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In the vast darkness, a lone fortress stood—the Black Church of the Demon Cult. This impenetrable cathedral, feared by every known army, exuded an aura of dread. Its long grimstone walls and towering spires loomed ominously, creating an imposing silhouette against the void. Suspended in the darkness on a floating rock, the castle was flanked by four pulsating purple crystals, each radiating immense magical power.
Inside the Black Church, an eerie and dark atmosphere pervaded the vast hall. The high, vaulted ceiling were supported by twisted, obsidian pillars that seemed to writhe in the flickering torchlight. Stained glass windows, depicting scenes of torment and dark rituals, cast unsettling hues of deep red and purple across the cold, stone floor.
The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, mingled with the faint, acrid odor of something undefinable. Rows of pews, crafted from blackened wood and adorned with sinister carvings, faced an altar that stood on a raised platform at the far end of the hall. The altar, made of the same grimstone as the exterior walls, was draped in tattered, dark velvet cloth and adorned with ancient, blood-stained relics.
Behind the altar lay the Throne of Skulls. A majestic yet terrifying work which was created by the hands of Arbious himself. The throne loomed ominously a chilling testament to the dark power that ruled within its walls. Forged from blackened iron and adorned with macabre embellishments, it stood as a grim symbol of authority and dominance.
The base of the throne was fashioned from twisted metal, wrought into grotesque shapes that seemed to writhe and twist with a life of their own. Jagged spikes protruded from its surroundings, gleaming faintly in the dim light of the cathedral, while chains dangled from its armrests, each link forged with intricate patterns of runes and sigils.
But it was the backrest of the throne that truly captured the attention of all who beheld it. Rising high above the seat, it was fashioned from a towering stack of bleached skulls, each one meticulously arranged to form a spine-chilling mosaic of death. Human skulls, their empty eye sockets staring out into the darkness, mingled with those of beasts and creatures long forgotten.
Hundreds had gathered within the cathedral, each clad in dark robes, chanting softly beneath their breaths. They swayed back and forth on the benches, their minds fractured from the torments they had endured. The flickering purple flames illuminated their hollow eyes, reflecting the broken remnants of their sanity. Their murmured incantations blended into a haunting symphony, filling the cathedral with an unsettling resonance.
Morgana entered the cathedral, her presence commanding immediate attention. Clad in a flowing cloak of midnight black, she moved with a grace that belied the malevolent power she wielded. Her piercing eyes, glowing faintly with an inner fire, swept over the gathered congregation, who immediately ceased their chanting and turned their gazes towards her.
As she walked down the central aisle, her footsteps echoed ominously against the cold stone floor. The eerie light from the purple flames cast shifting shadows on her face, highlighting the sharp angles and cold motives etched in her features. The congregation parted like a dark sea, creating a path for her as she approached the altar.
Morgana ascended the steps to the raised platform. She stood before the blood-stained altar, on which crystal-like shards were placed. Her hands raised high as a dark energy began to swirl around her. The very air seemed to hum with anticipation as the power within her reached out to the dark magic, drawing the energy into a swirling vortex of malevolence. The congregation, now on their knees, watched in awe and fear, knowing that their master was tapping into even greater power.
Dark magic swirled around Morgana, forming a vortex of shadowy tendrils that danced and writhed in the air. She watched the spectacle with a predatory smile, her eyes glinting with an unholy light. With a fluid grace, she moved her hands through the swirling energy, as if playing with the very essence of darkness itself.
Each subtle gesture she made caused the magic to respond, shifting and coiling around her like a living entity. She twirled her fingers, and the tendrils spun into intricate patterns, reflecting her mastery over the arcane forces. With a slight tilt of her head and a sweep of her arm, the vortex expanded, filling the cathedral with an oppressive aura that made the air crackle with raw power.
The congregation watched in reverent silence, captivated by Morgana's display of dominion. Her movements were hypnotic, a dark dance that seemed both deliberate and spontaneous, as if she was communing with the magic on an intimate level. The energy responded to her every whim, a tangible manifestation of her will, enveloping her in a cloak of pure darkness.
A hooded figure, and high-ranking member of the demon cult, approached Morgana with a sense of urgency. Bowing deeply before her, he spoke in a voice filled with reverence and zeal, "Lady Morgana, I bring news of our plans for the town of Grecht."
Morgana ceased her ritual and turned her gaze towards the cultist, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Speak," she commanded, her voice carrying the weight of her authority.
