The typhoon came down, but before the dust touched the ground, it began to transform. When the last mote settled, the central island of Sanctum became eerily silent.
If one were to look, they would be terrified. Where there had been a plaza of shattered dust, there was now a silent, waiting legion.
Thousands of Ashen Vindicators stood in perfect, disciplined ranks, their grey armour and shadow lances absorbing the ethereal light of the starlit void.
The entire island was now his fortress, his barracks, his kingdom of the dead. Rhys stood at its heart, the sovereign of this silent legion, the details of a thousand slain monsters' souls coursing through his mind.
He felt the threads of connection to each member of his Ashen army, a vast, complex web of loyalty and absolute control.
It was not the bond of a slave and owner, but rather that of a people who considered him their only god.
'Let's evolve them…'
