Islia looked up at the lone figure approaching the outskirts of the circle of mountains surrounding Mount Fury. "I knew you'd come" she said to the approaching figure. His long black hair framed his milky white face and his deep red eyes. His wings, tattooed and attached to his muscular torso hung down like shadows at his sides.

Memories flooded back of the last time she had seen the Demon Lord. She had just left his city after her hoarde of vampires bled his citizens dry, in vengeance both for his betrayal of the past and for his peoples actions upon the cult in more recent times. His image had appeared in the air in front of her, a faded visage amidst the fog of the night. He had said that they would meet again, and he had called her 'My Love'. He had called her that before, and she had thought, and hoped that her feelings, so long ago shattered no longer remained. But as se looked at him the past hurt seems as fresh as the day of its creation.

He had recruited her to assassinate a mage of lesser powers during her time away from the Silent Flute. Rory had retired and she had 'tried' to make it on her own without him, an assassin with the strengths of a vampire, combined with her dagger, the dagger of darklight that took away the greatest weakness of her kind. He had not first appeared to her in the form in which she saw him now. For one thing he had been bigger. just over three times as tall as he currently stood, his indigo skin running from horns to tail, his wings blacker than the night. Many kills had she made for him, and during that time she had let him become closer then she ought.

Kill after Kill after Kill, slowly wormed its way through the repressed memories of her mind, until the betrayal loomed uncontrollably into her consciousness. The final 'job' had seemed easy at first. Kill a killer, another assassin whom Islia had known full well she could best, an assassin that, once dead would confirm her as one of the greatest practising killers of her time. What she had not realised until the last moment, as her blade slipped into the dying mans flesh, was that the Demon had employed he whom she was to kill, and that she had been the target.

Reality faded back as her reminisances passed. Man. Thing. Demon. Whatever he was, he was not the same as that she had known. But she did not yet know if the betrayer within him still remained in the forefront of his mind, or that the soul that he tried to keep so well hidden, that which she had forced him to let her see, still existed. But she knew that it would take a long time to consider trusting, he whom she had loved. "Come" she said to him "The Inferno awaits you in the Fortress of The Poet".

So easy to slip into old patterns of thought... Already he was thinking of how he could twist her... she had no more than shown her face and already his mind had begun its work. He pushed it down... that time was past... so hard to make changes when habits define your personality.

Once.. long ago.. he had tested her strengths.. he had pitted her against another of her profession... and told him she was coming. The poor bastard had never had a chance in hell. Ten had known that she would defeat him... he had also known that her loyalty would falter and that the ends now achieved would come about as a result.

Two servants of the same master... He walked, his hair blowing loose behind him. His white flesh glowing in the light of the sun. The crimson glow had never left his eyes and it betrayed him for what he was...

He had killed many in his time... destroyed countless lives just to prove that he was the master.... but in the end he had been counted among the fallen. A fool... a loss... it had opened his eyes... he had been made to see that gods no more made a man than did a weapon. The fury of a god, as with a weapon, only has power in the proper hands. And his were tainted...

As he looked at her he remembered a faint glimmer of feeling... long ago... it felt foreign... it had resided within him for a time... but leaders must make choices.. even ones they do not like...

In later times he would grow to love killing... but at one time he had loathed killing... he had only killed criminals... those he'd deemed evil... since those times he had become evil... even going so far as to feed on the souls of his kills.

I knew you'd come.

He smiles a bit as she pauses and seems to reflect.

Come, The Inferno awaits you in the Fortress of The Poet.

Ten takes two more steps to close the distance between them and looks her square in the eyes. The crimson fades from his gaze... to be replaced by golden irises on a pearl white cornea. His eyes, gentle, seem almost surreal. It has been long since anyone, including him, has known this gaze... when last it had been seen... it was her eyes that had seen it... and then he had sent her to die.

Does he?

