Creation…
Was far more satisfying than destruction.
The ritual chamber trembled under the weight of my magic.
Circles within circles burned across the stone floor—ancient runes drawn from memory, from instinct, from centuries of accumulated knowledge. Morgana's craft. Sauron's precision. My will binding it all together into something new.
Something mine.
I stood at the center, arms slightly raised, shadows coiling around me like living serpents. Before me… the raw materials of transformation.
Stone.
Bone.
Flesh.
And deeper still… essence.
"Let's create something worthy," I murmured.
The magic ignited.
Purple light surged outward, mixing with darker, heavier forces—organic manipulation, shadow transmutation, and something far older. Something primal.
The ground cracked.
And from it… they rose.
Trolls
Not the mindless beasts of legend.
No.
These were crafted.
Massive forms of living stone and magic pulled themselves free from the earth, their bodies reshaping under my command. Limbs thickened. Armor-like skin hardened. Eyes ignited with unnatural intelligence.
I didn't just summon them.
I designed them.
"Stronger," I whispered.
Their forms responded instantly.
"Faster."
Their movements sharpened.
"Loyal."
Their minds bent.
And then…
I took it further.
The ritual circle shifted.
New runes burned into existence—more complex, more delicate.
This wasn't brute creation.
This was refinement.
"Now…"
My voice softened slightly.
"Something subtle."
The magic condensed.
Focused.
Precise.
Bodies formed—smaller, more human in shape. Features refined. Flesh shaped perfectly to mimic humanity itself.
But beneath…
Still monsters.
Changelings
They opened their eyes.
And immediately…
They understood.
Perfect infiltrators.
Perfect spies.
Perfect weapons.
"You will walk among them," I said calmly. "You will listen. You will learn. And when the time comes…"
A faint smile crossed my lips.
"You will betray."
They bowed in unison.
Behind them, the larger trolls roared—deep, earth-shaking sounds that echoed through the castle like distant thunder.
My army had changed again.
Evolved.
Now it wasn't just an unstoppable force.
It was a layered one.
Undead for endurance.
Warbands for numbers.
Sorcerers for power.
Trolls for destruction.
Changelings for infiltration.
A perfect war machine.
I stepped forward, raising my hand as shadows surged outward, forming massive portals across the battlefield outside the castle.
"Form ranks."
They obeyed instantly.
The Death Knights stood in silent formation, weapons ready.
The trolls lined the flanks, massive and immovable.
The warbands gathered behind, disciplined and numerous.
The changelings…
Were already gone.
Inside Camelot.
I looked out over my army.
Thousands upon thousands.
Unkillable.
Unstoppable.
Unrelenting.
And then…
I gave the command.
"March."
The ground trembled as they moved.
A living tide of death and shadow, advancing toward Camelot with unstoppable momentum.
Each step echoed with inevitability.
Each movement carried the weight of conquest.
Far in the distance…
Camelot waited.
And within it…
King Arthur
Merlin
Ready.
Prepared.
Defiant.
Good.
Because this time…
I wasn't coming as a challenger.
I was coming as the end.