Mightiest am I, but I am not alone in this cosmos of mine. For the black hills consist of
black souls, souls that already died one thousand deaths. Behind the stone walls of
centuries they breed their black art. Boiling their spells in cauldrons of black gold. Far
up in the mountains, where the rain fall not far, yet the sun cannot reach. The wizards,
my servants, summon the souls of macrocosm. No age will escape my wrath. I travel
through time and I return to the future. I gather wisdom now lost. I visit again the
eternally ancient caves, before a mighty Emperor thereupon came. Watching the
mortals "discovering" my chronicles, guarded by the old demons, even unknown to
me. Once destroyed to feast upon the screaming souls that were destroyed in my
future. How many wizards that serve me with evil. I know not. My empires have no
limits. From the never ending mountains black, to the bottom lakes. I am the ruler and
there are in the hills in their stone homes of grief. Because I am the spirit of their
existence. I am them