The demon turned to look away from her... something like remorse seemed to glaze his face for just a moment and then all was right again... he was just a man looking off to the horizon. His wings folded into his back, covered by the flesh there. The long tatoos covered them... rolling black ink from his shoulders to his ankles. The souls inside rise up and begin to whisper softly and, for the first time, they seem to harmonize... giving off a faint musical hum....

What if I have something of more import that I must do? ..... Such as watching the sunset?

He smiles again... only this time it is reminiscent of times long forgotten... times when he would have appreciated such a thing... times when he would have appreciated present company...

Or spending time speaking to someone with whom I should have done such a long.... long time ago.

As this last comment falls from his lips the final act of transformation into his 9th evolutionary state is completed. His hair bleaches itself until it is a blinding shade of white. He turns to face her once again, his golden eyes holding fast her gaze.

Islia repressed a shiver as he stepped closer to her, trying to find it within herself to hate him but her old feelings would not be stopped from slipping through her defenses. "Does He? What if I have something of more import that I must do? ..... Such as watching the sunset?" words slipped of his tongue like honey and she was trapped. She knew that she would stay and watch the sun rise with him, like she had done so many times before, and she also knew that how ever much she hated him, she would forgive him. She was not sure what she hated more, the memory of his betrayal, or her current weakness now faced with her old lover.

A pin prick of golden light appeared like a diamond on the horizon, exploding into a dazzling display of reds and oranges. As the sun rose Islia watched the Demon Lord start to transform, his hair faded to milky white, his eyes drained of all colour until only gold remained. His gaze held her to the spot as Intops flames lit up the morning sky fading the constellations that had burned so brightly just a few seconds ago. The poet was starting his final descent from the stage of heaven and the first stars of the Architect were now visable upon the western horizon.

As Night slowly faded into the light of day, the crystal on the hilt of Islia's dagger burst into darkness. Surrounded by a nimbus of black so total that the sunlight could not penetrate it, Islia stood safe from the fatal purity of Intop.

"Or spending time speaking to someone with whom I should have done such a long.... long time ago." His words seemed almost to have been spoken inside her very skull, a silent whisper that echoed through the corridors of her mind. As the fiery river of reds and oranges caused by Intops rising seemed to reflect of the dazzling white skin of Demon Lord's 9th form, Islia turned and fled back towards the Fortress.

The demon sighs and looks to intop, raising a hand and watching as deep violet clouds cover it until no more light can be seen.

The sun shall not shine today.

The demon turned, looking to the girl as she flees. The power within him seems as though it would reach out and pluck her from the ground to carry her back but he refuses to let it. The blade at his side has begun to hum in painful discord. He watches as she becomes smaller and smaller... running for the protection of the fortress before him.

As he watches the skin on his back grows taut, rising up. Two long channels tear from his shoulders to his waist and a thick blue liquid issues forth from the wounds.

As the demon's wings unfold the rest of his flesh begins to tear away in like fashion, leaving exposed the glistening indigo flesh of an earlier form. As the 20 foot tall monstrosity emerges from the flesh of a 6 foot tall man it roars, leaping high into the air and unfurling a great thick tail. He soars over the ground, dripping the blue fluid until there is none left.

When his shadow falls around Islia he slows to match her pace and his thoughts reverberate throughout her being.

To run from the unknown... to be expected I guess.

With little else to say he descends toward the Fortress of The Poet

Kaz sat in the dark chambers in the center of Mount Fury awaiting news that the Demonlord had finally arrived at the Fortress of the poet. He had sent the one person under his command that he both trusted implicitly and that he knew had history with the Lord to make the newcomer feel welcome. Many years had passed since the Age of the Sheild, where the clans of the ORB led by the Demon Lord had ravaged the already decimated armies of the TEN. They had fought for many months and eventually prevailed. The forces of ORB decimated, leaving but one bastion of strength remaining, to eventually fade into history. After that war Kaz had sent a message to Demon Lord Ten, explaining the lost history of the worship of the moons and sun, and how the TEN were placed within that role. He had known then, from the Demon nestled inside his mind that Demon Lord Ten was supposed to fight under the banners of the Sun, and he had been told that the day would come oneday when the two of them would march side by side into battles against the forces of the night.

