Nyx

Then the rift opened above the Lower Ward. A wound in the sky... and things climbing out of it.

Ilar did not send his mages down. He sealed the gates of the Spire, and left the Lower Ward to the dark. My mother was still down there.

So I opened the book that whispered. A voice in the dark named its price. I didn't ask what it was. I signed.

The void answered me. I closed the rift with my own two hands... and by dawn, the Lower Ward was still standing.

Malgorath, the Price, collects in pieces. Horns, where my hair once parted. Scars, where his signature burned. Every pact has a price... and I always pay.

The Lower Ward called me their saviour. They left candles on my doorstep... and they crossed the street when I walked by.

There were more rifts, and so there were more pacts. Imps, fiends... the Brood-Gate itself. Every one of them I signed in my own blood.

Then Archmage Ilar called a tribunal. The man who had locked his gates on my mother... named me the danger.

They chained me in the Silence beneath the Spire, where no whisper can reach. For a whole year, the void did not answer.

So I signed the last pact myself, and the abyss signed below. Kazrith, the Gate Unchained, broke every chain in that tower.

Now I stand at the edge of the Infernal Rift... where the contracts are signed.

Ilar still sits in his Spire, behind his gates and his tribunals. Let him count his debts.

Tell your masters Nyx is coming. Every pact has a price... and this time, they will pay it.