Rise of Tyrus

“Sulroth,” a voice, aged but smooth, rumbled. “Lethos has sent forth a few of their dogs.”

“I too can perceive them,” declared Sulroth. “The overall number is roughly 21, and it seems they have arrived here by means of a teleportation crystal. Most of them have weak mana signatures, so we can safely ignore them. However, three of them are exceptionally strong, notably one in particular.”

“Do I sense a flicker of unease in your voice, Sulroth? That is not befitting for a servant under my command to bear.”

A chuckle escaped Sulroth as he shook his head. “Do not worry, master. Although it will be somewhat of a challenge, the plan will still succeed. Their arrival was delayed, but it shouldn’t pose any problems.”

“Oh? If you possess such unwavering confidence, then I truly have no cause for concern. You are truly one of the few servants I trust.”

He performed a deep bow. “I am not worthy of your flattery, master. With your great confidence in me, I will strive to plant the seeds of ruin. First and foremost, I must address the rabble that has waltzed into their own gravesite.”

A hearty laugh escaped from the voice. “Inform me after completing your tasks. We cannot let this opportunity slip through our fingers. Remember the responsibilities that were entrusted to you when you signed the blood contract.”

“Never in a million lifetimes. Unfortunately, I need to terminate the transmission. It would be wise to be wary of the possibility of our communications being hijacked. Once I achieve success, we will speak again.”

Sulroth severed the transmission with a mere thought. In one simple gesture, he opened forth a dark mass in front of him. Delving into the murky depths, he retrieved a dark mask and donned it.

“Now, it is time to embark on the path of retribution.”

Perched atop a colossal boulder, Sulroth surveyed the eerie view before him. The entire scene was shrouded in a dense fog, casting an ominous veil over a monumental, teardrop-shaped altar. The altar’s surface, marred with age and scars, bore a gaping void at its center.

White, tattered moss hung in haphazard strands from its edges, resembling shredded rags torn by claws. A malevolent ring made of bones and contorted sticks encircled the altar as though a blasphemous ritual had been meticulously designed.

Amidst the grim tableau, a sinister presence loomed. Suspended at the heart of the altar, a dark cube radiated an ominous aura. From its core surged a relentless stream of corrupted mana, seeping into the atmosphere like an unholy torrent, tainting everything it touched.

Mucus-like water surrounded the entire area, littered with half-submerged dinghies and other sorts of beasts lurking beneath its depths. Only a patch of land where the altar rested was the sole solid ground. In addition, there stood a towering old tree on that patch of land, casting its shadow over the altar with ease. With an ashy-gray bark and a multitude of naked branches that had moss dangling like ornaments, one would think that the tree was on its last legs.

“Still resisting, huh?” Sulroth mumbled. “You’ve lived long enough, Elder Treant. Give up and die a dog’s death. This place has been forsaken by your deity a long time ago.”

The Elder Treant gave no response. It was only slumbering, preserving its energy as its life force dwindled. In due time, the tainted mana from the Corruption Cube would amalgamate within its essence and transmute it into an entirely different entity.

It would be advantageous if the process was completed before the arrival of Lethos’ dogs. If that was not the case, then it would ultimately be of no consequence; the Elder Treant wasn’t a necessity, only serving as a bonus.

The beasts Sezor had transported all those days ago were still roaming the Wasteful Wetlands. Whether they had succumbed to its inhabitants or triumphed over them, only time would reveal. The variables that were previously absent had now arrived, and it would be their obligation to observe and document the events that had taken place.

“Soon, an immense calamity will wreak havoc upon the land, serving as the prologue to retribution. The downfall of the Lethos Empire and the Beastfolk Kingdom will give rise to the birth of a new founder. Through the chaos and violence of war and bloodshed, they will rise.”

Darkness enveloped Sulroth, consuming him entirely until the smoke dissipated, and he vanished.