Necrozius stood upon the ruin of his hopes and dreams, still recovering from being splashed with a cauldron of boiling tears.
The black rain suddenly ceased, which brought blessed silence as the wounded forces of hell about him stopped their screams of pain.
Amidst the muddy pools of poisonous ashes, he saw a faint glimmer of light.
Was it... hope? Had that whimsical force returned? Or was it another form of torment from the Banal Gods of Law?
No, he decided as he clasped this small brilliance within his gauntlet of bone. This was real. His package had arrived.
The Game was his at last.
