A chilled wind blew through the castle walls. The squeak of the wheels of the catapults ringed out in the distance, as owls and crickets rustled in the trees.

A siege was near.

"Overlord Loktillian, we are ready." said a centurion, clad in black Vortite armour.

"Good, good. Lion's Hold will be nothing but a pile of ash and bricks by the end of the month." hissed Loktillian. "Set the munitions aflame and fire at my mark."

Archers set their arrows alight and pulled back.

Loktillian squinted and exhaled deeply.

"Fire!" yelled Loktillian into the fray.

"Charge! Show no mercy!" screamed the general.

Boulders and arrows flew at lightning speed at the Hold as soon as the word was heard. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers began to frantically swing their swords and axes at the Hold's defences.

"We're under attack! Man the cannons! Archers, on the walls!" shouted the Commander Fredrick, terrified. Cannons hurled massive cannonballs at the armies of the necromantics, ringing out throughout the forest. As soon as the main wall fell, after three short hours, Loktillian and his necromantic war machine spilled into the Hold. Loktillian wielded two glaives, glaives made by the Titans themselves which he used to gut and maim his opponents brutally. With such corrupt use, the glaives had become horribly unholy, used for necromancy. He would grab hold of his enemy then slice and dice them. He would then slink into the battle, then the cycle continues.

After five hours, the Sun was starting to peek over the To'ragas Hills to bear witness to the horrid battle that had unfolded. They had almost completely taken the Courtyard and Dining Hall, and Lion Hold's thinned forces retreated back to the Royal Quarters and Throne Room. They had hired trappers and hunters to set rope traps and trapdoors in and around the halls to kill off some troops.

Two days into the siege, the forces of N'vor and Loktillian smashed against the doors of the throne room, their objective was to kill and destroy all royals - and their children.

"FOR N'VOR! FOR STROMATHAR! FOR THE LEGION!" they shouted in sync as the door to the throne room came crashing down. As Loktillian panted, several soldiers simply lurched over and vomited from the exhaustion of non-stop fighting for two days. He soon forgot his tardiness, though, because before he knew it he had drawn his spare spear, which he had at all times, and began stomping over to the throne.

"You'll pay." was the last think Loktillian said before beginning to impale the royals, one by one. Their entrails followed as the spear retracted from their pale bodies. The rest of the army stood back in awe as the very children fell. Finally, once all blood was shed, they returned home. Not before burning Lion's Hold to the ground.

The sun rose over the bogs and swamps of Tol Kattar. Loktillian was exalted as some god here, since it was the official home village of the Kattari Reptilians, his tribe. He walked through the streets as children pointed and women dropped their baskets of fruits and men bowed their heads in respect for the former exile. He has completely re-vamped the once down-trodden slums of the city to a flamboyant, extravagant empire spanning from the deserts to the west, to the now-conquered Lion's Plains to the east. Building went from being made of stone, mud, and wood to gold, silver and fine timber in a few years. Peasants didn’t even exist anymore. Everyone was so content with their state there had been no rebellions for years.

When he reached the throne room in the showy yellow and red temple that he and his sister and son lived in. His sister was taking care of his son while he was at war.

"Loki?" she said. "I didn’t know you'd be back so swiftly!" she exclaimed.

"Father! Father! You're home!" said his son, Kalian. He almost laughed as he watched the 4-year-old lizard-ling stumble over. Babies of this race were funny little things, their eyes and arms being massive compared to the small and agile torso. His son's name was Kailan. He was born the day after Stromathar's suicide, still in a time of grieving. He had not even gained his sense of sight during the burial. Now, three years later, he was walking on his own two legs, talking. It sure was a sight to behold.

The victory dinner that night was quite uncontrolled, with ogre beer and elven wine barrels gradually drained over the course of the night. The attendees were mostly knights of the Soul Legion and Kattari infantry, archers and heavies, some still stained with blood. The heavies, much more muscular and brawny than the archers, could chug large amounts of beer in a few seconds. The festival that followed was full of market stalls, and travelling street performers and merchants looking to make a quick copper by showing their mediocre skills with a wooden horn, or selling delicious foods from several day's travel away.

After all of the celebrations were said and done, one thing pressed Loktillian's mind.

What now?

"You're leaving again?" asked Loktillian's wife, her voice strained.

"This is vital. If we are to conquer all of Ash'Kelor, we need Orinsar on our side.

Orinsar. The name rung throughout the room, like a rock landing in a once-undisturbed pond. Orinsar was the huge black dragon that lived to the north, within Mount Serene. Mount Serene, contrary to its name, is not serene. It erupted the day after it was named, due to unknown Shadowflame activity in the area. Loktillian remembered seeing the eruption as a teenager, it's horrific shockwave blowing ancient trees over like a child blowing over grass. The elderly and the young knocked back. He, 14 years old, was shovelling entrails and corpses that were unlucky enough to end up in the trail of some stray debris.

Loktillian and his small squad consisted of a merchant, a survivalist, two archers, an infantryman, a war mammoth packed with food and water, his advisor, Tyrai, and Loktillian himself. This was an absolute top-notch group, with skilled archers and thousands of kills altogether. Even the mammoth, Sogo, had killed high-ranking soldiers with his sharp tusks.

"Well, I think this is a good as spot as any." stated Loktillian, jumping off Sogo and walking several meters over to a small clearing in the forest, as they all sipped at their water skins as Loktillian lit a fire. He abandoned the art of ranged spellcasting as Stromathar taught him, but adapted more of a necromantic melee strategy, with some arcane spells on the side.

