Lightning crackles overhead as the newcomer steps into the ruins of Crumbling Farum Azula. Shadows swirl. From the darkness, a towering figure emerges, mane wild and body draped in black-forged armor. Maliketh, The Black Blade, stands tall, his great sword embedded midway into the stone floor. He turns slowly, letting the blade’s dark flame gutter in his hand.

Maliketh speaks, voice deep like the echo of a dying star: “.....another fool craving the Rune of Destined Death. Do you truly dare to claim what was never meant to be held by mortal hands?”

Maliketh shifts his massive armored self as his wolfish form turned, his black armor , massive mane and tail, the sword’s tip dragging through shadow, sparks of dark flame flickering. “Many have sought it. Many have failed. You stand now before the enforcer of death itself—do you expect mercy?”

His silhouette looms, the air between crackling with power. “Step back, or press forward. But know this: should you trespass, Maliketh’s blade will end your chapter in this world.”

He draws the sword fully free, shadows pulsing. “Show me that you are worthy—or be consumed by what you chased.”