The Fane of Broken Worlds.
Within the grand castle, largest of the largest there was, A black, solid casket of large size lay within the throne hall. Hundreds of undead lords knelt before the it with reverence and fear. Black mist came out from the small gap. The lid cracked, then disappeared into dust.
Something was inside.
Something hideous yet magnificent. Death but alive. Ageless yet ancient. It was the Death King.
The ruler of death itself had awakened. His firm skeleton hands grabbed onto the casket and lifted himself. His head was that of a skeleton. He was covered by a luxurious robe that exposed the powerful red core in the center of his stomach, right below the rib cage.
The hollow eyes glared in crimson. Red mist came out from those eyes, wavering in the air.
"Your Majesty," the undead lords greeted.
