Torchlight flooded the main hall of Pariah's Keep. To further illuminate the hall, every last candle and piece of wood had been taken from the walls and catacombs of the castle and brought into the room, and burning oils, timber, and scented wax released their fragrances and odours throughout the enclosure in a sickeningly sweet blend. The sheer mass of fire was enough to cause a slight sweat. Plasmius could indeed feel perspiration building on his forehead. The fact that he had been subjugated to wear a heavy purple cloak over his usual garb did not help matters any. But he could endure it for the few minutes the cape and candles would be around him. He would soon have his rewards for his servitude. And the spectacle emerging before him was enough to hold his interest.
The sources of flame had been arranged in a septegram. Resting in the centre of this star was the gleaming golden throne. In its seat lay the chest, and set atop it, the balance. In the left dish of the balance, there was the pendant. Plasmius stood to the left of the throne, a good distance away. Across from him was the Fright Knight. In front was Skulker, the bow in his hand with the sceptre in place of an arrow, and behind the throne stood Phantom and Aragon. They too wore cloaks. The Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep was outside the star, Aragon and Phantom on either side of it. The prince seemed to be in a trance as he quietly recited verses in a macabre tongue:
Go hifreann leat!
Tá eagla orm.
Go mbeire an diabhal leis thú!
Tá eagla orm.
D'anam don diabhal!
Tá eagla orm.
Go stróice an Cat Mara do chuid airgid caim!
Tá eagla orm.
During all this, Skulker kept the bow and sceptre lowered; he watched the Knight and waited.
The prince's chanting began to rise in volume. From his cloak the Knight drew his sword and began to tap the blade on the ground, providing a drum for the ceremonial events. Skulker now lifted the bow and began to bend it. He readied the sceptre as if it were an arrow, aiming for the central bar of the balance. And as all this went on around him, Plasmius felt the sweat of his brow running down his face and the hairs of his neck standing like a cat's. He could remember now why he loathed the sensation of inferiority.
He watched, spellbound, as the eyes of the hunter narrowed. Skulker slowly drew the string and sceptre back. He angled the bow just slightly to the left.
Aragon ceased his chanting.
The Knight stilled his blade.
Skulker let his hand off the string of the bow.
The weapon vanished in an instant. The sceptre remained, however, and was off like a shot. It struck the balance dead centre, and seemed to bore inside it. The weight immediately balanced at this as the pendant dissolved within the central bar. Out from the dishes of the balance, there began to pour a golden elixir. This ambrosia rolled down the chest and the throne and collected in puddles on the floor. The Knight stepped forward, drawing out a silver chalice. In it, he caught some of the potion as it rolled out.
"The key," Aragon requested solemnly.
Plasmius nodded. Still eyeing the sight before him, he fumbled in his robes until he found the Skeleton Key, and he walked it over to the prince – never taking his eyes off the balance. He felt the key leave his grip. Finally he pulled himself away and watched as Aragon turned the key and opened the lid.
The half-ghost backed away as the figure emerged. He had forgotten what a presence Pariah was.
The Ghost King looked worn. His posture was bent slightly, and he held his head with one hand. A slight moan escaped his lips. But still he towered over the rest in the room, and slight echoes sounded at each of his footsteps. Plasmius could see the effects the revived figure had; even Phantom looked unsettled.
"The crown," he hissed, reaching out with his free hand. Plasmius, hands shaking slightly, drew that from his cloak and set it in the tyrant's palm. As Pariah placed the flaming piece upon his head, he let out a roar and suddenly straightened, stretching out with his limbs.
"Ah," he sighed. "And now, my loyal servant," he held out his hand again, "the drink."
The Knight slowly moved towards his lord, holding out the chalice in front of him. With a swipe the despot had it, and he thrust the liquid down his gullet. Plasmius had thought the drink must carry a pleasant taste, but Pariah soon grabbed at his own throat, wheezing and gasping. Back he stepped, toppling the great tomb that once encased him and dropping the chalice, though none of the liquid spilled. Still grunting, he fell to his knees, with a hold on his throat still. His free hand came down upon Phantom's shoulder, nearly knocking the shadow over. His one eye was clenched shut as if from pain.
