OOC: This is just a random training thread for Anborn, mostly because I'm bored and want to see what Anborn is capable of. Feel free to join.

IC:

Night.

Damn, Anborn thought darkly as he continued to run. He had hopes that night wouldn't catch him in the open, but his luck had run out. He had no where else to run, no where else to hide, left out in the open, right in the middle of the Forsaken Lands.

It was a wonder, really. He had managed to avoid this place in all his travels, but he needed to travel through them now on his way to... well, it didn't matter now. He had to concentrate on the problem at hand.

And a problem it was.

He could hear the Demon-dead screams begin to well up from the earth.

He froze in his tracks, his blood frozen. Directly in front of him, he saw shapes beginning to materialize. He thought maybe it was an optical illusion. After all, he had been pushing himself fairly hard all day to try to get through this area without facing this. But he had failed.

The weight of that realization came crashing down on him. He had failed. Malgren would have won, even from the other side of the grave. He would go back to the underworld and have to face Drevin again, though this time not on nearly the same terms as last time. He would probably sentence Anborn to the worst torture imaginable for the rest of eternity. He would also have to face Kaya. That betrayal was torture enough without having to deal with her for eternity. But there was Envy. Yes, she would be there. But she would also have to witness his torture.

It was with that thought that something snapped within Anborn. Anborn Kementari, possibly one of the most powerful beings in the realm, was afraid of a few apparitions. He chuckled. If he could challenge and single-handedly defeat Malgren, an Immortal being, surely these whelps would pose him no problem.

Anborn stood up straight and looked around him. The plains had erupted with demon-dead for as far as the eye could see. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands.

Anborn threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a pleasant laugh, but one filled with evil. He brought his head back down and gazed forward, his gaze powered by hate and fury. His taloned hand reached up and shredded his cloak away from his body, revealing a well-toned chest, crisscrossed with leather straps. On his back was Zetsumei, a sword of legend, hilt pointing downward so as not to be readily available for use. Until recently, he couldn't control the pain caused by drawing the sword. But now that he'd figured out its secret...

Anborn threw his head back once more, but instead of a laugh, he let out a huge roar, the signature battle cry of the dragons. The demon-dead all paused as one, whether in fear or wonder, Anborn didn't know, but it didn't matter. He looked around. "Flee while you still can, demon spawn! Flee lest you be slaughtered as one by my blade."

His only answer was the wail of ten thousand demon-dead. The screeching would have frozen the blood of a lesser man, but not Anborn. No, he was more than Abh. He was more than Dragon. He was Celian.

"Very well," Anborn said to no one in particular. He grasped the hilt of his sword. "Darkness take me. Rain down your destruction on mine enemies."

He pulled the sword out, instantly covering the plain in a fine sheen of darkness, plunging everything into inky nothingness. But Anborn didn't stop there. This required more. Anborn screamed as he drew the power back into himself, both from pain and effort. The darkness began to recede from the area, back towards Anborn. Within seconds, the power brought forth by the sword was absorbed by Anborn's will.

Anborn stood breathing hard, the sword by his side radiating darkness and evil. He gave the nearest demon-dead an evil grin as he went to work slaughtering those who would dare come between him and his goal.