This time was very soon. The chambers were vast, carved out of the very rock of the volcano and heated from the resevoirs of magma boiling inside the active giant. Ten pillars surrounded the chamber, each carved in the likelness of one of the ten constelations of the zodiac. Kaz sat enthroned between the Pheonix and the Dragons flame, the begining and the end. Two other smaller thrones graced the circluar room, one nesteled between the carved likelness's of the Poet and the Architect was the throne of the Echo of Peace, one of the three members allowed within the central chamber upon the solstice. That throne was reserved for one who had already come. Rorshach, the centaur. The other throne was as yet without an owner, many had tried to sit upon the throne of the Echo of War, but none had lasted there for long. He beleived that the arrival of the Demon Lord would change that. Standing between the Knight and the Fallen Angel, he waited for the arrival, and to see if the test to sit upon the throne would be passed, or failed.

Rorshach had been summoned to be enthroned when, he who would take the unfilled echo throne arrived. Kazimirzch sat silently and waited for one or the other to arrive knowing that soon he would become a mere spectator. Knowing that soon the 'True' Voice of the TEN, Niurin, The Inferno would use his body as a medium to speak with the one he had chosen to sit at his right hand.

It had been with a tinge of regret that Rory had made all of the customary excuses to the hosts and slipped away leaving them to think he was headed to the embrace of a nameless lover. The message hade arrived the usual manner; the tall, gaunt white-robed man known only as Poet had been admitted to the party with a rustle among the guests. Everyone knew the man had a long association with the jovial centaur, but there was not a noble in the realm who wondered why such a disreputable appearing man would be employed by the wealthy farmer and merchant. But eccentricity had long been linked with Rorshach. Poet stopped to bow to the hostess of the party and commented

Home is very lovely
Important message I have
Rorshach friend waiting

It did not take long for a servant to hastily guide the thin, unkempt man to where the obese centaur was entertaining a small crowd of ladies with a tale of a brave young lad battling and oppressive tyrant under the influence of a wicked demon. “.., and ‘twas such quick thinking that did keep the lad but a step in front o’the headman’s axe!” He made chopping motion with his hand to a frightened gasp from the enraptured women. “But that do be no the greatest deed o’ Tigon. Do ye be ever hearing o’ how Tigon escaped from the Demon’s Dungeon of the..” he trailed off as Poet cleared his throat. The gaunt man approached Rory and whispered in his ear

Kazimirzch Longbow
Between Phoenix, Dragon’s Flame
Peace throne lies empty

With a sigh, the regrets were expressed and his leave taken. His journey to the mount was swift, and he came to the hall in his typical fine spirit. He entered at a prancing trot, a playful melody emanating from the crystal flute at his lips. Bobbing his head at his longtime companion and friend on the seat of the Voice of the Ten, he danced his way to the diaz reserved for his position. The two braying fennec foxes dashed over to quickly sniff the Voice and the throne and then settled at the foot of Rory’s space, ears twitching and beady eyes full of potential mischief. The tranquil melody of the flute settled around the chamber as the big centaur continued to play.[/i]

The body of Kazimirzch sat upon the throne of the Voice of Intop looked up at Demon Lord's entrance to the circluar chamber. Flames burned within the elves eyes showing that, in this place Kaz was not in full control of his senses. Niurin, The Inferno and the true Voice of Intop was awake and waiting upon this moment. A voice that did not belong to any mortal elf thundered from Kaz's lips. "Welcome to the chambers of Intop. It is time for your testing." Without waiting for a response from the Demon Lord who would claim the throne of the Echo of War, Niurin summoned the Fury of the TEN.

