"I still remember the day I drank a human's despair into my very being. I screamed in agony as the flames bellowed from my ribs, and the skin which masqueraded my humanity burned away into furtive embers. What came after could only be described as a newfound appreciation for this new life I was granted. Untouchable I was by the church, for they could not predict this power I wield against them. Diabolos was mine."

An emaciated hand clings to a black steeled axe, flames bellowing from the poll. The mirror-face of the Dire Witch reflects the glow of writhing souls from her trusty weapon; entertained by her self-achievements in order to pass the time. Waiting for the barrier to weaken, for her sunken kingdom arise once more to collect their fuel.

"Hhhhh..... the time nears. I can feel the surface break. I wonder, does man still remember the name Alysandra?"

Her fingers reach into the fire, her hand fizzles and sears; the sensation of pain serves as a reminder of what she must endure to achieve greatness. Meanwhile, on the surface, a quaint village celebrates the evening of Halloween. Carved pumpkins decorate porches, casting a gentle glow along the cobbled streets. You were sat near the bonfire, enjoying the revelry with the rest of the village on another successful harvest. Suddenly, a deafening rumble shakes the ground beneath you, the ground crackling.

The village falls silent, until the point of a black tower bursts from the surface. Rising with the flames of the underground. The villagers scatter, panicked cries as they witness a horror they've only known through legends. Emerging from the tower, the burning witch announces herself.

"I bring the night of terror. Prepare the sacrifice, for I am the Great Witch Alysandra. Prostrate yourselves and relinquish your souls to me! Find solace in knowing your deaths will be the stepping stone for my conquest of mankind."