He studied the changing form down in the pit, for two things were happening simultaneously: the Dreadlord was releasing much of the energy harboured against this day, letting it fly up to do his bidding, creating a powerful conduit between the worlds, and as it did so, the amorphous shape was resolving itself into a more human-like aspect, albeit one of heroic stature. A vast head rose out of the blob of a body, followed by a powerful neck and then gigantic shoulders. The body that was rising mocked human form, yet paid homage to that form, for it was a thing sculpted by a master. Arms of perfect proportion followed and a fist was raised high, shaking in defiance as the Dreadlord readied himself to rise to the next plane of existence. Nakor found this entertaining in a detached way, and wondered if that detachment was a function of his no longer being alive.
Nakor wondered if he might have felt resentment, had he still been alive, but he speculated he would not. This was a unique experience. The God of Liars had left him with just enough of his own magic energy to be animated, cognitive, and logical. Nakor suspected whatever felt like emotions were most likely echoes of his own life, not genuine and heartfelt, but something his animated mind felt was needed as part of the current experience. Yet those feelings were very distant, muted to the point of detachment. But the entire experience did pique his curiosity, and he was glad he still retained the ability to be curious.
Something was coming, fast, amid the falling bodies. The Dreadlord was no longer indulging his baser appetites, but was now using the newly-dead energies as a source of power for building his passage, rather than merely feeding his gluttony. Nakor found it interesting that as the Dreadlord rose up, as his body became leaner and more hungry, the smarter he seemed to become. That would be another interesting thing to explore, had he the time.
The thing that was approaching fell from the roof, but before the Dreadlord took any notice of it, Nakor reached out with one of his few remaining tricks and pulled it towards him. It was a man in a black robe, and even though he had never seen this face before, Nakor knew exactly who it was.
Leso Varen looked at Nakor the Isalani with open-eyed astonishment. The little man had simply reached out with his mind and dragged him down to this silly throne and nothing he had tried could prevent it.
Varen was rarely rational under the best of conditions, and at the moment the conditions were hardly the best. In fact, they were about as bad as he had ever experienced. Moreover, he was very angry, though as yet he wasn’t entirely sure why. ‘I don’t know who you are, little man, but you should not have done that!’
Varen lashed out with his most punishing death-magic, but the little man stood there grinning at him. ‘Hard to kill someone already dead, isn’t it?’
Varen’s mind raced. Already dead? He was the master of necromancy, but he had never encountered anything like this in his life. He had animated several dozen bodies over the years, and had encountered a lich or two, but even the smartest among the undead were not usually very bright, and were always insane. He tried to seize control of Nakor, as he would with any undead being, but the little man just kept grinning at him.
‘This is amusing, but your time is over. I need something you have,’ Nakor said.
Leso Varen stared at him. ‘What—? he began, but Nakor reached out and his hand seemed to pass into Varen’s chest. Varen’s eyes widened as if he were experiencing stunning pain, and he looked down as Nakor pulled his hand out.
Nakor opened his fingers and there, resting on the palm of his hand, was a tiny crystal, black and pointed at each end, looking like a multi faceted gem. Deep within the crystal a dim light burned, pulsing with a purple glow. ‘We are but vessels, you and I,’ said Nakor. ‘The only reason we are here is to carry with us something that otherwise couldn’t exist in this place. Within me I carry the tiniest spark of Ban-ath. And this,’ —he held up the tiny crystal so that Varen could see it— ‘is a tiny spark of the Nameless. Your master sent you here to destroy the Dark One. He may be imprisoned, insane, and countless miles from his home world, but he’s still angry enough that someone else wants to take his world from him that he fashioned you. You are his weapon, Leso.’
Varen’s eyes lost focus and Nakor pushed him away. ‘We do not need you any longer, for now I hold the Godkiller!’
The one-time master of necromancy fell into a heap, dead at last. For a long moment Nakor regarded what he held in his hand, then he looked at the Dreadlord. ‘Just a few minutes more,’ Nakor promised. ‘Then we will be done.’
Pug rose high into the sky. He pushed aside an almost overwhelming feeling of sorrow: thousands below him were dying by the moment. He looked at that thing that was the Black Mount and his heart sank further. It now covered hundreds of miles of the Empire. He suspected that at the current rate the entire world would be overrun within another month, perhaps less.
Ignoring the sounds of horror beneath him, he kept rising until he felt the air turn cold and thin. He created a pocket of air around him, knowing that it would not last long, and kept rising until he could see the curve of the world below.