The ground in front of Demon Lord Ten shook violently as what looked like a scaled miniture of the Fortress of the Architect exploded through the ground in front of him. Had it not been for its size, the elaborate carvings and sweeping butresses of the Fortress would have been enough to make anyone believe that the Fortress had been shrunk and then relocated into the chamber. From within the Fortress the voice of Fury boomed, echoing throughout the room. "You called me Voice, I must obey. Who am I to fight today?" Through the tiny arrowslits of the fortress a trickle of water flowed down the fortresses walls and started to spread out across the floor. Cracks started to appear across the wall of the small fortress as the water level increased. Suddenly, with the fury of a Tidal Wave the Fortress expoded sending a wall of water in all directions.

As the waves subsided, a large circular area had been marked out in the center of the room, The remains of the fortress on one side and the Demon Lord on the other. Within the ruins of the fortress crouched a figure partially conceiled by shadows. What looked to be an altar lay immediatly in front of the figure, who seemed to be praying at the alter.

Looking on Niurin-as-Kaz studied the response of the Demon Lord. "Step into the circle" he spoke to he who would claim one of the thrones of Intop. "Step into the circle and face the Fury of the Ten"

As the demon looks on a wall of water smashes into him. The liquid flows around him and then subsides, leaving a circle on the floor. The demon looks... sees the figure, hidden by the shadows, crouched on the other side of the circle. Hardly even hearing the words that echo through the room, the demon steps forward into the circle.

His body begins to change, shadows flying from the far reaches of the room. The blade on his side glows a wicked firey red and he roars, razor sharp teeth exposed within his milk white face. He speaks softly, but the deep, disturbing, almost evil, voice rumbles through the room.

"Step into the circle and face the Fury of the Ten"

He draws the sword and almost instantly, the voices of his millions of victims rise up within him... first to a whisper... then to a dull roar... then to a violent scream, as if a hurricane had passed into the room unannounced. The sheer hatred of these voices bespoke the hatred and the chaos of war. The senseless slaughter of heathens... women and children...

The demon had murdered... killed... destroyed... all for a laugh. Within him were held the souls of millions crying out for justice... for the demon's death.

The sword in his hand casts light... violently bright... piercing light... and then all falls silent and dark...

Fury... fury... fury is nothing next to unprovoked malevolence... bring thyself to my feet... bow that thou may bleed... for I shall crush thee.

The demon has spoken as if in a trance... and now he readies himself to kill.

With a roar fury incarnate uncurles from its position knelt beside an alter of the sun, once angelic white robes now decayed and dulled by eons of sin hung to the muscled torso of that which now stood to face the Demon Lord. In its left hand a sheild of monstrous proportions, glimering with the black glow of nearly unbreakable Darklight crystal. The sword of the Inferno, carved in the magma core of the volcano from a meteor fallen millenia past, held within the vice-like grip of its right hand, burned in furious blue flame leaving traces upon the air as it shifted in position. The beast itself, dressed in black obsidan armour under its robes, looked on through narrow eyeslits glowing red with fire and breathed an infernal breath of fury up towards the apex of the domed room. The fiery wings of the pheonix spread out behind it The Fury of Ten stepped into the circle, sword swinging in a viscious arc to slice through the remains of the altar like it was cheese, sending heated shards of rock flying towards the Demon Lord.

The words of Niurin drew attention away from the newly reveiled monstrosity. "Wings of the Pheonix, Sword of Fire, Sheild of Darkness, Risen from the Architects finest construction with the Poets own voice. Once Angel, but cast down to the fiery depths of hell to serve as the Black Knight of the Sun. Born from within the Tsunami and blessed at birth with the knowledge to worship truth at the alter of Intop. Only one may stand, the other purified by the Fiery breath of the Serpent of the heavens."

Niurin's word faded as the earth making up the floor of the chamber shook malevolently, a vast crack appearing around the water-marked arena to expose the magma core of the volcano below. Sheild raised towards the DemonLord, The Fury stepped forwards with the speed of a Dragon in flight, a flaming arc already staining the air from the swift passage of sword as it swung furiously towards the raised sword of the Demon Lord.

Niurin watched through Kaz's eyes as the Battle between the Demon Lord and the Fury heated up.

