The pain of having your limbs torn one by one. The pain of being beaten to a bloody pulp.
The coldness and stillness that came with death. Quite literally nothing in Zaroth's life had felt more excruciating, more painful…
No, there was one time…
One time that he felt rage, a thirst for vengeance burning so bright that the flame still raged inside him.
The revenge for his mother and to put an end to the gods.
It was enough. That fire in him that made him disregard all the pain in the world. No matter how many times he was slain, he would be brought back by the rune only to face the elf again.
At the beginning, even with the help of all of his beasts, they were powerless, unable to put even a single scratch on the vile being.
And yet, with each death Zaroth suffered, he grew stronger, fiercer, more relentless.
His beasts responded in kind, moving as if extensions of himself. They didn't need to wait for commands. They simply knew what Zaroth wanted them to do and did it.
