Varimathras.
He clutched the name to his mind like a man taking a woman. Fiercely he focused upon it: a glowing strand of steadiness in a realm of chaos.
His name was Varimathras. He was Nathrezim. And he was doing this for his own sake.
The voice in his head laughed. Thal'kituun. Unseen intruder. It never tired of mocking him. The booming voice echoed through his sanity, laughing, laughing at his cowardice, his ineptitude, his idiocy, laughing at every mistake he made from the very moment he laid eyes on this accursed planet, this accursed land, this accursed woman…
He roared. Drowned it out. He was Nathrezim. He was a warrior.
The world was so quiet. Why was it so silent? He could only hear the maddening drips of some unseen liquid. Why was it always so wet? And why were there always whispering ghosts?
Where had the ghosts gone?
"Show yourselves!"
The words echoed through the chamber, this Royal Quarter. Bah! There was no king! No queen! She had styled herself a queen, oh yes. A queen of lost souls. But she was nothing. There were no souls. They had all gone. So long ago, they had gone from this place.
A drop of green fluid splashed on the ground behind him. He whipped around like a tornado, like a cat from the nether, lashing out with his giant claws. He growled like thunder.
He was Varimathras. Nathrezim. His cunning would see him through.
It had seen him through so much. So much! The bitch had killed Detheroc, and then told him to kill Balnazzar, too. But no. Oh, no. Nathrezim did not kill Nathrezim. He could shirk his honour and try, of course, and it would be enough. Had been enough, for the stupid soulless bitch. But Nathrezim did not kill Nathrezim, would not, could not. One brother would die. The other would, too, for a little while. But Nathrezim did not kill Nathrezim, and Nathrezim always came out on top. She had seen it. Nathrezim were always in charge.
The thal'kituun laughed again. Anach haguul, it called him. Miserable dog. He snarled, but held still. He would stir no more. He would not jump at shadows. He would ignore the laughter, and it would get louder, laughing at his stoicism. Pathetic, it called him. He would show it the truth.
The bitch would show herself soon. He thought he could hear it, now. Hear the battles in the courtyard, in the throne room. The bitch would come, lapdog to the pitiful green creature. Ered'ei. Corrupted one. It was so self-righteous for a green thing. But he knew its story. He knew it was no different than he.
Once ered'ei, forever ered'ei.
They were coming, now. He could hear them. Definitely. Closing in. He turned, summoning his magic, ready to face them. Soon, he would own this wretched dead place and all its ghosts. All his planning, all his work, it would be for everything. For freedom and for vengeance.
He could not wait to tear the bitch limb from limb.
Katra zil shukil, the thal'kituun told him. Suffer and perish. And it laughed.
He ignored it. He was Varimathras. He was Nathrezim. He would destroy them all.
