Tanathos’ world burned with pain.

With every breath, every movement, it flared up in staggering waves. A lesser man would have been overwhelmed and incapacitated by it.

He was not a lesser man.

He did not fear pain. He understood it and gloried in administering it to others, subjecting them to unbearable torment before ripping their souls from their broken bodies.

That was just the beginning.

Once he possessed their souls, he fed upon them, stealing their life force. He corrupted them and consumed the strength of their souls. He was strong enough to take it, so it was his right to do so.

He deserved it.

Staggering to his feet, Tanathos paced his room in the second floor of the fort’s command building. Though larger than any of the other rooms, this one was barely large enough for a crude desk and chair, a bed, a closet, and small window that faced the front gate. As he considered the situation, the darkness cloaking his eyes roiled like ebony thunderclouds.

Fear, the aftereffect of his just-concluded interview with the angry Sigrun council, chilled him with its unwelcome weakness. Even though their voices had been but distant whispers due to the vast distance, their rage at his failure was undiminished. The pain they inflicted was awe-inspiring. It was a necessary gesture, though meaningless in itself.

No, the pain was but an incentive to drive him on, and a reminder not to fail again. Those who failed were tortured in Ophisurus’ fiery chains long after the Sigrun had broken their bodies and fed upon their souls.

It was no less than they deserved.

That thought sent a new thrill of fear creeping across his scalp. It wasn’t unusual for servants of the Sigrun to feel afraid, although he usually converted such fear to anger or excitement as he contemplated the incredible power they wielded. He hungered for a chance to join them and share in their glory.

One more test and the coveted seventh seat at the council table would be his. In the last seconds before the tenuous connection with his far-distant masters failed, they informed him that the fool Kevlin was bringing Tia Khoa back to him. Tanathos smiled as he contemplated the tortures he’d inflict on the man.

Kevlin was returning with reinforcements. The strength of the sacrificed soul they had used to power the communication spell had failed before the Sigrun could share more information.

Tanathos was not worried, nor would he risk contacting his masters again without first completing his primary mission. In such a remote location, who could Kevlin have rounded up to help? The fool was desperate and playing into Tanathos’ hands.

Destroying Kevlin’s little strike force, coupled with Tanathos’ triumphant return of Tia Khoa to Grakonia, would guarantee his elevation to the Sigrun council. Tanathos feared only one sentinel, but Harafin was ensconced in his seat of power in Tamera.

Then again, Kevlin and his unknown allies had defeated Merab and his makrasha. Tanathos thought on that for a moment before making a decision. He had not survived so long without planning for worst-case scenarios. He always ensured other shadeleeches who lacked his forethought were the ones sacrificed instead of himself.

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First he needed to restore his strength. He extended his senses beyond the room, reaching out with his mind until he touched the nearest makrasha. The creatures were all slaves to his will, their souls shackled to him, so it was a simple matter to feel for the ethereal conduit that linked them.

The beast he chose was one of two stationed at the head of the stairs. The creature was strong and healthy, its life force pulsing down his sthenic senses in inviting waves. Tanathos reached through the conduit, grasped the power of that life force, and pulled.

Life flooded into him, filling him with strength and washing away the pain inflicted by the Sigrun. Tanathos shuddered in ecstasy and frantically sucked every last vestige of life out of the creature, greedily drinking it into his own soul. Intense pleasure suffused his being as he basked in the warmth of another’s life essence surrendered to his whim.

# # #

At the head of the stairs, a black cloud enveloped one of the makrasha standing guard. It opened its mouth to scream, but only a choking gasp escaped its withering lips. Its entire form shriveled, collapsing in on itself as its life and strength drained away.

It took only a couple of seconds.

The darkness dissipated as the skeletal remains of the once hulking creature toppled down the stairs. Bones cascaded through the brittle skin and shattered into pieces that broke into dust. Wisps of shadow settled to rest at the bottom of the stairs, the only remains of what had been a living creature.

# # #

The makrasha served Tanathos well, restoring his vigor and filling him with the power he needed. Taking the soul of even one makrasha was a glorious experience, although it paled next to the ecstasy of ripping out the soul of an enemy while they still resisted.

A soul thus taken could be held captive in Tanathos’ power while he tortured it and drained its energy, only to be released after he had taken everything. The shade that remained would be but a pale shadow, barely recognizable as a person’s soul.

Casting the shattered remains of such a shade loose was pure delight, for those souls lacked the strength to reach the eternal worlds. Instead, Ophisurus would encircle the victims with his burning chains and torture them forever.

“Slave,” Tanathos called. The other makrasha stationed at the top of the stairs entered the room immediately. “Summon Neasa.”

An ugly, fat toad of a woman, his second-in-command Neasa entered the room a moment later. Her black hair shone greasily in the scant sunlight penetrating the curtained window and fell straight from her head to her broad shoulders.

In stark contrast with Tanathos’ own, Neasa's eyes were milky white, staring out over a large nose. She rarely blinked, and few liked to meet her gaze. Tanathos despised her for more than her ugliness, but couldn’t afford to kill her. Yet.

“So, they left you alive,” Neasa said, not masking her disappointment.

“Don’t push me today,” Tanathos hissed.

“You can’t afford to destroy me, Tanathos,” Neasa said, echoing his thoughts disturbingly well. “Both of your little disciples are dead, so I’m all you’ve got. You should not have kept me from the man Kevlin.”

He didn’t show how much her words rang true. Had he sent her after Kevlin instead of Merab, he’d be rid of her already. It didn’t matter. When the time was right, he would take her life and use her strength to further his own ends.

He only said, “We have no time for this. Kevlin is returning with reinforcements.”

“They mean to rescue Antigonus?”

“I don’t care what they mean to do. They serve only to return the stone to me.”

“He still has it?”

“Yes. He lacks even the sense to run.”

“What is your plan?”

“I will create a halimaw. The fools think to take us by surprise, but we’ll slaughter them.”

Neasa grinned. “Yes. The halimaw will shatter their resistance and we can take the souls of the rest.”

“See to the defenses,” Tanathos said. “I will take Kevlin myself.”

“Let me create the halimaw,” Neasa begged, her eyes alight with anticipation. “It has been a long time, and the woman Rhea is a perfect candidate.”

Rhea’s arrogance would make such a fate so much more satisfying. He considered his overweight second for a moment before nodding. “Very well. She is yours.”

Let her feel needed, even appreciated. . .until he killed her.

Neasa smiled, revealing perfect white teeth that only served to make the rest of her face seem all the more hideous. “I’ll do it now.”

Striding from his room, he headed for Antigonus' cell. He had work to do.