Rise of Tyrus

Night had fallen, cloaking the forest in deep shadow. Thick branches intertwined overhead, blocking almost all moonlight. Towering trees, their leaves dense even in daylight, created a perpetual twilight. Now, under the cover of darkness, only shadows and nocturnal creatures remained.

Sulroth moved through this primordial darkness, his steps barely disturbing the undergrowth as he navigated between the countless tree trunks. Around him, night beetles scuttled across the forest floor, their shells glowing with patterns that perfectly mirrored the midnight above. Constellations in miniature that provided a source of natural light.

A flash of emerald in his peripheral vision caught his attention; it was a serpent moving silently towards him. Polished jade couldn't have gleamed brighter than the creature's scales, which, combined with the protrusions along its back and head, made it nearly invisible against the surrounding vines. Only its sunlit eyes betrayed its true nature as it tracked his movement. These serpents were patient hunters, capable of remaining motionless for hours while waiting for prey to venture within striking distance.

Further off, something much larger crashed through the underbrush: a thorn bear. If it were to stand on its hind legs, the creature stood nearly seven feet tall, its massive form resembling a treant that had taken the shape of a bear.

Thorns lined its spine in a wicked ridge that ran from its neck all the way to the front of its stubby tail, each one sharp enough to pierce a shield. Its dark brown fur was matted with leaves, twigs, and moss, creating natural camouflage that made it blend seamlessly with the forest floor. When it opened its mouth to taste the air, Sulroth glimpsed teeth capable of snapping a full-grown log in half with a single bite.

The beast's head turned in his direction, nostrils flaring as it caught his scent. For a moment, they both regarded each other across the stygian distance. Then, perhaps sensing something unnatural about the cloaked figure, the thorn bear gave a low growl and retreated deeper into the forest. Sulroth continued his journey, indifferent to the surrounding wildlife.

Not long after, a temple emerged from the darkness. Although once a place of worship, it now lay in ruins, its columns fractured and broken. Several of the massive stone pillars had toppled completely, overcome by nature's inevitable advance. Vines and moss covered every surface, while trees had grown through gaps in the foundation, their roots cracking the stonework.

In the center of the temple's collapsed roof, a towering tree had taken root, its massive trunk rising toward the canopy above. The tree's roots streamed out through the front of the temple like grasping fingers, creating a natural curtain of wood and vegetation that partially concealed the interior from view.

Sulroth approached the temple's entrance, his boots echoing against the cracked stone steps. Large holes had been worn through the stairs, creating gaps big enough for a foot to fall in. Once inside, bones littered the floor, all belonging to creatures that had sought shelter here, only to find death instead. Rocks had fallen from the crumbling walls, creating obstacles that he stepped around. The roots of the great tree had penetrated deep into the structure, creating a maze of wooden barriers that divided the space into shadowed alcoves.

Statues flanked the main hall; time had not been kind to these guardians. One had lost its head entirely, the neck ending in a stump. Another was missing both arms, its torso bearing the scars of whatever violence had befallen it. A third had lost a leg and leaned precariously against the wall, while a fourth had been split nearly in half, its remaining portion barely recognizable as having once been human in form.

Sulroth stepped past the massive trunk of the tree that dominated the temple's center. At the far end of the hall, an altar stretched from one wall to the other—a slab of black stone that had somehow remained intact despite the ruin surrounding it. Upon its surface sat a pool of dark liquid, perfectly still despite the drafts that moved through the broken temple.

Next to the altar stood the head of another statue, this one different from the others. While the bodies of the other gods had been broken and scattered, this statue remained whole. Hundreds of eyes covered its surface, each one closed as if in unending slumber. The craftsmanship was extraordinary: each eye had been carved with such precision that they seemed almost alive, as if they might open at any moment to gaze upon whoever dared to approach.

Sulroth stepped up to the altar. He cupped his hands and dipped them into the black liquid, lifting a small portion to his lips. The substance was bitter beyond description, burning his throat as he swallowed. His body convulsed as the liquid took effect, coursing through his veins like liquid fire. He fell to his knees before the altar, his breathing labored as the substance worked its way through his system.

"Sulroth," a voice whispered, stronger now thanks to the draught. "What news do you bring?"

Sulroth bowed before the altar, his voice a low echo in the ruined temple. "Master Raroan, the second phase nears completion. Crown Prince Saldeon has declared war on the Beastfolk Kingdom, precisely as planned. The mind control holds firm, and Gulinar remains compliant, believing himself the mastermind. His vanity and ambition make him a perfect pawn."

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Fools who required minimal manipulation to achieve the desired results were always a favorite to Sulroth. The ones whose own pride, greed, or fear steered them willingly into the jaws of ruin. They were the easiest to control, the simplest to discard. Gulinar was no different. A man so desperate for a place in history that he would burn half the world to carve his name into it.

Reshaping a mind wasn't merely brute force; it demanded artistry. Anyone could break a mind, but to remold it—to make it serve while remaining whole—required true skill. The prince's transformation perfectly illustrated this. Saldeon's mind was exceptionally resilient, his innate affinity for light reinforcing the mental barriers, repelling lesser manipulators. Only the weakest points allowed for the possibility of piercing it. Sulroth had found that weakness.

