Astaroth observed the battlefield from the vantage point of the goblin camp, his piercing gaze fixed upon the chaotic clash of forces. Beneath his feet, a severed goblin head, belonging to the once mighty Zeeke, served as a chilling reminder of his ruthlessness. Nearby, the lifeless body of the goblin king lay headless, a grotesque testament to Astaroth's merciless hand. The vast expanse of the decimated goblin army sprawled out before him, a haunting sight that would shock anyone that sees it.
Impatience gnawed at Astaroth as he stood amidst the desolation. The stillness of the camp offered no solace, driving him to seek his form of twisted entertainment. Without hesitation, he descended upon the goblin camp, prowling through its darkened recesses like a wicked specter. Each step he took echoed with dread, his presence unsettling the very air around him.
Silently, Astaroth stalked his unsuspecting prey, the goblins who remained oblivious to the impending doom that awaited them. One by one, he struck with swift precision, his blade cutting through flesh and bone with a sickening finality. The camp soon became a canvas of terror, littered with lifeless goblin bodies, their grotesque demise a testament to the horrors that unfolded under the moonlit sky.
As the last goblin drew its final breath, Astaroth's gaze swept over the carnage he had wrought. His heart, cold and devoid of remorse, remained untouched by the plight of the fallen goblin king or the decimated army. To him, they were mere pawns in a much grander scheme, their lives discarded without a flicker of compassion.
Finally, Lalitha, the Queen of Shadows, arrived at the desolate campsite. She gracefully dropped to her knees before her malevolent master, a sly smile playing upon her lips. "My Lord, I have successfully retrieved the blood from the lifeless goblin, and the pitiful human knights have met their demise."
"Excellent work, Lalitha," the dark lord hissed, his voice dripping with malevolence. "Your actions not only please me, but they fuel the fire of my dark desires. The feeble experiment I conducted on the pitiful goblin yielded no significant gains. He was nothing more than a pawn in my game, barely providing a performance."
He rose from his seat, his presence exuding an aura of dominance. "But fear not, Lalitha," he continued, his voice lowering to a chilling whisper. "Our true game is about to begin. The world will tremble beneath our combined might. Prepare yourself, for darkness, shall shroud the land, and the screams of the innocent will be our symphony."
"I am intrigued, Lalitha. What have you done with the general?" Astaroth's voice dripped with suspicion as he leaned closer. "I witnessed his figure vanish into the abyss of shadows."
Lalitha, her eyes gleaming with an eerie intensity, responded to her lord's inquiry. "My lord, I harbor a sinister experiment, born of an ancient secret, from my arrival in the forsaken realm of Yosnad. My objective is to forge the most formidable man this world has ever known. To achieve such power, I require the blood and flesh of individuals of great might. And where better to procure such samples than Castle Clovershire, where a gathering of the mightiest warriors resides?"
"I have captured the general," she continues, her voice laced with chilling confidence. "He is now trapped within the depths of my shadow world, ensnared by its inescapable grasp. Inside there he will be put through many experiments"
Deep within the abyss of the shadow world, the general's senses were assaulted by unrelenting darkness. It clawed at his sanity, taunting him with whispers of despair and confinement. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, as time itself warped and twisted in this ethereal prison. He struggled against his bindings, but they held firm, a cruel reminder of his helplessness.
Astaroth peered at her with a sinister gaze, his eyes glinting with malevolence. "An experiment to create a perfect man," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Such childish notions. But then again, that was from the old you." He paused, his words oozing with a foreboding presence. "Whatever you could have created would have been bound by the feeble constraints of mere mortals."
Lalitha trembled on her knees, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of her master's words hung heavily in the air, suffocating her. She managed to muster a quivering response, her voice filled with both fear and a newfound determination. "You are... correct, master," she stuttered. "My previous human mind... it shackled my thoughts, stifled my potential."
