<h2> </h2>


    <h2>ELEVENTH INTERLUDE - ENVY</h2>


    Not too long after his journey outside MagnaThora, Malinor was spit back out into the wastes of the Soutlands. He punched the ground in pure outrage. He was furious and worst, he had no idea how to stop getting so mad.


    He now knew the truth. The sadness to it all. He resented every last fiber of this life. He looked around and felt mad. He felt as if it was all wrong and he needed to do something about it. Something sadistic.


    He needed to show them. He needed to show all of them. This was the only way. They would never listen otherwise. They would stay here like cattle. Not knowing what else was out there, pulling the strings. All the while waging war on themselves to keep distracted. Well, Malinor would speak to them in a language they would understand.


    He would bring the old ways down. He would topple and overthrow. Malinor wanted to bring the old world to its knees and have it bow down to a new order, one of his own. Malinor knew this all sounded mad but it was necessary. He was not crazy, he was just the harbinger of MagnaThora’s apocalypse.


    Since his rebirth started in the South, he decided to first revisit his old friends, his captor and his torturer. If he remembered correctly they had made a deal. For Malinor, holding onto his past life was like holding onto a needle while dangling off a cliff. It took everything he had. Because for now, he needed his past life. The connections he had made through his trials and tribulations would be essential for his plans to succeed.


    Yes, it was all coming together for him now. He could see how the world moves and how his hand would guide it. First he will need an army and then he will need a target and he could think of no better one than the Pride. He new firsthand that the city of Port Caliber was vulnerable. That was his way in. Once he sacked Caliber and destroyed Zepathorum, knocking the Lion Kingdom off the board, he would take out the rest of MagnaThora. The Arkernoirs had old power. One of the last of the founding tribes. Them and the Callisters in the Woodlands would be Malinor’s largest threats.


    One by one he brought the commanders of the Dragon Kingdom under his heel. Zorrowfold and Spangalore were easy, and after that, and their confirming his audience with Dracobra the dragon god itself, his seal as the Exhalted One was official. Malinor was given the full resources of the South; what little they had left after ages of persecution for their warcrimes. They wanted to call him Dragon Emperor, and The Returned. But he would not let them. He knew his own limitations and where he sought out more power. He put the vanity mask on and told his followers to hail him as the Dark Lord of all things, right now the South, but soon to be Greater MagnaThora, and eventually, the rest of the world.


    His final stop was back in Crucifire Plains. He sat at that same tavern without his mask, without his cloak, without his armor, without his titles, a plain looking man. He had himself a drink. The first one in a long time.


    Malinor remembered back when he was sitting in this very same establishment, utterly lost and without purpose. Now he was overwhelmed with the stuff. He took everything he had to keep his demons at bay and stop from leveling this place, this dump, this sorry excuse for a tavern.


    Malinor was here for a reason other than nostalgia. He had another drink. One of curry. One of hops. And then left for the night. When he exited the tavern he ran into a familiar face. It was the man who had originally hired him to journey south for the wall.


    “I heard you were back,” said Crooms.


    “I am.”


    “And what did you find?” asked Crooms.


    “An entire world more terrifying than you all imagined.”


    “You must come with me at once,” he commanded Malinor, “My employer is expecting us.”


    “By all means,” Malinor said, “We must not keep your master waiting.”If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Crooms did a double take at that. Changing employer to master was an odd slip of the tongue. Crooms shook it off. They took a carriage into the heart of Crucifire Plains, to the Golden District. It was called that because every building, street and permanent fixture was covered in gold. Malinor was being brought to one of the most infamous warlords in Crucifire Plains. Crooms took him deep into the headquarters of the Golden City Syndicate, to meet his employer Warlord Sherman Cassius.


    “What do you have for me?” Warlord Cassius asked, sitting at a desk, turned away towards the window, with his elbows on the armchairs, hands together in front of his face, fingers interlocked.


    Malinor sat down in the chair across from the Warlord at the long table. On the other side of the table from him sat all of the Warlord’s lietenants and officers. Most of them were glaring at Malinor as if he was going to try something. He sat there, relaxed. Not giving away his intention until he spoke.


    “I think the question is, what do you have for me?” asked Malinor.


    Everyone on the Warlord’s side of the room held their breath until he laughed, and then they exhaled.


    “What you found must really be that good to imbue you with such confidence.”


    “You have no idea. I did not just breach the Southern Gates, I explored past the boundaries of Greater MagnaThora. And what I found would tear your mind apart, it nearly did my own. You ask me what I have brought you? I now control the combined host of the Southlands and the Dragon Kingdom.” Malinor stood up.


    Every guard, lieutenant, and officer in the room armed themselves and got ready to fight. All except for Cassius who watched him. Malinor did not take out a weapon, but his vanity mask. When he put it on, a dark cloaked appeared on his back. It was there the entire time just invisible to the naked eye. His voice changed as he spoke through the mask. It was deeper, darker.


    “I am going to wage war against MagnaThora. You are the only one who will get a choice. Are you with me or against me?” the Dark Lord asked.


    The guards in the room moved on him. Without flinching, Malinor raised his hands and created black daggers out of thin air, one for each guard. They all flung at a specific target and dropped them. The guards were dead. Then, very quickly, all at once, Malinor made another batch of dark daggers that shot out and pinned the rest of the people in the room to the walls. Everyone except for Cassius, who was now standing, facing the Dark Lord and trembling.


    “What the hell are you?” Cassius asked.


    Malinor smiled from under the vanity mask. He made a fist with his hand that was already sticking out and turned it. The desk inbetween them flew out of the way and exploded into a million pieces. Warlord Cassius wasted little time after that showing of strength. He knelt down before the Dark Lord.


    Malinor put his hand in front of Cassius’ head, now at the same level. He extended his fingertips to indicate possession.


    “That’s better.”


    “As you wish… my lord,” said Warlord Cassius reluctantly.


    “I will require two thousand troops along with a fleet to sail my army to the North.”


    “I have no ships, my lord.”


    “No, but you have the money to buy them. Relax, Sherman, all you care about is money and so you will keep enough to maintain your luxurious lifestyle. I do not wish to take everything from you. For now, you can keep your little empire here in the city as long as you can support my endeavors financially. When the time comes, I will call on you to attack the Pride from the Southeast as I do so from the Northwest.”


    “I have tricks, my lord.”


    “Excuse me?”


    “Catapults… I can provide you support with modern warfare.”


    “Yes, bring everything you can muster. I fear the royal family will not go down without a fight. For that, I have something else in store. We will attack them on all fronts. And when we raize the North to the ground we will use it as a foundation to take the rest of MagnaThora.”


    Warlord Cassius could not believe his ears. Could this really be what he was waiting for? At the end of all this he might be finding himself sitting atop the golden center of Crucifire Plains, lord of the city, like he always wanted. The warlord smirked and raised his hands up over his head from his postrated position in reverance.


    “Praise the Dark Lord and his coming. Long have I awaited this day, a chance to meet a herald of the south, of the gods.”


    “Not just the gods,” Malinor corrected.


    “Then what?” asked Cassius.


    “I am the great arbiter of change. I am herald to the end.”