It takes but a single spark to light the world on fire. Cast out among the ruins of dead embers, the flame would wither out and pass away into the darkness that was destined to abolish it. Rather it seems fitting that a flame, no matter where it was created, should endure into something more sinister than was its intent. Years pass by while the flame remains unchecked, unwanted, abandoned, forgotten.

When the back of the world is turned, the dying fire licks it flames, readying for the thirst of carnage, of war, of malicious instinct. Warriors may win battles, but it takes a spirit to win a war. When that war is absolute darkness itself, the soul of a warrior is not even enough to snuff out the tiniest of embers…