Astaroth's chilling laughter pierced through the stillness of the night, its haunting echoes resonating with a sinister undertone that sent shivers down the spine. "But now, my dear Lalitha," his voice dripped with malice, "you have transcended your feeble human limitations. Embrace the darkness coursing through your veins and watch as the world quivers in fear at your very command. The malevolent essence I bestowed upon the lowly goblin, now resides within you—a captivating ingredient in your macabre symphony."
Astaroth's interest was no longer fixated on the whereabouts of the general clad in golden armor. If Lalitha had effortlessly ensnared him, it became clear that the man was not the formidable force the demon king had anticipated. A sly grin danced upon Astaroth's lips. "Tonight, I have sated my appetite for chaos. I shall venture into the nearby town, where unsuspecting souls await. Tell me, Lalitha," he hissed, his eyes glinting with wicked delight, "what sinister acts will you unleash in my absence?"
The witch gazed at her master with a glint of determination in her eyes. "My lord," she whispered, her voice dripping with both loyalty and ambition, "I yearn to accompany you on this treacherous journey. However, I have discovered a hidden gem within the castle's walls. You see, although the current king is nothing but a deranged monster who revels in the flesh of innocent maidens to satisfy his insatiable lust... there lies the curse of generations that he wields with merciless authority. I crave to snatch it away from him."
Her master's face contorted into a twisted smile, his mind intoxicated by the allure of power. "Ah, intriguing indeed," he murmured, his voice laced with malevolence. "The assassin whose very soul I devoured, his curse was a symphony of forbidden rituals and incantations, each one unlocking untold might. It was his pitiful luck to cross paths with me."
"Very well, Lalitha," Astaroth said with a cryptic smile. "Those powers may prove useful for you. I will await your arrival in the ominous town nestled beneath the castle. As for me, this sword," he continued, pulling a gleaming black blade from his subspace, "seems to whisper secrets of my next encounter, guiding me there."
Lalitha's heart raced as she gazed upon the ominous weapon. Its obsidian surface shimmered with otherworldly darkness, seemingly holding secrets of unspeakable power. Her master had briefly told her that he heard her wishes through the sword when she was harnessing the power from the mana essence, and that was how he found her.
"By the way, Lalitha, the rat that scurries about, sniffing... let it roam freely for now. Don't eliminate it just yet. I want to extend my observation and savor the anticipation. After all, there is no thrill in disposing of everything at once."
Lalitha, her eyes reflecting a mixture of obedience and curiosity, nodded silently. "I understand, master," she replied "Ezio, is already on the hunt, tracing its every step. If there is nothing else, my Lord, I shall take my leave."
Astaroth released Lalitha, allowing her to leave, and then his gaze fixed upon the sword clenched tightly in his hand. It had remained eerily silent ever since he had discovered the witch as if its purpose had been fulfilled. However, in the last two days, the sword had inexplicably begun to vibrate once more. A sense of foreboding gripped Astaroth as he channeled his mana over the blade, and amidst the ethereal hum, faint words emerged. The whisper of a name, a name that is unfamiliar to him. After making some checks, he discovered that the name belonged to the very town nestled beneath the castle.
Astaroth raised the obsidian sword in his trembling hand, its wicked edge glinting malevolently under the dim moonlight. With a swift, practiced motion, he sliced through the heavy air, parting it as if it were a fragile veil. A crackling surge of dark energy split the very fabric of reality, creating a swirling void that beckoned him. As the demon king stepped into the abyss, his cloak billowed like ethereal wings, casting an ominous shadow over the desolate landscape.
Silence descended upon the once-bloodstained grounds, now littered with the lifeless bodies of slain goblins. The air hung heavy with a sense of foreboding, as if the very earth held its breath, awaiting the inevitable revelation. Unbeknownst to the world, within a matter of days, whispers of this cursed place would spread like wildfire among mercenaries and adventurers, their eager voices weaving tales of doom and despair. Rumors would circulate, carrying with them the harbingers of Castle Clovershire's impending downfall.