"Rise up my new servant."

The voice was deep and rough, coming from everywhere and nowhere. Summoning what remained of his strength, he rose on shaking legs to face the being that had brought him here and saved him from destruction. He blinked once at the sight of an impossibly tall tower seemingly under constant construction and, at the top, a lidless eye sat, wreathed in fire. Swallowing hard at this unexpected sight, the figure shuffled back nervously – only stopping when the heel of his right foot felt nothing behind him. Wondering what had brought him here, he slowly turned around to a desolate plain of obsidian and onyx stretching out in front of him for as far as he could see. Deep cracks and fissures ran through the rock and unearthly red magma glowed beneath, the heat burning the tips of his hair; camps constructed out of wood and stone dotted the landscape, humanoid creatures fashioning and creating weapons and armour…preparing for war.

Strange beasts flew overhead, small creatures that looked as though they were just hatched and were testing out their wings. Screams of tortured souls coming from one of the pits below him and, rather out of place in the hellish environment, came nine waterlogged figures riding equally drenched horses. As they dismounted and began climbing up the multitude of steps to reach his vantage point, the figure turned back to look at the flaming eye with some amount of growing excitement. There was something in the air that he hadn't tasted in more than ten thousand years – the taste of infinite possibilities. Yes, there was magic in this world and, unlike the place he had been spirited from, it flowed through him with ease and efficiency. Cracking his neck to work out the aches that were starting to set in; he looked down at the second figure on the ground with some measure of disdain. Why he had chosen to bring the vial of ooze with him, he hadn't the foggiest…though it looked like it was slowly turning into a humanoid being. Recalling reports a few years ago, he chuckled darkly under his breath and turned up to his new Master once more.

The world had changed. No more was he to be a free agent with the ability to carry out his own agenda; he would be expected to carry out missions on the front lines with his troops and bring crushing defeat to those who opposed him. In fact, he was sure he still had a few eggs in the pockets of his robes he could use against whatever meager force stood in their way. As the nine drenched warriors reached his vantage point, a slow grin crept over his face. He would do everything he could for this world to know his name.

The name of Master Vile.

TBC…