"I see. Well met, Ashema. I am Pherdanta, Commander of the Stark-Soul Order, an anomalous brigade under a man whose name you are not fit to learn or speak. I too will likely have forgotten your name by dawn. Rest assured."
Ashema's grin turned wild and devilish. Pherdanta couldn't see it, but the blood quickened within his veins, each of the cells thriving within throbbing and pulsing with the grace of tickling time bombs.
The skies turned darker than before, mirroring his excitement. The Cavern laughed horribly. His mirth sounded like how large, plastic bottles crackled when squeezed repeatedly by large hands.
"That's bold, coming from a mere mortal," he said and he chugged some blood from his gourd. "Do you have the power to back that claim when you are relying on this flimsy magical construct to intimidate me?"
Pherdanta smirked.
