The air howls and shrieks, crying out as if in fits of sorrow and rage. Thunder booms in the distance, striking his target-- and suddenly he can feel it too, lances of power ripping through his cloak, shockwaves tearing his barriers asunder. What has happened? No, not what. How? His ears are deaf to the calls of his comrades as he falls, his hand still outstretched from his final spell. No. Not like this. He can only watch as his soldiers are assaulted, their formations dismantled by the warrior striding towards him. Then the pain comes.
"PHYSSION!" He roars soundlessly, deaf and half-blind, furious at the figure he can sense approaching, clad in his now iconic cloak and mail.
"Afdarenty." The other General nods, inclining his head. "Get up."
The injured commander obliges, staggering to his feet. How many of the others? He wondered. We were twelve, once. Eleven elements under the heel of fire. A revolution. The failed search for the One RNG. The Ninth War. And now...
"We are the last." Physsion speaks. His uniform is dented and torn, patches of dark red faintly visible on the visage of Darkness. "Do you remember them? The others... how we brought their armies to heel, one by one?"
He remembers.
The Guardian, theelkspeaks. Master of Lands. Savaged by a pack of obsidian dragons.
The Fire Lord, Vangelios. Sovereign of Flames. Assassinated with packages of unstable gas.
The Destroyer, Ginyu. Master of Force. Shockwaves. Many, many shockwaves.
The Eternal Flame, Zawadx. Master of Space. Swarmed by devourers in his capital.
So many other Champions and Generals, each the master of their domain. All dead, felled through battle and treachery.
Now they were two.
The Raging Wind, Afdarenty. Master of Skies.
The Shadow Lord, Physsion. Master of Deception.
"I remember. Do you ever wonder what it would have come to, if our search had not failed? Had war not broken out?"
Each readies his stance. Afdarenty prepares for his last stand. He knows that his shroud of fog is slightly inferior to the dusk mantle-- but it is his only chance. He brings it up-- and Physsion smirks.
"Oh, that." He raises his arm, and rummages through his pocket. He takes a small object out, glinting in the war-torn ruin they stand in. "I have the RNG." He says, and charges.
Thus begins the reign of Darkness.
