When the Dark One saw the explosion near Kohlingen, he grinned. When he felt the pure evil eminate from its source, he was in ecstasy. He began to lap up the evil power like a dog to water, and felt as his power grew and grew.
"From Beyond, I bring Soluk." Edgar felt himself go limp. Never in all his days had he summoned a demon from that far in. The shimmering lump of red and black swirling energy spun into a man shape.
"I have come, Lord of Evil. I am here to do your bidding, and to bring this world under the control of the Prime Evil."
"Very good. You are to bring me the head of Keyla Brillare. She must die, Soluk. Die!"
Soluk shimmered again, and became a solid sphere. "Your wish is my command, o Lord of Evil. You will have the human's head." He oozed into the shape of a human, and then relaxed. Slowly the shimmering began to disappear and the energies seeped out, leaving a human in their place.
A human that Keyla would remember very well. Myron Brillare.
He arrived. Carefully, he avoided looking at the Master, knowing that to do so would be to scan the Master's mind, however shallowly. The Master would not tolerate such actions. The scan would reveal his weaknesses. Jardek was not foolish enough to believe that the Master had none--all beings had some flaw--but he had no illusions about the Master's power. Jardek would never live to reveal the knowledge.
Hesitantly, he spoke. "You sent me to scan the hero Edgar, Master..."
"Yes. Report."
Jardek shuffled uneasily. "I could not. First I tried the dream probe, but it seems the King of Figaro does not dream. And when I scanned his waking mind..."
The Master said nothing, but the silence became ominously charged. Jardek hastened to fill it. "I would say he was a madman, Master, if he did not act so rationally. He seems almost to have two separate minds, or perhaps three."
"So you have failed."
"There is more, Master. Edgar has possession of one of the mystic orbs. Or most of one. Fragments are missing. I suspect it is the orb which was stolen from Celes. And the King has some great mystic power, which grows with his cruelty. Already he has raised the dead to do battle for him, and he grows stronger as he kills. Soon, he may be able to challenge even you."
Jardek was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it. But if he could create doubt in the Master, even a small amount, he could fan it later until it proved the fatal flaw. The Master's downfall.
The Master spoke, "It is well that you have brought me this information. For that, I will allow you to live and continue serving me, despite your failure. Perhaps I should send a... special... representative to Figaro, to deal with Edgar." He chuckled softly, a chilling laugh that made even the Fiend of Mind shudder. Yes, thought Jardek, I must be careful.
But the Master had not finished. With a flash of golden light, a familiar form appeared. A man with shoulder-length white hair, wearing garments of crimson, including an enveloping cloak. The garb of a Red Wizard. But instead of a red hat, this man wore a silver circlet on his head. A circlet bearing five runes, each proclaiming mastery of a type of ancient magic: the White, the Red, the Black, the Blue, and the rarest form, long since lost to others, the Gold. This man was the Master of All Magicks. Mordath. The Fiend of Magic. The only one of the fiends who had once been human, the greatest archmage of his time, whose lust for power had led him to cast a forbidden spell, changing him to something _other_ than human. Beyond human. A Fiend.
The Master barely glanced at Mordath, and the Fiend nodded. The job had been arranged already, then. Jardek was not surprised.
Mordath spoke. "I go to King Edgar, Lord. I shall return shortly, with the information you request. His power," he haughtily added, "is nothing to mine!"
And the Master laughed, for the second time in a day, his blood-curdling cackle.
This Livouf Takar upstart was beginning to irritate him. Though ultimately he was invulnerable to anything Livouf or his minions might attempt, Livouf's operations could potentially cripple the Master's own devices.
The Master's lip curled into an expression of disdain. Perhaps he would have to take care of this personally. Much as he despised placing so much of his efforts into one individual, the Master was not sure that it would be wise to let this one go running free.
The Master looked up, crooking a finger toward one of his wraiths. "Go to Figaro castle. Find King Edgar, who is possessed by the spirit Livouf Takar. Inform him that I offer my invitation to dine with me at a location of his choosing."
The wraith nodded frantically, spinning away to disappear through one of the blackened walls. The Master leaned back, steepling his fingers before him. This would be ended. One way or another.
"Ed... garrrr of Fi... gar... rroo," the wraith moaned before him. Edgar motioned for the guards to leave.
"Speak faster, dog," said Edgar. He clutched the Orb. "Haste."
"Edgar of Figaro, I am here from The Master. He bids you to dine with him. At your own convenience."
"He bids Edgar, or Livouf Takar," replied the Dark Lord, grabbing the wraith by the throat. Even with the spell, Edgar was twice as fast as him. Easily four times as fast as any human.
