"Summon your Supremes Mordostophales. I will give them my commands."
His tone was absolute as he ordered the Luminarch of War to do his bidding as he would any other.
The three Luminarch thrones shifted, once again facing their supreme.
Mordostophales scoffed.
"As you wish. Little brother."
Christophales looked down upon him impassionately.
His gaze lingering on him for a moment.
Mordostophales smirked defiantly, staring back at him.
Taking his time.
Truth be told, he did not like being ordered around.
By anyone.
Not his father, not even his 'holier than thou' younger brother.
The sight of Kaspian had riled him up, his blood had slowly started to broil as he had stood over him.
His body—hot.
He was itching to get back to his corridor of the citadel.
Back to his playthings.
Christophales tone had done nothing but agitate him.
Inciting his notorious sadistic bloodlust.
It was at times like these he felt he could beat brother to a bloody pulp.
Ah, but Mordostophles knew better.
Christophales would not kill him, but his brother would not hesitate to burn him to a crisp and he could do nothing but take it and be bathed in holy fire.
He was stronger than all of them and he was not afraid of Mordostophales who was bigger and older than him.
"You would do well not to piss off Christophales brother. His Holiness's temperament has been rather… hot, lately."
Eristophales sat with one leg over the other, his chin resting lazily in his palm.
His eyes gleamed with amusement.
Fighting the urge to laugh, he leaned over and pointed towards Mordostophales shoulder.
He seemed to have already caught fire.
Tch!
Mordostophales smacked his lips.
Pinching the small golden flame consuming his shoulder between two thick fingers, he extinguished it with a hiss.
He looked up at Christophales ruefully.
"Your fire may burn brighter brother."
He activated his Sanctified Wrath Sigil and summoned the generals of his four armies to the citadel.
They would arrive shortly.
His presence was no longer needed.
Sighing, he cracked his neck to one side, then the other.
He gripped the sides of his throne angrily as he stood up, sending cracks through it.
"But my fist's will always be heavier."
He began to walk towards the chamber doors.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber behind him.
He stopped before the massive chamber doors opening slowly before him.
"Do not disturb me anymore tonight. You will pay with your lives."
And he left, returning to his room—his throne, dematerializing.
"Quite the fickle one, isn't he?"
Eristophales smirked faintly.
"Hmmph."
He shrugged, Mordostophales' volatile behavior was typical of him.
It couldn't be helped.
"So?"
Vehylstophales pressed.
He sat perfectly upright upon his throne — his posture unnervingly precise.
His features were sharp, untouched by age.
Behind his spectacles, his pale eyes were glass-clear, calculating, without warmth or cruelty… merely function.
He could care less for his brother's tantrums, he wanted to engage the root of the problem, and he wanted order.
He needed it.
It was his nature.
"We have strayed from the issue."
He leaned forward slightly.
"The culprit is in the Horrormaw Expanse."
The eyes of both Luminarchs widened in minor surprise.
"The Expanse?"
Christophales nodded his head.
"Has a new Bloodlord risen?"
Vehylstophales continued thoughtfully.
"Surely if this "Dark Lord," is no demon, then this must be the work of a gluttonous Bloodfiend who has evolved beyond its blasphemous lesser form?"
Vehylstophales extrapolated, stroking his chin slowly .
The fact he couldn't come to answer on his own irked him deeply.
He managed to witness the explosion, but his vision did not encompass the entire domain.
His senses could only cover half the domain at best.
If there was a threat that was hidden extremely well in the Theocracy, he wasn't sure he'd be able to locate it with ease.
Let alone outside of it.
He looked towards Eristophales in a shallow attempt to hide his own ignorance.
"How many years has it been since the last Bloodlord, Eris? Since we have vanquished the Skinwalker, Snarl the Insidious?"
"Two hundred eighty years brother."
He replied lazily waving a dismissive hand.
