The Lord of Night glided through his new sky with little resistance, its thick walls hugged his sides snugly as he made his way through the gel like texture, past purple patches of trapped Ebonal filth, before finally poking his formless head out with a pop while the rest of him followed shortly behind.
He shot through the void, souls flying past as no more than a blue blip. Although the Lord of Night swam to the surface at top speed, it still took a while and as he neared the surface, he could sense the occasional Void Leviathan in the distance, though they all avoided him, turning tail and fleeing.
The Dark Lord without mana is still the Dark Lord, and the ancient Void Leviathans have enough common sense that he was not to be trifled with. Which the Lord of Night was secretly grateful for, though he would never admit it, he was tired to the spectral bone and did not look forward to a titan smackdown in his state.
He’d still win, obviously, but he just had better plans in mind.
Finally the Lord of Night got close enough to the mortal realm, that he could sense much more activity going on near the surface caused by Shadow Jumping. He could see the figures of demons and other shadow-aligned creatures flitting in and out between planes, travelling within shadows to cover otherwise much larger distances in the mortal realm.
The Lord of Night couldn’t help patting himself on the back for the accomplishment of passing on his ability Shadow Shift, to his chosen people, allowing them to Shadow Jump - a lesser form of Shadow Shift. It was a shame that his demons couldn’t travel too deep into the shadows, even the most powerful Void Leviathans barely skim the surface of the shadows. But it was all well and good, the purpose for sheer depth of the shadows’ were to separate the mortal realm from the Night Kingdom, where the living live and the dead stay dead.
Besides, mortals and their fleshy cages, demon or not, cannot handle being incorporeal for long. The Lord of Night was originally dismayed to find that their bodies would literally dissolve, forget its shape and become one with the shadows itself. His Blessing of the Shadewalker helped increase the time limit, but only by a smudge. It was simply not a mana efficient solution.
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Out of the corner of his senses, the Lord of Night noticed an area with particularly dense disturbances on the otherwise still surface. Drawn from his thoughts, he headed towards it, reasoning that the commotion would most likely be the product of a gathering of demons. He clamped down his divine presence to the minimum, not wanting to surprise anyone and risk getting a facefull of attack spells, he had been away for three thousand years afterall. Who knows if they even recognize their lord.
The Lord of Night peered out into the mortal realm, as if one were to look at a puddle and see their reflection staring back, he drifted just below the surface of the shadows, looking up at the reflection of the other realm, at an encampment of sorts.
His demons seemed to have chosen to make camp in a forest of sorts. The encampment was enclosed by wooden stakes and palisades. Multitudes of tents sprawled out in a messy patchwork, disrupted by the occasional weapon rack and firepit crowded with warriors. The demons there either sharpened their weapons or buffed out dents in their armour, ones that were too minor to bother the smith with. Perfectly camouflaged platforms were built high up within the canopy, with branches and leaves nailed onto the underside, where lookouts lay hidden.
But what shocked him the most, was not the sheer size of the camp and number of demons. No, it was the grim atmosphere, weary and haunted, the way it was set in their jaws, how restlessly they held their weapons, how their shoulders’ tense with anticipation. The camp was almost devoid of conversation, even a scarce few words were rarely exchanged. It was unbearably familiar: they were preparing for a battle, and it will come very soon.
And worse, it did not look like it was their first time. Their armours were all scratched and scuffed, and the dirt and grime wedged between the gaps and cloth, hiding the iconic lilac skin colour of demons. Painful memories resurfaced with a nasty jolt, appearing as fast as he could repress them. The grief was nothing new, there was never a time for it in war, and the Lord of Night would need to reschedule his nap.
Now was the time for some divine smiting. And the Lord of Night had a target.