The cultist straightened, his hood falling back to reveal a scorched face marked by devotion and a hint of fear. "Our forces are prepared to lay siege to Grecht," he began, "We have deployed our explosives and chemicals in the town. Their governor will be of assistance to us after all. Thanks to Lord Yosef, every task at hand has been cleared."
While the cultist spoke, Morgana settled herself atop her throne. The messenger gulped as the voices of the damned seemed to whisper. Each and every skull, was imbued with magic to host and entrap hundreds of souls within them. For one to sit atop a throne such as this would require immense mental fortification, for the calls of the damned would drive anyone into madness.
Morgana was the only one who had managed to briefly sit atop its grandeur. Her mental fortitude, though formidable, was insufficient to claim the throne for extended periods. Yet, this only highlighted her own powers, as she could wield Arbious's magical creations, even if only for a short time.
Morgana's cold and narrowed eyes bore into the messenger, her disinterest palpable in the air that surrounded her. "It is not yet time for us to make our move," she declared, her voice devoid of emotion. "Have our forces await further orders. That will be all."
The messenger bowed deeply, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow as he acknowledged her command. "As you wish, Lady Morgana," he replied, his voice trembling slightly. "However, while we have prepared our forces my lady, it appears that a third party has entered the fray. We have received word that the hero Samille, and her regiment have arrived at Grecht. Furthermore, a large military force carrying the flags of the Holy Empire approaches Grecht. Their numbers appear to be seven thousand strong in all, with trebuchets and other siege weapons in their arsenal."
"Is it possible that they are preparing to siege Grecht itself?" Morgana questioned to herself as she leaned in with interest, her eyes gleaming with her sinister plots. "No... a force that large would certainly result in diplomatic tensions and even war with Octavia. If they were to declare war, a measly seven thousand soldiers would not be enough to get far..."
The voices of the damned echoed through the Black Cathedral, dark energies began to swirl around Morgana as she attempted to find an answer. "Yes... If Lucious's forces are making a move, then they have finally put away their differences... They must be trying to stop me at any cost."
At the far end of the cathedral, dark energies began to twist and swirl. Morgana's eyes narrowed with curiosity as she leaned back in her throne, exuding a commanding and menacing presence. Her smooth black hair cascaded down her back, glowing under the purple hues cast from the stained glass above. With a resolute tone, she dismissed her messenger, who struggled to maintain his composure.
The darkness took form, and from the shadows emerged Arbious. His presence immediately commanded attention from everyone present. The cultists, lost in their prayers, turned their focus to him, whose dark and sinister energies far surpassed Morgana's. Where her darkness was black, his was the void, an endless abyss that consumed their courage and left them speechless.
Dread coursed through Morgana's veins as she sprang from her throne. Her movements were precise, resembling a sinister dance of martial arts. Red lightning crackled and arched around her fingertips, intensifying as she aimed for Arbious. With a deafening roar, two powerful bolts of lightning shot from her hands through the Black Church.
Arbious stood calmly amidst the crackling energy, his gaze unwavering. The lightning struck him with full force, enveloping him in a blinding cascade of light.
When the lightning subsided, Arbious remained unscathed, his form untouched by the devastating power. Smoke wisped off his robes where the lightning had struck, dissipating into the air. His eyes glinted with amusement as he set his eyes on Morgana, who stared in disbelief. She gritted her teeth with frustration. The sight of Arbious emerging unharmed from one of her strongest spell's fueled her anger.
Without a word, his footsteps echoed through the cathedral, each step amplifying his overwhelming aura. Even Morgana dared not speak. In an attempt to appear competent, she reclaimed her place atop her throne.
Arbious had always been powerful, but with each encounter, his strength seemed to grow. His cold, glaring blood-red eyes held Morgana in place, his face shrouded in shadows that defied the light. He now wore a slightly different robe—grander and more elaborate than the last—stretching behind him, adorned with even more intricate runic symbols that Morgana did not recognize. As he reached her throne, he looked up at her, his expression devoid of emotion or sympathy for the woman who had done everything to earn his respect.
"My... Lord." Morgana began, her voice cracking under the intense pressure. "What has brought you here?"
"I take it you're trying to retrieve your necklace?" Arbious questioned, his eyes turning to the gathered forces around him like moths to a flame. "And these are your retinue? The ones you used to burn down Himli?"