"Evil comes in all shapes and sizes Vehylstophales…but a new Bloodlord has not risen."
Vehylstophales exhaled through his nose.
"I see, then it must be a wizard," he muttered, "One proficient in the Dark Arts?"
"Perhaps…
A Death Wizard."
Christophales responded suggestively.
"How boring…"
Eristophales drawled, he lives for chaos.
A death wizard was a rather easy explanation for all that has transpired.
Predictable. Temporary.
Sure, the wizard may be a formidable one, but he would die all the same.
As always, with their neck crushed under the Theocracy's iron boot.
"Yes…Yes. Yes. That would make the most sense brother. You are wise beyond your years. How did you conclude this? As you said, the threat is not within the Theocracy's lands."
"And you classify this, "Dark lord," as a threat? yes?"
Christophales inclined his head once again.
"You surprise me brother. A threat to who exactly?"
Vehylstophales was relentless as always.
Truly he could be insufferable once he pegged something worth his understanding.
Eristophales rolled his eyes.
But he couldn't tell If Christophales found his insatiable curiosity offensive—He just looked at him, impassionately.
"Two days ago, I detected a triple-S God-Tier rank energy signature released beyond the Theocracy's northern boundaries," Christophales said calmly, his voice echoing faintly off the marble chamber walls.
"Its origin… near the center of the Expanse."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
In between his forefinger and thumb manifested a small blackened fragment of flesh.
Twisted, shriveled and burned—under its surface the flesh rippled and throbbed—pulsing with the blightful aura of decay and corrosion.
Eristophales' breath caught.
His eyes widened in horror as recognition struck him like a blade.
"…The sigil…" he whispered.
His arm lifted on instinct, trembling as he pointed, remembering the fear he felt.
"This is the same corruption… the same mark spoken of by the sentinels…"
Vehylstophales stiffened.
For the first time in decades— no, centuries— his body reacted before his mind did.
A slight flinch.
Sharp.
Unconscious.
A rare, undeniable flicker of fear crossed his expression as realization settled in.
"So the hysteria was not an exaggeration…" he murmured darkly.
"The affliction… the madness… the High sentinel Silvyrin and Sentinel Kaspian spoke truth."
Christophales said nothing.
His gaze remained locked on the pulsing flesh, unreadable.
He was not repulsed, not awed...
His gaze was one of disdain and caution.
"This," he spoke at last, his voice cold, and quiet.
"…is merely but a fraction of the death-wizard's power."
The fragment trembled between his fingers as its blight intensified, resisting his holy presence like a parasite clinging to life.
His eyes narrowed.
Then—
Fwoosh!
A thin, golden flame ignited from his fingertips engulfing it.
The blighted flesh writhed once… twice…
Releasing a faint, shrill hiss like a dying insect…
And then ceased to exist.
Not burned.
Erased.
Christophales lowered his hand.
The chamber remained silent.
"You now understand," he said.
His brothers nodded solemnly in agreement.
"Nonetheless," Christophales said, his voice low but absolute.
"We will double the number of Sentinels and Holy Mages within and around the capital. Security will be reinforced from the inner sanctums of the Holy Citadel…through the outer wards and public districts..."
"Furthermore," he continued,
"Sentinel forces along the borders of the Horrowmaw Expanse will be reinforced. Not only the Perfidial frontier—but the outskirts… and every surrounding thoroughfare that leads to the capital."
He paused.
"And saints, Anointed Physicians, and priests will be dispatched among the populace. Faith must be fortified before fear can take root brothers."
The chamber doors trembled.
A deep, sonorous hum vibrated through the sanctum floor.
Then—
They opened.
Not with a creak.
Not with resistance.
But as if the Citadel itself recognized them.
Four towering figures stepped through the radiant threshold.
The Supremes.
The thrones of the two Luminarchs subtly shifted, realigning at once, turning to face them.
Christophales sat back.
Unmoved.
Ready to give his commands.