Booming thunder echoed from the western isle where Mhaldor reigns, and
the blood-red fog surrounding the city of Evil rose in clouds that
ascended higher and higher into the heavens. Upon the sanguine tableau
stood Shaitan, God of Oppression, reflected in unadulterated clarity,
every muscle in his hulking form tensed, his fists clenching and
unclenching as he suffered some bitter torment.

Sinuous coils of foul black vapour twisted and whipped through the fog,
fermenting into a wild storm and scourging the God of Oppression,
flaying the crimson of his skin like flesh from bone. Howled echoed from
the depths of the Inferno as Shaitan gave a terrible bellow, and for a
fleeting instant he was overcome by the chilling guise of the fallen god
Apollyon.

Relentlessly the fog itself tore at Shaitan, who roared across the skies
with unhindered fury. The preternatural storm above the western isle
reached a frenzied climax, and tortuous thunder shook the firmament.
With an earth-shattering cry, Shaitan clasped his hands to his horns,
wrenching downward and doubling over, all colour draining from his form.

Trembling, the clouds fled the sky, and all held their breath as the
figure above the western horizon crouched, unmoving. Slowly the ashen
figure rose, raising his baleful head to gaze upon the world with a
cruel scowl.

Rumbling through the firmament, a voice uttered deep and low, "So have
we endured. And so have we been made stronger."

Achaeans gasped as one, their minds a mingled collection of disbelief,
terror, and awe. Thousands of daemons howled and shrieked as Sartan, the
Malevolent roared above the cacophony, "Hide while you can, Pentharian,
for you and the cowards you indulge will be crushed under my heel like
the worms you are!"

Penned by My hand on the 21st of Aeguary, in the year 611 AF.