"Lord of Darkness, the Master wishes to speak to both of you." The wraith looked up with empty eyes. "Or is Livouf Takar too weak to leave this earthly form?"
"Livouf Takar is too weak for NOTHING, dog of a slave."
"Call not the Master a slave," the wraith said warningly.
"I shall call the mongrel beast that you so uselessly serve anything that pleases me. He is nothing and I am Everything. I am the Prey. I am the Chosen One."
"Think before you speak, Master of Figaro and Evil. My lord could strike you down without a flinch."
"Ha. Tell your weakling master I will dine with him within my new castle."
"And where is that, o Foolish One?"
"High above this puny world," laughed Livouf Takar. And somewhere inside the body of Edgar Roni Figaro, a tortured soul cried in pain. And next to it, Livouf Takar laughed.
"He shall meet you there."
'Alayeh, mista
Masanith, tenari
Begah, kina
Oleh, arrih.'
The air began to shimmer, and slowly a huge, dark castle formed. Carved of solid obsidian, the edges razor sharp and coated in poison, it rose. Covered in malign, fire spitting gargoyles, massive weapons of war, and three Lights of Judgement, it formed.
Its massive central spire was formed from the frozen black corpses of the burned citizens of Jidoor and Doma, the plague-ridden, decaying bodies of Marandan men and women. Atop it was a massive skull of an ancient dragon, its onyx eyes still glowing with evil. Within the hollow cranium of the monster's head stood a throne of skulls. The skulls of children. The exploits of Amarik Machevi. The Magi who became Livouf Takar.
The castle was manned with demons from the Other World. Twisted forms, shimmering balls of black light, horned humans, and animated corpses. Here would be his seat of power to look down upon this hated world. From that throne, he would burn the world which imprisoned him for over 1000 years.
The castle floated hundreds of feet into the air, powered by dark spirits, until it could be seen for miles around, a dark blotch in a blue sky.
"Beware, petty humans of Earth. Your hour has come."
The Shadowlands disappeared behind him.
************************************
An old, hunched figure approached the guards at the gate of the chaotic ensemble Livouf Takar called a fortress. The Master refused to give Edgar's name, for he was but a mortal who served as a channel for this figure who interfered so with the Master's intentions.
The guards stepped forward, looking upon the weak, withered figure who supported himself on a gnarled staff. One sniggered quietly, while the other asked with an amused look upon his face. "State your name and purpose here!" he commanded. Of course, they had been informed of the Master's approach, and that he be escorted. But for such a frail, old man to call himself by such a grandoise tital...it was ludicrous.
The Master raised a single finger, as gnarled and withered as his body. "I am here to speak with Livouf Takar, that which you call Edgar." he hissed. Chills ran down the spines of these two guards at the Master's voice. One of sheer power. Without another word, all humor gone from their demeanor, the guards drew the double doors to the throne room open in synchronicity. The Master stepped through, still leaning on his staff in an expression of weakness.
And into a black, eldritch throne room.
*****************************************
Livouf Takar sat in his host at the head of a long, marble table. Staring stoicly at the man who walked in, using his staff to aid his movement. No one made a gesture to help the man, nor did he ask for it. Livouf Takar would not underestimate this man...or thing's, power.
They gazed at one another for a moment, before the Master spoke.
"I thank you for accepting my invitation."
Livouf merely nodded, not speaking. The Master would need no such meaningless gestures of confirmation, nor of good will, to continue his line of thought. He was correct.
The Master continued.. "We do not have mutually exclusive goals. I desire only some little things. You may have all you desire once that is done."
Still Livouf did not speak.
"I hereby request that you leave the man known as Locke... you know the one I speak of from your host, I believe... alone. Do not approach him, do not interact with him, do nothing. In return, I will not influence your own operations. That is all."
And so the Master ceased his speech, looking to Livouf Takar with empty, black holes which had replaced his eyes.
"Tell me, he who calls himself 'Master', what do you intend to do with this human?" Edgar sat in the throne, his right hand stroking the skull of a baby.
"That is for me to know, and only me to know, Takar," the Master said, leaning on his gnarled cane.
"Very well. Grant me this. Your servants will not interfere with mine, and mine will not interfere with yours. Break your promise, and I will destroy you," Livouf knew very well he could win.
"Agreed, Prey," said the Master, believing himself superior to Takar. "My servants will not bother yours, and yours will not interfere with Locke. It is a promise."
Edgar grinned. He looked out the window, staring at the city of Thamasa, and replied, "Good."