The Xeral, a formidable lion-man, stepped off the smoking corpse of the daemon and flexed his hand to check for damage. The creature had managed to mangle his gauntlet, causing blood to seep through the cracks and snapping sounds to signify that his monstrous regeneration was already working on his injuries. If there were no more surprises, the rest of the creatures should be defeated and this disastrous night could be brought to an end.

He turned sharply towards a patch of land some distance away, where burning lines started etching themselves into the short grass and a sudden conflagration of flames seared out. The air filled with the smell of burning flesh, and when the smoke cleared, a hooded figure emerged. Dressed in black from head to toe and emanating a foul smell, the Xeral's nose wrinkled in disgust as he pulled his hammer from the corpse and eyed this new threat.

"The Vitor's reputation isn't unfounded, it seems," spoke a chorus of inhuman voices from within the hood. It was as though the hood held more than one face inside.

"Are you the Summoner?" the Xeral barked, his hammer beginning to glow slightly as his patience wore thin.

"Summoner," the voices scoffed. "Such a crude term, spoken like a true primitive, brute! We are an instrument, an instrument through which my masters will reshape this rotting plane into something worthy of their adoption. I hope you have been thankful for their gifts."

"Great, another nutcase," the Xeral thought to himself. "Why did you attack us?" he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.

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"Do you truly not know?" the voices mocked, the hood bobbing up and down in exaggerated mirth as webbed hands clutched its robe. "Why are you here with an army?"

The Xeral hesitated for a moment before replying. "To claim a new leyline that showed up, or at least that's what the FarSought told the Prince," he thought to himself. "Classified, creature. That's on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to exist," he said aloud, his voice firm and unyielding.

"Very scary, Leonid," the voices muttered in apparent calm. "Save your empty threats. Whatever reason you were told, well... I assume that isn't the truth. The Farsought's sight was muddled."

The Xeral raised an eyebrow, no longer relaxed. Red trails of Vitrium lifted off his body as he took a battle stance, his muscles tensing as he prepared for a fight. "What do you mean?" the lion-man asked, his tone brooking no argument.

"A Voyager is upon us," the voices screeched, their tone filled with excitement. "And my masters claim him."

"Shit," the Xeral thought to himself, his mind racing. "Davian? Davian?" he thought, surprised that he couldn't find an ounce of Th'um within him.

"Oh, by the way, mind-speak won't work right now," the voices mused, their tone casual and unconcerned.

The Xeral let out a growl of frustration. "Your pets have

all but been slain," he said, his voice laced with anger. "How do you think you're going to claim this Voyager for your maggot lords?"

The hood turned, all pretense of friendliness gone. "Watch your tongue, fish bait!! Those fools behind you are half dead and a quarter beaten into the ground, but your tongue will be my-"

Before the creature could finish its threat, a red gash split the sky from horizon to horizon, like a bloody eye of an uncaring primordial looking down on all below. The Xeral watched as the sky was torn open, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.