A carrion swarm had descended upon the desecrated ground by the time he had woken from his trance. In his wake stood withering flora, and the tenebrous scent of decay still lingered in the air. Cloaked bodies riddled the floor around him, and the pools of blood beneath had begun to sate the thirst of the soil. As he made his way toward his scythe, his footfalls singed the earth with a hiss. Never again would his path be untainted, but that was a price he was willing to pay. He found his scythe in the same place he last remembered losing consciousness, lodged in the chest of the final shadow high priest he had remembered slaying. The obsidian blade had run through the priest completely, embedding itself into the stone construct behind his lifeless corpse. With a stern grunt, he dislodged his weapon from stone and flesh, and swung it over his shoulder. It grows heavier the more blood it spills. Torment seethed with malice, and the runes glowing along its snath emanated a murderous aura. In ancient books it was said the scythe was called the Herald Of Fallen Stars, for it was known that those who wield it soon fall from grace. This did not dissuade him from making the blade his own.

Dawn was nearing its breaking point. He stalked towards the alter, ignoring the monolithic stone serpent with its eyes glowing red in the rising light. Those eyes have witnessed my sin, but before my time is done they shall see me turn this wretched land to cinders. In front of him a fountain stood, overflowing with malignant liquids. At its base sat a dark chalice. The scorched red crystals embedded into the cup seemed to scream heresy. He lifted the chalice and dipped it in the fountain, only stopping once the cup was full. Then he drank, allowing no drop to go wasted. A sharp pain struck his left arm, and before his eyes he witnessed it begin to steam, then catch fire. In a searing blaze, a single ring of fire bloomed and surrounded his forearm in flames. Through the initial pain he found himself empowered. The fire did not subside, nor would it ever, so long as he still breathed. He looked at his arm with a sense of malevolent triumph, and a cruel grin crept across his face. This marks the beginning of my ascension, and those who stand in my way shall know nothing but blood and agony.