48. Harbinger
Harbinger
In the wake of the Resh’Agar’s departure, pieces of the balcony floor vaporized in the resulting mana storm. The air howled in agony at its new scar then collapsed into itself, pulling in debris and parts of the walls and floors.
Below, Reskala reclaimed order piece by piece, subduing the Solutus rebels at the command of Thrassus.
Once the Resh’Agar and his Sokar vanished, the Solutus retreated.
The Reskala captured some, but they quickly runed their tongues, their faces growing pale a split second before their bodies erupted in explosions of burned flesh and cracked bone.
To keep from being caught in the blast, Thrassus commanded his men to throw the prisoners down into the pit. They sealed it with whatever wards still functioned in the heat, sweat pouring down their faces as they struggled to cast.
Shu’Khan watched the warriors toss the marked men into the darkness, his face unmoved, then turned from the scene. From the screams. From the rupture of the world.
He walked, unhurried, to the edge of the high chamber. There, beneath the fractured mosaic of forgotten stars, stood a single ornate chair.
He sat. Folded his hands. Closed his eyes.
And listened.
'You’ve done well, bringing them both this far,' a voice growled in his mind. Colder than breath. Older than time.
Familiar.
Kaos. The Destroyer.
'If she survives this, she will break the Seal. Prophecy will be fulfilled.'
The words rang with power. And yet…something lingered beneath them. A note too personal. Too eager. Too hungry. A breath where there should be only Void. Perhaps, too, the faint scrape of claws on stone. Or the echo of a wolf’s breath.
But Shu’Khan—in his hubris—heard none of it.
He opened his eyes. Pale blue. Empty as the space between worlds. A faint smile curved his lips.
Kaos would return. And he—Seravael—would be His harbinger.