It has been said many times, that life often comes from death. Many a tale have been told of the extinguishing of one flame, only to somehow giving birth to a new flame that’s yet to burn. The mother who gives her life so her unborn child might live. The old captain who takes an arrow to protect his young soldier. The Son of God who gave his life so those who might believe could have life everlasting. But what if I told you, that the greatest such tale is only just now beginning?
The shadow, blackened as it were, pulsed fiercely. The time had come. Inside that prison, the spirit grew stronger and it hungered, and in that hunger…it raged. It demanded to be fed and freed. It would wait no longer. It lashed out, as it railed against its prison. The spirit of darkness devoured the prison’s energy, leaving the hemorrhaging prison twisted and ruptured. The prison broke, its cell ripped open. Through blood and water, the spirit escaped.
The spirit’s host wailed, its fragile and weakened form void of the strength the spirit knew. The darkness needed strength so it fed. It feasted upon the energy stored within the prison. He spared little. As one eats flesh and blood, the spirit fed. Strength did not tarry, in dark metamorphosis his power grew. The time of darkness had come—my time had come.
I surveyed the world and saw it was ripe for the harvest. I drew powers from the void unto my newly transformed vessel and surged with potency. I am Ruin, I am Chaos, I am Death and I will rule the age. As I began my work, I turned to my prison and said, “The harvest began with you, for that I am grateful—mother.”