He had always felt at home in Darkness.
Peaceful. Even in the harshest battles, titanic elemental powers raging against each other. The Darkness Master always kept a little pocket of peaceful void within himself, and felt quite at home.
He had never considered the Trials a burden, rather he reveled in combat with other lovers of the dark. And when he defeated them all, they praised him. As a Master, he was not a vicious dictator. He was not a feckless usurper claiming victory by force in an Element of which he had no right. He was simply the true and rightful Leader of the Dark.
Then came War. Glory! Glory! He created a marvellous shade of terror for his enemies to lose themselves in. One by one they fell, stumbling in the night. The forum, the world, the universe was to be cloaked in his serene silhouette of silent shadow.
And yet a problem remained.
He was not a proud man. He did not crave power for power’s sake. All he desired was a world in which light faded, and flames… flames guttered and died.
Flames guttered. And Died.
The Ranger, that was the problem. The fiery bastion of infernos refused to relinquish his title. The Grandmaster would not agree to succumb to the shadows, so now he must die in the dark.
“Shall we begin?” whispered Physsion.
RootRanger answered with a raging bolt of flame.
Crackling heat singed the earth. With a sigh, The Darkness Master summoned an Eclipse, and the battleground was cloaked in his beloved night.
As the long and arduous clash took its toll on both combatants, Physsion twisted his beak in a grim smile. How lucky he was to rejoice in this black cacophony of shade. Either he would reign, undisputed in a quiet black world of his own design, or he would lose, die, and enter the void: the blackest dark of them all. As the victor stood over his fallen foe, the world of Elements would hail their Grandmaster, and in one way or another Physsion at would be at peace.