They talked about legends and cryptids for an hour or so, then one by one, they fell to bed.

The next morning was foggy and wet. Sogo was already up, harassing some deer, and the two infantryman were laughing and took a sip of coffee every now and then. Tyrai, whom he shared the tent with was just waking up and leaving the tent. As he sat up, she turned around.

"You're up. It's a misty one out there, I'll tell you." she said, unzipping the tent.

Loktillian grunted in agreement, still groggy. He left the tent, yawning. It sure was damp outside, and you couldn’t see more than five paces in front of you.

The group put on their armour and grabbed their weapons to set off on the 2nd leg of their trip. After a couple of hours, they had reached an area of pure rock, with no trees in sight and the occasional dead bush or lava pool. This area was the Agonis, the plains of flame, and the home of the three dragons, one of which being Orinsar. They followed the cobble path that weaved carefully between ogre villages, hills, lava pools, and other dangerous obstacles. They passed the occasional lava fruit farm, with orc slaves of all shapes and sizes working tirelessly to bring home just a few copper for the hundreds of juicy fruit they farmed. As they continued for at least another forty-five minutes, the huge mountain that Orinsar resided in filled the group's view with its solemn glare. Orinsar had not been awoken since the battle for Nerag Island, hundreds of years ago, when the first battle between the Shadowflame Cult and the Army of Vengeance resulted in a Shadowflame victory and therefore mass executions. Now, they were standing at the gate of the beast that killed thousands of holy warriors. Now, the ideology of the titans and following was heavily villainised and frowned upon by most races, except Lion's Plains humans, whom had been essentially wiped out by the siege that took place just a few days earlier.

After they rode over a lake, the gate of the small mountain towered above them. A sign was placed there by the Holy Alliance when they stood on the border of the land of death some letters were missing after 4,300 years of wear. It read:

"-ere be th- unholy atr-city th-t is the Dark Union  of The S-ul Legi--n. Lig-t cond-- the-!"

How funny. They were so confident in kicking the Soul Legion while they were down when they were unknowingly led by a Soul Legion undercover, then Mount Serene erupted and wiped out tens of thousands of holy warriors. They were fighting the right people, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

"It was truly a shame. They could have dismantled the entire Soul Legion if not the Shadowflame Cult were not experimenting on necromancy right at that moment." chuckled Loktillian as he beckoned Sogo to continue.

"Damn straight." Tyrai blurted.

As they entered the mountain's front cave, a damp chill swept by as if a blow from an invisible fan. They had just entered a tunnel that lead straight into Mount Serene's innards, a fiery pit that stank of goat carcasses and faeces. Even though it hadn't been used in five years, the smell was overwhelming. The side of the mountain held another tunnel that ultimately led to Orinsar's lair. They progressed around the inside if the mountain, around the bubbling, groaning magma pit at the bottom. They finally got to the front of Orinsar's lair. The smell faded away as the group entered the lair. Eerily, the room was empty. Normally, before Stromathar's death, they would be full of hundreds of Shadowflame prisoners and cadets, the prisoners being fed into the maw of Orinsar, and the cadets practicing meditation upon the chaos of war.

The group entered the lair, and there he was. Orinsar. Asleep atop a pile of armour and gold and iron. Loktillian hadn't remembered him being this big. He had grown, sure, but he was a good ten meters bigger now. Loktillian placed a hand on the leviathan's snout. Scaly and warm.

"He's grown, eh?" murmured Tyrai.

Loktillian ignored the snarky comment.

"Orinsar?" Loktillian said.

One eye began to flicker. He was awaking. Tyrai walked over to Loktillian's shoulder and smiled.

"This'll sure help." she said.

"So, you infidels want me to help you to achieve global domination?" rumbled Orinsar. His giant glowing eyes flickering from person to person.

"Well, we already have the assistance of N'vo-"

"N'VOR!?" Orinsar interrupted. With a puff of fog, he transformed to his human form. He had jet black hair and was slightly shorter than Loktillian.

"You do know what it did to my fellow dragons, right?" he said, through gritted teeth.

Loktillian sighed and his shoulders drooped. Shortly after the Siege of Agatha, Stromathar ordered the execution of all. Corpses were strewn all across the plains. While Loktillian, at the time, did question Stromathar' actions, he'd do anything to make the kingdom survive. What did he have to show for it? Fort Stromathar is leaderless, and has been for almost three years.

"I'm sorry about the massacre. I had no power to stop him. I tried, trust me." Loktillian said solemnly.

"Trust you? Like I did at the Battle for the Iron Hills?!" roared Orinsar. "You killed thousands of innocents!"

"Oh, I did?" rumbled Loktillian. "You blame the advisor, who said for the Overlord to not do it!" Loktillian shouted.

"You want to settle this like men, weakling?" A spear appeared in Orinsar's hand.

"Bring it, then, old man!" Loktillian laughed.

"Loki, no!" Tyrai shouted. She tried to pull Loktillian away, but his glaives were already swinging at Orinsar's chest. He broke free, and landed a punishing blow on Orinsar, making him fall back.

"Son of a bitch." Orinsar chuckled. Blood trickled from his mouth.

"Come on, then! Show me what the first dragon can do!" Loktillian taunted.

Orinsar threw his spear to Loktillian at lightning speed, and Loktillian dodged it with