Glyphimhor sat on the upper reaches of Everlost and looked out over Oblivion’s End. The soul storms continued to rage across the wasteland of bone dust. A leaning tower of a city long buried the wastes due to the long corruption of it’s leader pierced out like the finger of a dying god. The clouds of black and red swirled above in the ever raging storms of the Abyss.
Glyphimhor watched them come. A half dozen figures, mortals, walked across a land of a hundred billion souls, as though it meant nothing to them. They had defeated the Bonegougés, but that had been expected. The Tarrasque, though. Glyphimhor would not have thought that possible at all. He had watched that beast swallow an army of devils in less than an hour. Now it lay buried under the sands for another thousand years until the corrupt earth rebuilt it.
If that corrupt earth still existed at all.
Below, in the nearly empty chambers of Everlost, his master set about his final preparations for his most ambitious plan. A plan none of them could ever walk away from. He fueled a beast of utter destruction with the corrupted and insane soul of his most powerful high priest.
His master had given Glyphimhor the last order he would ever give him. “It matters not,” said Orcus to him. “Whatever end finds us will happen within the next two days.”
Sentimental words from a creature Glyphimhor had seen devour an entire city of mortals over the course of an evening. He couldn’t even wait for them to go through his slave pits and kitchens; he had them teleported right into his throne room so he could eat them all in front of the king who had broken a pact that should never have been made.
Glyphimhor turned and looked upon the Black Skull as it powered up, soul engines roaring to life as it prepared to depart in short few hours. It’s cargo was the most dangerous thing ever created by man, God, or primordial and it was headed deeper than any creature dared to go, to the Heart of the Abyss.
“Remind them what it means to cross the Prince of Undeath,” said Orcus to Glyphimhor. “Show them what the General of Thanatos is made of.”
I will do so, thought Glyphimhor.
To whatever end.