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[Deacon Drake]

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It seemed like the middle of nowhere. It was in fact amongst buildings, but the eternal tearing blizzard made it impossible to see them. All he could see was white... white snow, white air, white sky.

White is such a dull color...

Steel stood firm on the ground, and reached a hand forth. In his mind, he prayed. He watched the white snow before him toss about, and waited. And waited.

And waited.

This is not a mutual faith. I have served you for long enough. It is time I take my place. It is time I am put where I belong.

The blizzard seemed to part before him, and he grinned.

Yes... that's it. Make me your champion, my lord...

The snow on the ground shifted slightly, and a black stone spire began to lift from the ground.

Make me your king.

A violent blast erupted from the spire. Stone and rubble shot in all directions, and the snow began to uncover several massive forms rising from the snow.

Giant black spires jutted from the ground, encircling a massive, obsidian monolith. Black stone stairs rose to the top, meeting the front of the all-too-familiar altar. Steel walked up the stairs, admiring the sight. Etched in the floor atop the monolith, the giant symbol of anarchy and antivirtue - the infamous Chaos cross - glowed an eerie red. An ankh stood behind the symbol, cracked along the middle, black blood seeping from it.

Yes, my lord... finally you come to me. Finally you realize the truth... there is no escaping me. I bring you forth to serve me.

The ankh exploded in a flash of red light, and Steel was sent into the air from the monolith. He landed hard on his back, thanking the snow for being there to cushion his fall. His mind exploded in a deafening scream of rage, as the familiar deep, monstrous voice bellowed into his mind.

I'll give you what you want, slave, but in return you will give me what you've promised me. Don't ever forget who serves whom. You are my servent, Skye, and always shall you be.

"No, my lord..." Steel muttered, standing up. He made his way slowly back up the stairs, his sight still fixed on the ankh. "Not anymore. I've come too far to allow myself to be your slave anymore. No... tonight, I leave my loyalty to you behind."

Traitor... you belong to me!

With a smirk, Steel pulled out his kryss. Above the sigil of Chaos, it glowed a bright, blinding red. "No, my lord... I am you." With all his strength he drove the kryss into the sigil. The handle became hot in his hand, burning his flesh, but he held firm.

Suddenly, the shrine of Chaos fell silent. Steel looked around for a moment, and finally grinned when he realized his victory. He had defeated the one entity who stood in his way. At long last, his path lay clear, and his sight was set on only one goal.

This is where the spell would take place.

Without a second thought he slipped his kryss back into its scabbard and walked down the steps of the shrine. Without looking back, he cursed the bitter cold around him.

A cold hang grabbed his arm. He tried to turn around but something kept him from moving... something in the ice cold hand that gripped his arm, controlling his movements. Fear gripped him, and he suddenly felt an intense burning radiating from the being's palm. With a violent jerk the being shoved its face over Steel's shoulder and whispered harshly: "This world is mine... the people in it are yours. Our faith shall once again be mutual." The hand gripped tighter, and Steel could feel his already lifeless arm beginning to crack under the pressure. "If you ever betray me again I will leave you as I found you, a soulless, lifeless, crippled carcass."

When the hand removed itself, Steel looked down at his arm. The burning sensation had left a large brand on his arm: the Chaos cross. He was now tied to his fate, bonded to his path of life. In the end, he would fulfill his destiny.

Steel nodded briskly and grinned. The Fate was finally restored to the proper hands.
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[img]http://askcorran.com/lonegamer/abomsig.PNG[/img]

[a wandering stranger]

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Watching from a distant cliff...

A being stood up firm and still as the gusting blizzard winds whirled over and around him. Any normal man would perish under such conditions, but this place was obviously not meant for any normal man...

...or mortals.

Kneeling down, the being gazed off into the distance as the scene took place from far away. The rising of the spires, the obelisks, and even the lone humanoid whom acted alone against such conditions to do what he felt must be done. This being had observed it all, but felt no emotion. Its body was being used to watch what had taken place, by the soul of the sword.

While harboring the soul, the poor host's body began to shift and change as the soul used its sight. Slowly, demonic horns would peel up from its skin as the eyes faded from a milky white, to a dark radiating blackness. It had no pupils which gave sign to humanity, and what remained which should have been were only faint outlines.

As he scene ended, the soul began to return to the host's sword from whichst it came. The sword in his hand glowed red once more, and the booming demonic voice rang a mental note inside its wielder on the cliffside.

"This one is too strong. I must find another from whom which I may make my plans. I, Zyron, must rise again... "

Having left the host, and the demon's soul returned to its proper blade, the being sheathed its blade and headed back out into the bitter cold of this forsaken land. Feeling not the freeze, but only the will of its master, the being trudged on for the next nominee.

"I must rise again... "