The heavens raged a deep crimson as the warrior rode through the desolate emptiness. The brilliant sun shone down on the forsaken and hardened earth, and the heat was overbearing, weighing down on all in the area with the force of a thousand mountains. And yet this soldier rode on, in full battle gear, seemingly unaffected by the intense heat and barren landscape. This lifeless wasteland stretched on for hundreds upon hundreds of miles. An infinite sea of hardened dull-gold sand reigned here, a land that had not seen a rainstorm in many years.

The horse was a steed of the dead; forged of brilliant steel and seemingly alive with flowing nothingness. And so this rider and his steed charged through this desolate region, an oasis of life in this land of death, and yet not so, for the two were in some ways as far from living as the land through which they rode. This was the Xygan the blade lord, master of battles and wars among mortals. His skills with a sword were unmatched, and his stamina and endurance as well. He traveled to each corner of existence, defeating numerous foes, heroes and demons alike.

And as he was riding, a figure emerged from the barren emptiness ahead. A dark shape cast in golden sunlight, clad in naught but black long, black garments seemingly unfit for such an environment. And it was only when the shadowed humanoid drew nearer that the blade lord recognized him for what he was. Deity of doom and black fate, Xygan was staring into the eyes of the god Moros. As the god drew nearer, his figure became clearer to the blade lord. He was wearing lengthy, blackened robes that trailed behind him, a hood of similar color resting above his head. The features of his face were shrouded in the hood’s shadow, and all that was visible was a fiery scarlet glow emanating from his hate-filled eyes.