Have patience, my friend. I am writing something right now.
Editing.
After hearing the name "Emparael", Jonathan subconsciously growled. He felt a strange anger welling up from somewhere deep down his psyche. He was sure that he had previously dealt with this Angel before, and something told him that it wasn't exactly a pleasant encounter. Shaking his head, Jonathan pushed that feeling aide. He had a False God to kill, and he couldn't afford to be distracted.
Jonathan, Xanriel, and the rest of the Legion began walking down the narrow secret path.
After walking for several minutes, the army had arrived at a clearing in the middle of the Marsh. There were no diseased trees in that area, only a shallow but very large pool filled with sickly gray water. Something about this place disturbed Jonathan. There weren't even any bushes or undergrowth in the murky water, only an eerie, unnerving stillness. This place was a place of death and sterility within a place of Death.
Careful, Jonathan said telepathically. Something is really wrong here. He could not sense any hints of life other than those of his allies, nor did he expect himself to; their enemy, the undead, had no life force. But this meant that their numbers were impossible to detect; Jonathan could not tell how many skeletons, zombies and ghouls were hiding beneath the filthy water.
In a split second, the assault began. The deathly still water literally exploded, as thousands upon thousands of lumps of sickly gray flesh launched themselves out of the pond. "Malignant Cells!" Jonathan shouted; the Legion of Darkness immediately began to take action. Waves and blasts of darkness, light, flames, lightning, ice, chaotic energy, and a myriad of other forces tore into the swarm of Cells, preventing them from reaching and devouring the army. But this doesn't make sense, Jonathan thought. Twisted as they are, Malignant Cells are still life. Then why couldn't I sense their life force?!
Behind the Malignant Cells, more grotesque, twisted forms were beginning to rise from the murky water. Irregular, membrane-winged shapes rose into the air, their surfaces opening to reveal sharp fangs. Huge creatures, the size of hundreds of individual Malignant Cells, snatched and pulled at everything they could reach with their pseudopods. Flying Leukocytes and Macrophages, Jonathan thought. More of Exriel's vile creations. What is going on here? And he still could not sense the life force of any of the creatures before him.
"Hey, Xanriel, isn't that one of the cells that ate my limbs back at the Entropic Shore?" Dorfl grunted. When Xanriel, under the influence of Exriel, first created a Macrophage, Dorfl was the one who destroyed it; the cell devoured the golem's arms and legs with a simple touch. "I thought you stopped making those!"
"What are you talking about?!" Xanriel shouted back. "You think I created those abominations?!"
"Who else can it be?" Dorfl said, blasting another Cell to pieces with a fireball. "Only Exriel knows how to create those things!"
A Flying Leukocyte lunged at Jonathan, only to be instantly sliced in half. "No, Dorfl," he said. "Those cells are all undead. They couldn't have been created by Exriel."
Suddenly, a voice spoke out of nowhere. It was a deep, raspy sound, one that sent a chill down Jonathan's spine. "You are correct," the voice said. "Exriel's creations are nothing before mine." That voice... It sounded like Jonathan himself! No, it sounded like Johann, the evil clone of Jonathan created by Chaos Lord. The tone and pitch were all but identical to Jonathan's, albeit twisted and insane.
No... Not possible! Jonathan thought. I have destroyed Johann! And even if he somehow survived, how could he control Malignant Cells?! "W-Who are you?" Jonathan called out, ready to shift into Master form if necessary.
"I am the Corruption," the voice answered. "I am Malignance. I am many." As it spoke, the voice seemed to echo from every single Malignant Cell around it. "You shall be crushed, Legion of Darkness! I AM CORRUPTION! I AM NECROSIS!" With a demented shriek, the murky gray water exploded once again, revealing a twisted, skeletal form holding a vicious scythe.
The figure was clad in a tattered gray and indigo robe, its edges eternally decaying. A pair of skeletal wings with ebony feathers flapped behind his back, like an Angel of Death. The eyes and long hair of the being were a deep, corrupt purple, and his face was contorted in a wicked, skull-like grin. The gray-skinned face bore a disturbing resemblance to Exriel, Xanriel's Death-corrupted half, and yet amid the twisted facial features something was out of place, making the face quite unlike the Exriel the adventurers had faced before. The figure was holding a scythe, a vicious instrument of Death crafted out of solidified Malignant Cell remains, dripping with venom like the blade Arsenic.
The specter of Death, Necrosis as he called himself, looked around, and set his eyes on the face of Xanriel. "EXRIEL!" Necrosis shrieked, an expression of deranged anger distorting his features. "HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE! YOU HAVE ABANDONED US, EXRIEL, AND THE CORRUPTION IS NOT PLEASED!" With a final screech, Necrosis swooped down at Xanriel, his scythe intent on striking down the Fallen Angel he believed Xanriel to be.
