Chapter 10: Premonitions
The single, devilish creature walked the center of the caliginous hallway, hunched over with fidgeting hands. The creature resembled the holy depiction of devils: fair skinned, long pointed ears, fangs that hung outside its mouth, blood red eyes, a long whip-like tail that dragged across the floor. The hallway was lined with the rotating gears and steam machinery of civilizations past.
What laid before the scamp at hallway's end was a set of double doors over twenty five feet tall. Two demonic beings stood guard there, standing over twelve feet tall themselves, each of them clad in armor so black that light could not escape its surface. Before the scamp reached the door, a guard pulled from his sheath a sword that sprouted flames from its blade and pointed it toward the scamp. The guard spoke with a voice so deep it could demoralize the most headstrong of men.
"Halt!" he demanded. "Who stands at the gates of Hell?"
The scamp responded in a weak, feeble voice. "One who has tasted death and forever craves more."
The guard turned to his accomplice who gave him a nod. It turned back to the scamp, who was now cowering in fear.
"Enter," said the guard
The two doors open slowly, leading to the throne room. The scamp's breath quickened out of fear. It proceeded forward at a cautious pace. Once he entered the room, the doors slammed shut behind him.
The room reeked of gore and death. Red candles lined the perimeter of the domed room, casting a red glow throughout. The scamp walked to the room's center, where a small platform stood. The scamp climbed atop the platform and knelt onto one knee, bowing his head.
"Milord," it said, "I have returned."
In front of the devil was constructed a throne of infernal design, its headrest was carved with the images of dragons, devils, and demons. From the seat of the throne, an eruption of flames appeared. When the flames died out, a figure sat within, the black shadow of a man. The figure spoke with a voice which resembled that of the guard's.
"Speak, slave," he commanded.
"Milord," said the scamp, "I have reports on the outlander."
"And?"
"He is a male by the name of Zaden. We have reason to believe that he is the one you are in search of."
"And you are sure of this?"
"Yes, milord."
The figure chuckled a malicious laugh. "So," he said in an aside, "the day has finally come. He has returned, so foretold by the prophecies. It matters not, though. He shall fall just as easily as the one before him."
"Milord," said the scamp, "might I suggest that we go and kill him now, while he poses little threat."
The figure rose from his throne, his fists quenched. "Do you question my authority, you putrid scurf?!"
"No, milord. I would never-"
Too late.
The figure rose his right arm, pointing to the scamp, and lifted him high above the ground with powerful telekinetic magic. The scamp pleaded for his life. "Please milord," it said, "forgive me!" He found no sympathy at His hands.
The figure spoke with pure evil in his heart. "You have insulted me for the last time!" He then tightened his have into a fist. The scamp then exploded, releasing a wave of blood which coated the walls.
The shadow figure sat back down on his throne. Then, making a hand jester, an identical scamp entered the room. "Yes, milord?" it asked.
"What dose the future hold for our friend Zaden?" he asked.
"In future months, he shall make a trek to the town of Suran by means of silt strider."
"Excellent," he said. "Assemble a horde of the best mercinaries you can muster and bring them before me. I shall give them their orders."