A sillouette streaked the blood-red sky. Its owner snickered as he gazed apon the destruction he had caused. The figure stood atop a rocky ledge over looking the remains of a battlefield. Splintered banners and the bodies of all three armies lay strewn about the desert scape below. Demonic energies still rose like steam off of some of the perished soldiers. The lone soul atop the crag laughed mirthlessly. This was his doing. It had been an accident, but still, it had been his doing. He showed no sign of having qualms for what had occured. All that mattered was that among those bodies had to be the body of Lord Sargus. There had to be, or else all of that death was for nought. The sillouette leaped from ledge to ledge until he reached the ground. He pulled a dagger from its sheath on his back an stabbed one of the banners, tearing a huge hole in the regal blue cloth. The figure gazed across the battlefield…and smiled. He had what he was looking for in sight. The dagger-wielder mumbled to himself with a twisted smile playing across his lips, “Let’s see them challenge me now.” Then he let out an insane cry that shook the very earth, “FORKNOOSE IS NO LONGER! I…AM…THE DARK WIND!”

The Dark Wind