With immense speed, Demon Lord caught the Fury's blade on his own to a screaming ring of metal, faster than possible he turned 360 degrees and aimed a stroke towards the feet of the Fury. But the Fury was not of this earth, summoned from living tissue of the Demon Lord himself, it was designed for the sole perpose of facing this one foe. Faster than the mortal eye could see, the Fury's sword swung down to meet it inches from his ankles. Wings of fire flashed towards the Demon Lords face in a blur of flame, as simulatiously the collosal sheild was smashed into Ten's chest with a thud.

As Ten was forced back by the power of the blow from the shield, hand covering his face from the heat of the wings, The Fury roared and steped up his pace, sword spinning in arcs so fast that the very air was lacerated.

Niurin smiled as the magma that lined the arena bubbled over the top and slowly started to encroach upon the circle in which the two were fighting.

Smelling the fire and brimstone, bandit realizes and old nemisis returns to the world. Slowly and steadly prepping for an incursion into enemy camp, his nerves like cold forged iron and his heart blacker than the blackest night.


On his way to the camp, some things come to bandits mind. He has a revelation, Ten was his friend till he went on his journey, leaving bandit out in the cold heartless world. Memories flood back, of how he had helped him make his first kill, and the life lessons that was taught.

The demon's eyes narrow as he is thrown back. The impact of the shield had not had much of an effect on him phsyically but there had been enough force to move him toward the edge of the circle. As the violet rimmed, crimson glow returns to his eyes the demon roars and great tentacles of hateful energy tear from his body. A deep black suit of armor appears on his body... it would appear as though any light was absorbed by it... the sword on his hand screams and he swings it downward. As he finishes the swing he crouches into a spin and raises it, creating an imaginary X in the air. Such was his speed that tongues of fire tear away from his body due to the friction.

As he swings the sword a third time a violet and crimson shockwave floods from the blade, at waist height, toward Ten's opponent.

At the Demon Lord's entrance and the start of the encounter, the little foxes growled with their seemingly too big ears perked straight up at attention and hackles visibly risen. But the big centaur's song never faltered, in fact it mirrored the battle. Stroke and counter, parry and riposte as the two combatants struggled, so did the music echo.

Many such struggles had taken place in this room, and such was the life of a warrior that Rorshach feared there would be many more. There might come a day when he couod set aside the knfe, but most likey that would be a dy when teh flute would simlarly laid to rest. but on this day the flute played sharp and clear, ony to an outside obeserver it woudl be difficultot tell. did the music echo the fight or did the combatants dance to the music?

The morning sun seemed to burn the memories of the nights demons from my mind, the cool breeze that had now begun to blow from the Northern highlands did little or nothing to stem the humidity of the arid Maxim summer, parched earth gracing the souls of my feet kicked up plums of fine dust as my journey began to come to it’s inevitable conclusion.

Darius sat, some what motionless, upon the large outcrop his eye’s transfixed on a horizon of fresh spruce scattered sparingly upon an open grassland.
The night had brought the normal demons, some of them he new, old friends, some he did not know.
It was the ones he didn’t know that had startled him, Demons have come to Darius since his childhood, since before he can remember, they almost now seem a nightly companions, but now there were others, ones he didn’t know.
They’re blurred faceless shadows lost in the nights memories, fading shadows that have now left with the nightly hours.
In reality the Demons were nothing more than nightmares of an old Droben worrier, his minds eye into the past, but now there were memories of things not yet gone, things still to come.

More that Darius mused trying to link events, forgotten memories, things he did not know and things he believed he knew the more the shadows grew in his mind.
But now this bright summers morning things seemed so confusing, with the light of the day had come light into his soul, what ever had happened in the dark hours of the star lite night had changed the other one inside his other soul.
For Darius had seen in the swirl of memories the blurs of the past a definite future a link from the past, he saw the return of the Demon Lord, now Darius saw the truth, these Demons were not memories from his past but those of another, perhaps from another life or one still here.

