Dark Parasyte

Now that Ravathos had sated Corvin’s curiosity about the origin of the Elven schism, he inclined his head and murmured, "Surely, you intend to strike me now?"

Corvin let a measured smile spread across his lips, polite enough for an audience, cunning enough for a predator. Ravathos sensed the first and second spores the moment they latched. The old demon had sensed them but not their purpose. The third however he sent while he was weaving the tale of the Elven race and he did not even flinched let alone sense it. The difference between him and an old Archmagus was only two spores it seems. He sent the fourth and fifth after the third spore’s success.

Lightning roared in his mind as Ravathos’s dominant elemental affinity, acid hissed through as his secondary. Faint echoes of fire and metal flickered at the edges. Weak affinities, but enough to shape a fragment of the demon’s true self. Corvin also sifted through half of Ravathos’s treasured library of arcane tomes: forbidden rituals, planar records, and the demon’s secret musings on the mutable nature of power.

He found himself drowning in half the memories of this eighteen hundred year old demon. Life times of details on Nefrath, scattered memories from the birth of an Impling to the rise of an Dark soverign. He noticed there were three more Dark Soverigns and two Demon Lords underd Archdemon Korvath the Proud.

Corvin was aware of the stagnation period waiting him. There were only five Archmagus within the Synod. On Demon side, including Ravathos there were four. His need for more powerful targets was increasing with every siphon. He leaned forward, his smile widening as he processed the final strands of knowledge. "Tell me of Zarvoth, Gillmath, and Marvok, what you know of their strengths, weaknesses, and the fault lines that could rend their defenses," he murmured, voice silk over steel.

Ravathos’s mind churned. He did not shrink in fear but in calculation. If Korvath could be convinced that the assaults on the other Dark Sovereigns were orchestrated by rival Archdemons, Nefrath would erupt in chaos. An upheaval Ravathos could manipulate to his profit. At last he spoke, each word measured. "Zarvoth commands brimstone warbands across the Molten March, unyielding, but his pride blinds him to subtle incursions. Gillmoth weaves metal snares in the Obsidian Halls, he trusts no one, does not even have guards near his spire. Marvok’s ironbound fortress stands resolute on the Shattered Spire, yet fissures in his loyalty run deeper than his ramparts. Only thing deeper then these fissures are his hate for little old me. Use these fractures well shadow spawn."

--

Corvin started planning on using those fault lines. Cloaked in shadows, he emerged into the blistering heat of the Molten March’s warfront. Zarvoth the Crimson’s brimstone legions arrayed like a river of fire. He used Ice and Lightning to deal with most of legions.

Before striking, Corvin tested Zarvoth’s awareness to his spores. The Dark Sovereign’s senses remained unmoved, a confirmation Corvin welcomed. Then, in the blink of an eye, he ruptured reality’s seams: shadow tendrils unfurled, lightning surged, and a storm of telekinetic shards pummeled the brimstone ranks. Acid lances flew through the air, synchronized with psychic strikes that crippled Zarvoth’s defenses. Five siphons later, each harvesting ten percent of Zarvoth’s martial expertise, affinities, memories and memories worth of centuries, Corvin locked onto the Crimson lord’s throat. With a final telekinetic grasp, he rent Zarvoth’s essence from bone to mind. While the demons below the spire was unaware of their leader’s demise, Corvin got a pleasent surprise with the affinities of this model citizen of Nefrath after absorbing it’s body. His Space affinity leapt to C-, gifted by Zarvoth, posion and wind moved to S+.