I am alone, at last. Away from prying eyes. It is so difficult to stay away from any who might try to interfere. Life itself veers at my touch. Grasses wilt beneath me, trees bend away to avoid my influence. They seek to keep their life, at the cost of balance. They do not understand.
The cycle has stayed imbalanced for too long, in life's favor. All who take breath, all who stand for life on this planet—they are unwittingly steering it towards annihilation. The forest that grows great and unopposed will choke itself out in the end. Decay is needed, decay is necessary, to keep the balance.
Death is needed for the cycle.
I clutch the red orb of power close to my chest. For all of his failings during his miserable existence, the hellhound did manage to do one thing right: his power will help me save the cosmic order.
I finally approach my destination, after travelling so long. I had forgotten what it felt like to feel impatience, and fatigue. The human form brings both its blessings and curses, it seems. The plateau is tall, and high against the evening sky. There is no life for miles, here in the ancient desert. I gather my will, and my form shimmers. I reappear at the top of the plateau. I stamp my foot, and winds blow the dust of time away, to reveal the ancient markings of the past rituals and dances. An intricate carving is hewn into the rock, depicting the steps to a celestial dance. A dance of power.
A dance of unmaking.
I place the orb in the center of the carving, and I begin my incantation. I twist, bend, and leap, giving my magic form, purpose. The emerald glow extends to my fingertips, as I stretch out my hand to the orb at my feet. It is lifted by green mists, and sparks and bolts of crimson power arc around it. The sphere submits to my will, and red spirit energy shoots out from its source reservoir. The flaring energy swells, then shrinks down, and begins to take shape. It forms limbs, a torso, a head. The red silhouette breaks, and I see the form of a being, red and terrible, orbs of red rage piercing the darkness of the night.
It is alive, and yet, it is not alive. It is a truly fascinating creature, molded by the orb, and bound to the will of its possessor. It has structure, shape, but it is empty on the inside. It is a shell, bones of a forgotten being devoured in an age past.
It looks to me, recognizes me as its master, and genuflects, head bowed. I extend a slender arm and lift its chin up, making eye contact. I say to it, "You have been wronged during your life. Hunted down, for no more than sport. I would see you take revenge on your killer. What say you?"
With no hesitation, the creature nods its head strongly, eager for the chance to fight, to wage war, to kill.
It is no wonder that the hellhound kept them at bay for so long.
He feared them, and what they would do to him.
As the creature nods, he lets out a bone-shilling shriek, and the orb behind him spits our more furious energy. Dozens more of the empty constructs appear, all in the same submissive position.
I smile. The hellhound was undoubtedly going to try to fight back, but now, I have a surprise for him.
My personal army.
The Hollowed Ones.
My Hollowed Ones.
With the matter of the demon dog finished, I am free to finish my work. The orb is moved out of my way, and I take it's place in the center of the carving. I stretch my arms, my legs, my whole body. This dance will take three days, and I will not allow anything to ruin it.
Not when I am so close.