A trail of wood ants twisted and ambled their way across the tinder box known as the Lowland savanna of Maxim, the mid days sun had taken it’s toll over the last few months, the lush green grass of the spring seemed no more than a distance echo drifting upon this cool mornings breeze.
Darius raised himself, dusted his tunic down, turned back towards the dirt track leading up to the brook and the foothills just beyond.

Darius pulled a small leather cap from his nap sack and placed it upon his head, hoping to shield it from the increasing heat of the day, he would need to be at the gates of Nethalim before the sun reached it’s height at mid day.

Nethalim, the city of the angels, sits south west of the great plains just at the feet of the rolling foothills. Said to be the home of Darden’s chosen, the mortal offspring of his immortal brothers.
Just fantasy, stories fabricated by the towns elders and trades men to add romance to nothing more than a dull walled market town not unlike any other within Maxim.
Darius had never been one for fantasy, nor the lie’s of Nethalim’s crooked traders, countless wars and a life in Darden’s armies had taught him never to suffer fools gladly.

With the small iron bridge laying before him, furrows cut deep into it’s wooden decking, worn by countless trade caravans and the passing of the wet seasons.
Darius again to pondered the visions of the night, as he crossed the bridge, within his dreams there had came the faceless shadows, not things of his memories or even his own actions, these visions acted alone within his dreams, this seemed to bring an unease to Darius.
Once in Nethalim he would search for council, council from Darden’s own, from the Demon Lord himself tenth of his kind, last in a long line of lineage.
His old friend would be able to throw light into these dark shadows, for he knew of the twilight world, he knew of the spirit world and it’s ways, Darius knew nothing of these things war had been his companion.
And so as the day went on Nethalim began to near, it’s white walls rose majestically out of the prairie, hiding the slate roofs just beyond it and the dark stone keep at it’s centre.
Darius pulled himself away from his dreams and stood for a moment looking across the open grass land and towards Nethalim beyond, Nethalim his childhood home.

The Fury roiled as a shockwave almost forced him to his knees. Locking its knees it withstood the elemental force summoned by the blade of the Demon Lord, but only just. Forced backwards the Fury lifted his blade and spun, razor edge directed towards the skull of the Demon. Lifting its blade before impact the apperition continued to spin, faster and faster and faster until a whirlwind of fury stood in the circle in front of the Demon Lord. Smoke rose from the surface of the circle until the entire arena was cloaked in a cloud of Fury.

Niurin watches on as the fight progresses knowing that the final stage has begun. Not only must the Demon LOrd prve his strength in battle against a foe his exact equal, but he must complete the zodiac quest before time ran out. The solstice and the end of the age of the Poet approached rapidly as Niurin in Kaz's body nodded towards Rorshach and started to rise.

The Demon Lord must complete the quest before the fires of the volcano, already starting to flow into the area reached him and cast him, un-returnably back into the Demon Dimension, and then reach the summit of the volcano before the sun rose against the backdrop of the age of the Architect. Of course, the Demon Lord di no tknow this. As he followed Rory out of the chamber into the passageway to the summit a sadistic smile covered the possessed elfs visage from cheek to cheek.

In each and every time that I wake I ponder of my past , weather it be the past hours of the previous night, or the multitude of tumbling, turbulent years that seem my distant past, I always look back with a sense of loss, of anguish even.
Loss, but never the true feeling of loss that one would feel at the death of your child, never the feeling of anguish as you sit there and feel them slip from your grasp.
In truth my life without my child would seem far too pointless, far from reality and just so bazaar, then on recollection, three years ago life with her would of seemed just as bazaar, my life had seemed so simple as a single Droben warlord, as a male, just so different than now and would I not go back.

Darius had lost his true love some two and a half years ago to a sword of a Human, a Foret blade had cut her down while she laughed at her daughters ways, laughed she did not, but more muse the new found ways of nothing less than her double.
Yet, she was never truly lost, Each and ever morning she was there, this Darius saw this in the eyes of his daughter, in her smile and in her tears, in her soul.

