Dark Parasyte

While Corvin was working deep beneath Raven’s Nest on a new virutic strain meant to elevate both living and undead to Magus and potentially Archmagus levels, the rest of Verthalis churned with its own tremors. Far beyond the South of Argyll, past the mist veiled Sea of Duskwell Reach, across the heart of the Veilborn Expanse, a vast and storm riddled ocean bordered by Thalasien to the northeast, Argyll to the northwest, Nefrath to the southwest, and Savaryn to the southeast, was the ancient fortress of the Void Expanse, the seat of the Circle of Arbiters. There, power spoke and judgment echoed across continents.

The chamber itself was cavernous, lined in stone and rimmed with obsidian balconies, pulsing faintly with arcane resonance. Suspended above the round table of judgment, a swirling globe of Verthalis rotated slowly, crackling with tiny veins of energy that marked recent political or magical upheavals. Today, the North of Argyll and Nefrath glowed with crimson heat.

Malzarek, the demon arbiter, looked weary for the first time in decades. His immense shoulders sagged ever so slightly. His crimson eyes, which once burned like coals, flickered dimly. The toll of Nefrath’s internal war had found even him.

Gareth, the human arbiter was unmoved. His posture was straight backed and soldierly. Gray streaks marked his temples, but his expression was cold and resolute. A long scar cut across his cheek like a claw’s signature, an old wound from the wars with Feralis decades ago.

Solen Vaen’Thal, arbiter of the Elves, lounged like a king in leisure. His robes were immaculate, woven with moon thread sigils. His long silver hair was pulled into a simple braid, and his luminous eyes sparkled with mockery.

Vhyra Scaledclaw, Dragonkin of Feralis and voice of the wild Savaryn, reclined in her seat. Her scales shimmered with shifting hues of deep azure under the mage lights of the chamber. Twin frilled horns arched back from her skull, wrapped with golden cords bearing the etched names of her ancestors. Her long tail flicked lazily under the table, and her clawed fingers occasionally drummed a slow, pleased rhythm on the table’s edge.

Malzarek’s voice, gravel and fire, cut the silence. "Korvath the Proud has slain Velkoth. North of Nefrath is now a crater of burning ash and crumbling strongholds. The surviving hordes scatter, the other Archdemons send their vultures. It is chaos."

Solen arched a brow, smirking. "Ah, Hell eating its own again. Comforting, really. You are nothing if not predictable."

Gareth didn’t react. "Holy Verrenate has fallen," he said, cold and clipped.

A pause.

Then, the grin spreading across Vhyra’s elongated snout said more than words. Her golden pupils narrowed in delight, and her scaled chest rumbled with satisfaction.