Arbious's voice did not sound favorable to Morgana. He had come to her already agitated, the reason for which she was yet unsure of. "Yes, your Highness. These are followers of our faith, the ones who have pledged their lives to your cause." Morgana replied diligently, her voice trembling slightly.
Arbious's expression remained unimpressed, his tone dripping with disdain. "Lucious's forces. Will you be capable of dealing with them?"
"We are quite outnumbered in that regard," Morgana admitted.
"So it's a no?" Arbious pressed, his eyes narrowing.
"Not necessarily," Morgana urgently replied. "I will personally participate to ensure all tasks are completed without error."
"That is certainly good to hear," Arbious responded, climbing the steps that led to the throne.
Morgana instinctively stood from her seat, moving to the side to allow Arbious to claim his place atop its grandeur. She bent her knee before her master, her eyes only daring to look at him upon his command.
The throne, and the damned souls trapped within it, resisted Morgana with every ounce of their spectral strength. Each time she sought to claim it, the skulls would torment her relentlessly, until she was forced to relinquish her hold. Yet when Arbious ascended to its dark glory, the whispers fell silent completely, as if his oppressive presence had cowed the hundreds of thousands of souls into submission. To Arbious, this dominance came effortlessly, his intense aura driving Morgana to new heights of frustration without him even realizing it.
Seeing his discontent only fueled Morgana's resolve. She couldn’t stand the sight of his frustration, and the expression in his eyes was unlike anything she had seen before.
"My lord, if you dislike what we are doing, please inform me here and now so I may make amends to our mission."
"The mission is irrelevant."
"But master..."
"Do you think I do not realize your deception, Morgana?" Arbious asked, a sinful smirk on his face that chilled Morgana's resolve. "You believe with the Harmonic Crystal, you could be an equal to me. Isn't that right?"
Morgana's throat tightened, her strength faltering.
"You can certainly try," Arbious continued, his voice cold and mocking. "I don't forbid it, nor do I believe you capable of wielding such power."
"But why..." Morgana questioned, her gaze fixed on the ground, unable to meet his eyes. "Why must you say such things?"
"Because it's the truth," Arbious replied, his tone final and unyielding. "You were never meant to be an equal to me. Do you understand, woman?"
Morgana struggled to maintain her composure, her mind racing as she knelt before Arbious. The cathedral seemed to darken further, as if responding to his oppressive presence.
"You know, Morgana," Arbious began, his voice echoing through the grand hall, "ambition is not inherently a flaw. However, when it blinds one to their own limitations, it becomes a fatal weakness."
Morgana forced herself to look up, meeting his blood-red eyes. "I only wish to serve you, my lord. Everything I do is for your glory."
Arbious's expression softened slightly, though it remained devoid of warmth. "Is that so? Then why do I sense such a desperate need for power in you? Why do you seek the Harmonic Crystal?"
"The crystal," Morgana stammered, "is a tool to strengthen our forces. With its power, we could bring even greater glory to your name."
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"Do not lie to me!" Arbious snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. "You desire the crystal for yourself, to challenge my supremacy."
At the moment when Arbious's thunderous sound echoed through the cathedral, Morgana's heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing her fear. "I... I would never dream of defying you, my lord."
Arbious rose from the throne, his form towering over her. "Dreams and ambitions can be dangerous. I will allow you to pursue the crystal, but know this: should you ever use it against me, your fate will be worse than death."
Morgana shivered, the gravity of his words sinking in. "I understand, my lord. I will not fail you."
"Good," Arbious said, his voice returning to a calm, chilling tone. "Now, rise. We have much to discuss."
Morgana stood, trying to steady herself. "What is your will, my lord?"
Arbious cleared his throat, as to not have his words mistaken. His eyes darted to those in the room, examining each and every one of them before he spoke. "I'm going to initiate the takeover of the Southern Empire soon."
"Why so early my lord?" Morgana questioned, a hint of surprise in her voice. "I was under the impression that the trials were not yet over."
"Huodin is dead." Arbious's words lingered, his eyes examining Morgana's cold face.
"Is that so..." Morgana spoke calculatingly and sarcastically. "How unfortunate for him... I'm sure his incompetent children are overjoyed."
"Well, his youngest isn't very enthusiastic... She's done everything in her power to stop me, which I find rather amusing." Arbious replied, sharing the same emotion as Morgana in his calculative voice.
