Usurper: God of the Fallen

                                    

                                          
A massive quake shook the ground and the barren dunes toppled as a strong wind rolled over the land. Thick red blood seeped into the cracked mesa and instantly began to bake in the sun.  It rolled down the hill and formed a puddle as the last gasping breaths escaped the lips of the broken form of a man writhing on the blasted terrain.
                          
The open sky soon filled with clouds which obscured the sun, casting a shadow over the land. Unrelenting, the man attempted to stagger and regain his balance but found that his legs obeyed him no longer. He spat a wad of red phlegm and roared, throwing aside his weapon and, in doing so, sending him falling to his knees.
                          
 Suddenly the sky was rent in half as an arc of lightning flashed. The man, unable to cease his quivering, found himself screaming in fear as the chaotic firmament above him snarled in response to his insolence.
                          
“How dare you forsake the contract,” the voice of the stinging wind howled as the brightness of the desert abandoned him. “Do you imply that you are greater than I, than the four? That you would conquer death itself?”
                          
Before the man could answer, the pool of his own life’s blood below him began to bubble and hiss, steam swirling up from the depths.  A rancid smell met his nostrils as green smoke curled from the slick, dark tendrils whipping about in the wind. Out from the boiling puddle rose a sinewy, raw arm, clawing the air. Its rough-hewn muscles were as red as the blood and it twitched as it emerged from its gory portal.
                          
The arm, before his own eyes, began to darken and flake, as if ashes were dripping from it, and with it emerged the uneven form of a misshapen being. The form soon rose before him, towering over his broken figure as a crack of thunder momentarily drowned out the shrieking gale and his own gasping breaths. The massive creature scowled and set its shining opaque eyes on him, a look of utter disgust etched in the deep lines crossing its face. Its asymmetrical body jerked as it took a heavy step.
                          
“I will be paid what is due,” it spoke. Its rumbling voice rose with fury, becoming as deep as the rolling thunder. A thick blanket of sand and dust swirled behind it, gathering in the might of the storm. The air itself crackled with electricity.
                          
“You have gotten what you wanted,” the man shouted, his eyes growing wider as the imposing, abhorred thing drew near. “You have been paid in my blood! So it has been said,” he attempted to back away but found that his body had become weighed down, useless as his energy was slowly leeched from his body. “My debt is repaid. Leave me to die in peace here, demon. I have served your master well.” His voice was lost in the gale, barely audible over the voice of the wind howling.
                          
The being laughed and for a moment the man thought he heard the distinct sound of breaking bones and screaming mixed in with the short bursts of thunder— the anguishing cries of those fallen before the beast, of those who suffered the same fate he was sure to meet.
                          
 It fixed its milky stare on him and clenched its fist.
                          
“Your repayment proves to be insufficient. The blood that courses through your veins— the very blood spilling and tainting the earth beneath you— now belongs to me. They, however, require a sacrifice more befitting than your cowardly offering of flesh.”
                          
The man’s eyes grew wide as the creature took a step toward him, and suddenly he felt a white-hot burst of pain blossoming from his chest. The glistening blood soaking through his shirt began to burn deep into his flesh, his skin searing beneath the heat of it. He let out a single, suppressed  scream, followed by another, until he was thrashing about and writhing in torment. The being smiled.
                          
“And so this is how the mighty ruler of earth’s dominion falls. A weak, pathetic mortal squirming in his own excrement. Your weakness is proven by the holy blood slowly eating away at your sarx as we speak. The Judges will revel in the fact that we may now, after so many centuries, finally weigh the soul of the once almighty ruler Krion.” The evil creature leaned forward and, in an almost tender voice, whispered, “… and their scales are unbalanced.”