Epilogue

The Orese hellscape is primordial.

Bursts of black clouds collide, crimson streaks illuminate the riotous sky. Lightning flares and morphs into forks of blood red, writhing in pain. Something about the silent chaos reminds him of his fallen son. Vilnus overlooks the dark realm from the tower of his stronghold. The hellish black structure is shaped like a massive sprawled claw. Rivulets of molten lava spill from the splay of jagged limbs, streaming into the gaping abyss.

Aware of his presence. A shadow soldier approaches from his rear with his face fixed down. Vilnus's intangible floor-length cape billows behind him; a mantle of black mist sieved with crackling sparks of fire. The soldier unsheathes his sword and kneels behind him, holding the blade at a perpendicular angle.

"Your Eminence," he says with a boisterous voice. "I bear good news." The soldier risks a glimpse of him. "The Dophan has perished and his death has forced Urus to convene with the High Tribunal."

A smile splits his face, sharpening into a lethal leer. "They have initiated the Vasilias Imperii?"

"Yes, Your Reverence."

"And the Vulkra?"

"All is arranged," he reassures with confidant certitude. "They will wreak destruction upon Urium."

A deep-throated growl rumbles from Vilnus. "The High King is the cause of Urium's destruction; destruction that will tear the realm asunder. Their arrogance has spelt their own annihilation, their primitive prejudices have divided them, and so how easy they will fall."

Fervour sets his eyes alight, flames of blood roaring. The darkened expanse overflows with Ulris forces, grouped in battalions of black-armoured troops arranged in faultless precision. Unending rows fill the spread below, lengthening as far as the eye can see—a sea of shadow and metal.

"No, we will wait. Urium will soon plunge itself into blood and terror. Let the new Ruler rise, so that all of Urium can fall."