Morgana smirked. "Seeing as to what one of the reports said about her, I had assumed she would've reach out to the Holy Empire by now. I'm quite astonished that they haven't reached back to aid her. It would be in their best interests to prevent the South from falling into your hands."
"She did attempt to reach out, however I unraveled her plot in its infancy. She is just like a bird trapped in a cage, but she's quite cunning and has a way with words, I'm sure you'd like her." Arbious grinned. "She even managed to talk me out of killing her once. It's quite refreshing watching her struggle as every path for her survival, other than mine, closes in on her."
Morgana's mind raced. How was a lone demi human capable of changing Arbious's mind from ending their life. Such a thing was not unheard of but was exceptionally rare. A realization struck Morgana that this Anna held something Arbious desired and used that knowledge to keep herself alive. In an attempt to figure out his motives, Morgana's curiosity made her question, "I do have to ask, why not just destroy the Southern Empire? Why occupy it?"
"Having the Southern Empire act as a faithful ally will help the ongoing war. What I want is to have the Demi Humans join our armies." Arbious began, his words carried with pride. "Once Anna hands over to me authority over the Empire, I will wage a war against the Dark Elves and that wretched greater spirit Plantina."
Morgana's knowledge of the greater spirits was quite lacking. What she had learnt was that the greater spirits were created to combat Arbious's growing powers during the first war. They were all incredibly powerful, with some even surpassing the powers of the arch angels. Ifrit's own powers were able to prevent Morgana from completely breaking Graybeard's mind, which spoke volumes to their strength.
When the subject came to dark elves, only one spirit came to mind: Greater Spirit of Nature, Plantina. A spirit known for her beauty, Plantina was a spirit who took form of a child like girl, with green hair and lavish skin. Her eyes were deep like the ocean itself, capable of captivating others at a glance. Regarded to as the strongest of the spirits, Plantina was a key factor in defeating Arbious's forces in his first war by using her incredible mastery of druid and nature magic to summon treants and countless other forces to defeat the demon ranks, and her aura of rejuvenation, prevented allied forces from falling in combat.
"Have the demi-humans join us? What a farcical joke. They would sooner die than serve us."
"They have no choice," Arbious responded coldly.
Morgana lashed out sarcastically. "An army of treasonous vermin will come for your throat, mark my words."
Arbious chuckled darkly, his gaze piercing as he met Morgana's defiant stare. "Let them come," he retorted with quiet confidence. "Those who dare challenge me will meet a fate worse than death. As for the demi-humans, they will learn to fear me, or they will be crushed beneath my heel."
"And if all of them were to defy you? Would you stand atop a nation of corpses?"
"I will if that's what it takes," Arbious replied coldly. "But I'm sure it will not come to that. In fact, I have arrangements in place for a smooth transition. I'd go so far as to say the demi-humans will welcome my arrival."
His tone was measured, almost casual, as if he already saw the future bending to his will. Morgana's expression darkened at his confidence, knowing the true extent of his ambitions and the ruthless determination that drove him.
"And what of those who resist?" Morgana shot back, her voice laced with challenge. "Will you simply charm them into submission?"
Arbious's smile was chilling. "Charm may not be the right word," he mused, his eyes gleaming with a hint of something dangerous.
Morgana's mind raced further, only to be interrupted by Arbious. "I did not come here to discuss my plans, but know that I have my own pieces in place. When I tell you that the transition will be smooth, I say so without a sliver of doubt."
Morgana had no comeback. Her entire thought process fell into disarray. A faint chuckle escaped her lips, yet she did not probe further into the matter. "So why have you come?"
"I want you to be present for the coronation day," Arbious started as he descended the steps of the throne, Morgana's eyes following him.
"Princess Anna will claim the throne if things go the way you see it," Morgana added. "Yet that leaves the question of how you will take power from her."
"She's already agreed to the transfer."
"And I'm needed because...?"
"A unified front."
This spoke volumes of Arbious's intent. He thoroughly understood his situation and what entailed if he were to go to war with the Dark Elves. Morgana's presence on the battlefield would be a valuable asset to his forces, which meant she would finally be able to serve Arbious with even greater devotion.
"I'll ensure everything is dealt with on my end," Morgana replied.
As Arbious prepared to leave, Morgana couldn't resist asking one last question. "I heard that you were to get engaged with her."
Arbious's preoccupied look shifted to Morgana. "What of it?"
"You can't," Morgana said, frustration edging her voice.
"And why is that?"
"The wretched demi-human girl is not fit to stand by your side."
