Lost in the void of the underworld, Volakar has been casted out by his fellow knights for his use in necromancy. With no soul in sight, he lays in defeat for what seems to be an eternity, waiting for the elements to claim his life. What was once a great knight, is now nothing more then a wasted soul of misery. At the brink of death, a shadowy figure slowly rolls into sight. His first thought is, Death himself has come to claim his withering prize. At second glance, he then realizes that it is not Death, but a monster of a man wearing dark armor. Faces of sorrow are mended into his armor, as if the souls of his enemy's were trapped within it. A voice echo's in his head, barely clinging to life, he opens his mind to hear them more clearly. "Volakar..." a deep raspy voice slowly whispers. "Your salvation is at hand... join me... become a Demon Lord of my dark army..." Volakar's body finally gives in, as he feels himself fading away, something overcomes him. A dark energy consumes body, and the same raspy voice fills his head again... "This is not the end..."
To be continued...