My life has seemed no more than a dream no more than an echo, a distant sound brought by a cool summers breeze and that is how Nethalim came to me on this morning.
The smell of the camp fires that accompany the ‘Tent town’ on the out skirts of the great white walls of Nethalim fill my senses and bring to me more than just memories, a cool summers breeze can bring more than the smell of your childhood, it brings you the smell of destiny, the smell of hope.

Eyes closed, mind open Niurin smiled atop the volcano as he watched DLTs trials progress through the web of all things TEN. The way he had dealt with the first two Signs of Fury had been nothing short of amazing. It was time up the stakes, as DLT succeeded through the Trial of the sword, Niurin thought of the sheild and the landscape around DLT altered once more.

The sheild, the ultimate in protection, designed for the purpose of sheltering its bearer from harm alowing nothing in. On the other hand, it could also allow nothing out. A hemispere of light enveloped the small woodland clearing that the Demon Lord had found himself in. Fireballs raining down upon the surface and rebounding.

Nothing could get it....Nothing could get out.

**

Back within the secret chambers of the TEN the Demon Lord's body stood silent and unmoving in the center of the arena. The hot fires of hell and eternal damnation slowly contiuing their ominous crawl towards his eternal obliteration.

Deep within his own mind the demon stands, trapped within a shield. He throws a massive punch at the shield and the power radiates throughout the orb.... but it doesn't falter. The flames falling to impact the shield orb dissipate when they touch it and it holds fast. The demon looks at the blade at his side as it sings softly... he hears a voice whispered in his head...

Throw down thy sword and shield.

The demon's eyes cloud and he closes them... after a moment he opens his hand and allows the blade to fall. He opens his arms and his eyes to welcome to coming blow and the final fireball breaches the shield and collides with him.

He is thrown backward and when he lands he is in a room with twisted columns and stairs that lead nowhere... doors that open onto walls and windows that look back into the room.

He looks around and sees many exits. He begins to walk, entering one doorway only to come out another doorway in the same room. He repeats this a few times before he notices a mirror on the cieling. He blinks a few times and thinks "windows to other worlds...."

He leaps and sails into the air as though there were no gravity. As he nears the mirror he speaks

May Fortune guide my passage.

He passes through the mirror with no trouble at all and into a giant structure. The world above the mirror is like a cathedral... but as he walks toward the pulpit the beams of the cieling begin to fall... as though the structure itself were recoiling at the blow of his will to succeed.

Seats were thrown at him by invisible hands and the stained glass of the windows begins to shatter and fly at him as though flung by his worst enemies. His flesh is cut and the blood pours down.

When he finally reaches the pulpit he finds, to his suprize, his own obsidian throne with a scepter sitting in it. He sits and lifts the scepter... his own dark power flooding through the structure and obliterating it to darkness.

Through the darkness he hears sounds... though what they are he cannot define... he opens his eyes and once again waits for them to adjust to the light.

A frown slowly crosses Kaz's elvine features as Niurin, the Inferno in temporary control of Kaz's body sets up new tasks for the Demon Lord only for them to be breached with little time wasted. However, no matter the speed of Ten's response to the trials ahead of him, the magma surrounding his true body continued to ebb closer and closer. The whispers of oblivion now sounding in the conscious part of the Demon Lord's psychie.

The trial of the knight was next, so Niurin warped the image confronting he who was being tested accordingly. The cathedral faded leaving behind a huge level plateau of grassland, immediatly surrounded by rows upon rows of tiered seating. Mounted upon a war steed, his sword replaced with a large jousting spear, the Demon Lord known as Ten stood at the far end of a long straight jousting arena. Dressed in black obsidian glass armour, jousting spear set for another unbeaten bout, a black knight thundered towards the Demon.

As Ten's horse started forwards towards the black knight's galloping stallion, Ten's attention is momentarily drawn to something in the crowd, before the true-vision is slammed back in force to consentrate upon the impending battle.