Arbious chuckled, a cold, mirthless sound. "Oh, but she is rather adorable. It's worth the effort in my eyes. In the grand scheme of things, it's inconsequential. However, if I were to create the illusion that I cared for the demi-humans, what better way would there be to do so than to marry into their royal family?"
Morgana understood his intent, yet she couldn't help herself from speaking up. Her shoulders slumped with resignation as she remained silent, her eyes lowered.
Arbious's grin faded as he observed her reaction. "You, nor your people, nor anyone you come across, or anything that ties back to you, will bring harm to her. Is that understood?"
"Yes."
Arbious grabbed Morgana's neck forcefully, drawing her close. His eyes bore into hers, both of them remaining calm and calculating. "I don't tolerate disobedience. Your loyalty is paramount, and your emotions, irrelevant."
Morgana's eyes flickered with defiance. "I understand," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tension.
"You understand?" Arbious questioned, his voice dripping with condescension. "Good. Commit it to memory."
As he released his hold on her, Morgana felt strangely weakened. Her breath was rigid, her hands slightly trembling. "This jealousy of yours does not suit you. Carry yourself as a prideful being and do not lower yourself. If you wish to stand by my side, that is."
As he finished speaking, the air around him began to shimmer with an intense heat. Dark, black flames erupted from the ground in a perfect circle around him, their infernal glow casting eerie shadows on the walls of the chamber. The fire roared and crackled, growing higher and more intense, as if feeding on Arbious's presence.
Morgana watched in trepidation as the black flames enveloped Arbious completely. The heat was almost unbearable, and the air shimmered with the intensity of the inferno. Through the swirling black flames, Arbious's silhouette remained visible, standing without concern before the relentless flames. His eyes glowed with a fiery intensity, piercing through the dark blaze.
The flames swirled around him, forming a towering vortex of black fire that seemed to touch the ceiling. Sparks flew in every direction, and the air was filled with the scent of brimstone. With a deafening roar, the vortex reached its peak, and the entire chamber was bathed in an otherworldly, hellish light.
Then, with a sudden and violent implosion, the black flames collapsed inward, leaving nothing but a charred, smoldering mark on the floor where Arbious had stood. The heat dissipated, and the chamber fell silent, the oppressive presence of Arbious now gone.
As the last echoes of the infernal display faded, Morgana stood alone in the chamber, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The oppressive heat of Arbious's flames had left a tangible mark on the room, but the chill of his calculated ambition lingered even more profoundly in her bones. Her eyes were drawn to the charred mark on the floor where Arbious had stood, a stark reminder of the power he wielded and the distance she had yet to traverse to reach him. She clenched her fists, "Adorable," she muttered under her breath, mocking Arbious's words about Anna.
A twisted smile curled on her lips as she envisioned the challenges ahead. "If you think a mere human can sway your heart, you underestimate the loyalty and cunning of a true servant."
Sharp on her feet, Morgana turned to an awaiting cultist, his eyes wide with anticipation. Her voice, cold and commanding, cut through the lingering tension in the chamber.
"I will proceed with this ritual. Inform Lord Yosef that he is to take charge of our forces until my arrival."
The cultist nodded quickly, a mixture of fear and respect evident in his demeanor. Without a word, he hurried off to relay her orders. Morgana watched him go, her mind already shifting to the intricate details of the ritual she was about to undertake.
She approached the altar before her, brushing her hair aside to read the inscribed texts of the infernal scripture. The pages detailed intricate rituals, and her eyes gleamed as they settled on one known for its ability to strengthen the caster: Arindilion. This spell, capable of enhancing both soul and body, could only be used once by the caster on themselves. The spell demanded a multitude of unique materials, the most challenging being the raw, untapped power of hundreds of souls.
Morgana had only recently learned of this spell's existence, no thanks to Arbious. Every time she needed to leave, she had to cast a weaker version of this spell, Arindil. With this spell active, she could leave her cathedral for short periods of time. However, even that spell required tremendous magical energies and had to be recast. Arindilion, the higher form of the base spell, only needed to be cast once.
The crystals she had gathered, each entrapping human souls, were intended for this very purpose. The years of slaughter had not been a campaign of senseless chaos, but a calculated effort to acquire the necessary ingredients for the spell's activation.