From the shadows of Saldeon's neglected doubts, Sulroth approached, carefully weaving through the prince's buried memories. He worked not with a hammer, but a knife, subtly shaping Saldeon's ambitions, feeding them. The desires were already there; Sulroth merely nudged them along. For a man that sought peace, the notion of war was there, stewing like a forgotten potion. Sulroth simply removed the cork.

"The Beastfolk will respond, as predicted," Sulroth continued. "Their king will not suffer an unprovoked invasion. He will rally his forces and march to meet Saldeon on Mevena's Scar. Blood will flow, and the cycle will—"

The shadows around the altar stirred restlessly, writhing with an agitation that had nothing to do with his patron's presence. Aware of it, Sulroth's eyes drifted open. He rose from his kneeling position, his eyes scanning the ruined temple. The shadows danced strangely in the corners, but it was movement atop the statue beside the altar that caught his attention. There, perched on the stone head with its hundreds of closed eyes, stood a figure he recognized.

"Talia," he said. "How did you find me? And what brings you to my humble place of worship?"

The woman crouched atop the statue with feline grace, her dark hair flowing like liquid shadows around her shoulders. She wore her usual black cloak that reached the lower half of her shin. A scowl etched itself onto her face as he regarded Sulroth.

"You've been busy the last few months," she said, her voice a murmur that cut through the temple's quiet as she dropped from her perch to the stone floor.

Sulroth shrugged, seemingly unbothered by her evasion of his questions. "Leader has been working me frenzied ever since my antics at the Wasteful Wetlands. You know how he gets when plans are led astray."

"Operating against Leader's wishes is unwise."

Sulroth chuckled. "How arrogant, hearing that from you—someone who has done things without Leader knowing."

Talia tilted her head, a blank expression on her face. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Of course you don't. Speaking of Leader, he told me something interesting recently. He's still searching for that stolen mana core. You know, their first successful creation? The one that simply vanished from their most secure facility."

He paced around the altar. "They went through extensive resources, countless failed experiments, years of work. Finally succeeded in creating a stable artificial mana core, and then—poof—gone. More than a setback, really. Vizien is working tirelessly to recreate it, assures everyone that the new version will surpass the original in every way. Leader still blames Sezor for his failures in the southern region. And he even blames me for cooing Sezor's greedy little mind. I feel simply terrible about my actions, truly."

Talia's eyes narrowed, her first visible reaction. She clearly wasn't buying his exaggerated remorse.

"But here's the thing," Sulroth continued. "Leader has a few suspects in mind for who might have taken the mana core. You might want to be careful, Talia. These are dangerous times for anyone who might have... conflicting loyalties."

Again, Talia feigned ignorance. "I wouldn't know anything about that situation."

"Not surprising. Though word about the facility near Lindell has spread far within Scourge circles. The demise of Valroth was quite a surprise, given that you were there when it happened. I mean, with you and Valroth together, defeating one singular royal knight should be quite simple, even if that royal knight happened to be Othelia. Given your respective affinities, of course. It's such a shame that Valroth couldn't make it to your shadow gate in time."

Talia paused for a moment. "It was a shame indeed."

Sulroth sighed theatrically. "None of this would have happened if I'd been more thorough. I blame myself, really. Should have killed that Demi-human brat in our first meeting and prevented Scourge from..."

The change in Talia was instantaneous. Her eyes flashed with incandescent rage, and a palpable wave of magical energy pounded outwards, shimmering and distorting the air around her as she finally released the mana she'd been suppressing. Her body appeared to radiate white flames that pulsed and extended high above the ceiling, shining like a lone beacon piercing the hungry darkness of the night sea. The temperature in the temple seemed to drop several notches as shadows crowding the temple recoiled around her like living things.

Ah, I see now. Her reaction is as I suspected.

"You asked why I sought you out," she scowled. "Here's your answer: stay far away from him. If you so much as lay a finger on him, not even your depraved god will save you from my wrath."

Sulroth immediately raised his hands in mock surrender. "Crystal, my dear. Message received loud and clear."

Talia suppressed her mana but continued to glare at him with the intensity of a predator deciding whether to strike. She turned to leave, pausing only to look over her shoulder one last time before stepping into a pool of shadow that opened beneath her feet. A moment, and she was gone, a whisper of darkness her only remnant.

"What an unpredictable mother," Sulroth mused, shaking his head. "One minute she's completely detached, the next she's overflowing with emotion. It's quite fascinating, actually."

Just how far would she go for that brat of hers? The question became even more intriguing when he remembered that Leader had specifically made Tyrus one of their targets—any Scourge member who encountered the boy was to eliminate or capture him on sight.

Sulroth's laughter echoed through the ruined temple. He eagerly anticipated Talia's predicament: caught between the Leader's orders and protecting her child. The conflict would surely tear her apart, and he wondered which loyalty would prevail.

Sulroth smiled contentedly, returning to his kneeling prayer before the altar. The night was young, and much remained to discuss with his patron.