Then, so quick that Plasmius couldn't follow, the eye opened, and Pariah's head rose.
His whole body rose as a serpent rising from the ocean. His head lurched back, and with a roar, Pariah let red fire shoot from his eye in two streams. In an instant two holes clear out to the Ghost Zone had appeared, but the various levels of the Keep had been melted, not burned, away. Pariah's ring lit up, and the Crown of Fire's blaze grew stronger and red-hot rather than its typical green. A most loathsome and terrible grin as Plasmius had never seen appeared on the sage's lips.
"Thank you, my prince," he sighed, ecstasy in his voice. "I did so need that."
Aragon bowed low to the ground, and Plasmius and the Knight followed suit – though not before sharing a look. Plasmius indicated for Skulker to join them, and the hunter did. The nosferatu could see from the corner of his eye that Phantom only kneeled.
Poor fool. Plasmius grinned at the thought. Soon he would have his compensation…and that abomination would likely cease to exist.
"Vladimir Plasmius," Pariah barked, calling the half-ghost's attention back to the sovereign. "Rise."
Plasmius did so, ready.
"You have served me well," Pariah began, his back towards Plasmius. "In the past, you have been a nuisance to me. But we struck a deal when this affair began, and you have held your end of the bargain. Loyalty such as yours deserves just reward."
Plasmius felt his teeth quivering. On with it, man! He wanted to think – not say, but think – but he fought to repress it. He would not tempt Pariah's full powers – not today.
The Ghost King slowly turned around. He gazed down upon Plasmius with a cold stare. A mace materialised in his hand, and he struck out with the weapon. In an instant, Plasmius was arched over the back of the throne, a dazed gleam in his eye and enraged terror in his grimace.
"W-What is this…?" he moaned as he struggled to right himself.
"I warned that I could read your thoughts within my tomb," Pariah belted. "You are a clever liar, Plasmius; but you cannot fool the Ghost King."
"F-fool the Ghost King?" the half-ghost stammered, preparing his best look of obedience. "Now, h-how could I possibly –"
"Enough!" the tyrant roared. "I am Pariah, my full power restored to me! I do not forget those who dare oppose me! You have been a burden, and are!"
"Sire – " began the Fright Knight.
"Silence! I know your role in his plots, servant. All in this room have plotted against me, save for Aragon. If I did not find some worth in you and the child, you would suffer the same fate soon to befall Vladimir and his comrade!"
At that, a flash of metal caught Plasmius's eye. A blaster had risen from Skulker's wrist, and smoke soon rose from the ground just near Pariah's feet as the blast landed. As the hunter extended his glowing blades and made for Aragon, Plasmius darted for the Knight, seizing the Soul Shredder. This was not his end!
"Noble!" cried Pariah. "But futile! Prince!"
From the mouth of Aragon flew violet flame, and a formless metal mass came skidding to the ground before him. Pariah's mace struck out again, and back flew Plasmius. Farther and farther he travelled, until crashing hard into the far north wall, just beside a stained glass window. He had lost the Soul Shredder.
Plasmius could sense he was losing consciousness. His vision had faded, and his nerves had deadened, which at least lessened the pain. Yet he could still ponder in shamed melancholy. How could he have given away so much? He wanted it – oh, how he wanted it! – but had he been so careless with his thoughts?
So…he mused, this is the end…he saw Pariah grin at that. The tyrant soon had his one eye blazing. Red poured from it straight at the half-ghost. The force of all the fires of Hell struck at him.
Pariah and all his minion watched as the wall and window crumbled, letting the half ghost fall back into the nether of the Ghost Zone.
None noticed that the still-filled goblet had vanished with him.