Despite now possessing all the activation requirements, Morgana hesitated to proceed. The infernal scripture, notorious for its inaccuracies and sick tricks Arbious had woven into it when he first wrote it, made exploring its contents perilous without assurance. Even if the spell did not backfire, a simple failure would mean all the souls she had gathered would be wasted. Deciphering Arbious's true intentions and cunning always required a certain amount of luck. Often, the patterns within spells needed to be rearranged to ensure success, each adjustment carrying its own risks. If a spell backfired, it could severely injure the caster.
She steeled herself, bracing for the ritual. With a sacrificial dagger placed atop the altar, she slit the palm of her hand. Blood poured onto the altar, and the crystal shards began to imbue her blood into themselves. The shards glowed with an eerie red hue as they absorbed the blood. Once the crystals were prepared, Morgana's wound started to close, the dark magic at work sealing her flesh with a faint, malevolent scar.
She picked up the now-blood-infused crystal shards, feeling their dark power pulsate through her fingers. Holding them tightly, she began to chant in the native tongue of demon origin. With each slithering vowel, the air grew thick with power as the words echoed off the stone walls. The crystals responded, their glow intensifying until they radiated a sinister light. Shadows danced wildly, and the temperature in the room plummeted, her breath visible in the frigid air.
Morgana continued with the instructions, her focus sharp and unwavering. With a subtle gesture, she began rearranging the blood-drawn pentagram pattern atop the altar. The crimson liquid responded to her command, moving as if alive, tracing new lines and shapes under her precise direction.
With the final crystal fallen into place, the ritual prematurely activated. The force of the ritual sent out a wave of magic in the air, sending Morgana sprawling backward. She quickly regained her footing, her eyes locked on the altar, burning with anger. "Why must you serve to defy me on every notion! Bend to my will, you wretched humans!" Morgana's voice echoed through the chamber, dripping with fury and frustration.
The altar pulsed with an unearthly light, the blood-drawn pentagram glowing with a malevolent intensity. The magic in the air crackled and hissed, resisting her control. The very forces she sought to command seemed to rebel against her, challenging her authority.
"You will obey me," she hissed, her voice a deadly whisper. "I will not be denied."
She approached the altar as the energies pushed her back, to no avail. The forces that struggled against her were no match against Morgana, a being capable of controlling the souls that were entrapped within the Throne of Skulls. She stood tall; her eyes gleaming with anger as she looked down at the blood-stained crystals. "If you will not obey me, then you will be destroyed!"
With a powerful strike from her fist, the crystals shattered, and from the shattered crystals, tendrils of dark magic began to weave through the air, coiling around her body. The energy seeped into her skin, filling her with a sensation of immense strength and power.
Morgana felt her muscles tighten and her senses sharpen. The dark magic coursed through her veins like liquid fire, enhancing her physical abilities far beyond their natural limits. Her wounds from the ritual sealed themselves completely, leaving no trace of the cut she had made.
Morgana stood marveled. The ritual had worked, and all it took was anger. That was the final catalyst for the spell.
The shadows around her seemed to respond to her presence, their movements more fluid and alive. Morgana could feel the power humming within her, an almost overwhelming force that she could command with but a thought. Her eyes glowed with a newfound intensity as she clenched her fists, feeling the raw strength at her disposal.
She took a step backward, and the very ground beneath her seemed to tremble in response. Morgana looked down at her hands, marveling at the transformation. She knew that this power came at a cost, for she was weaker against holy attacks. For the ability to leave the cathedral without drawbacks, this was a price she was more than willing to pay.
"I'll show him I'm worthy enough to stand by his side," she muttered to herself, a smirk forming on her lips.
Morgana turned to her forces who awaited at large. Her voice boomed through the cathedral. "You wretches and worms! The humans dare to stand against the wrath of our infernal master. Bend to your knees, and offer me the extent of your loyalties. Only then shall you have the honor of dying for me."
Morgana sat atop her throne as all the cultists bent to their knees. "Now go! Go and wreak havoc across the land in my name!"
The cultists rose from their submissive stance, their eyes burning with fervor and madness. With a unified roar, they turned and marched out of the cathedral, ready to unleash chaos upon the unsuspecting towns and villages. Morgana watched them leave, a sinister smile playing on her lips.
The cathedral was now empty, silent. Its grand halls devoid of the echoes of the tormented. The large pillars cast shadows across the hall ominously, while Morgana remained seated atop her throne. With the tranquil quiet she sought, she closed her eyes, leaning back in her throne, delving into a state of deep, dark meditation, preparing herself for what was yet to come.