Doom.
The drums sounded.
Doom.
The horns cried.
Doom.
Your footsteps pounded.
Doom.
The gate crashing.
Arrows whistle around you blow through their gate. Near a full regiment charged at you, demonic features twisted in anger and rage. You breathe, your sword sings out and they die. It is not easy, a sword as light as air taking the life out of them. They die hard, hacking deep into torsos and twisting heads and breaking limbs and smashed chests.
One champion drives a spear into your side. You roar, snap the spear in half and tear it out of your side and slam the broken end through the demons eye.
Your sword does not lie mute. It sings in a sort of vicious pleasure that vibrates up your arm as you cut and kill. It is an extension of your will, a part of you now.
A snarling demon lunges at you. His black blade clashes with yours as you crush down a footman with a swing of your arm. Your blade win free and carves deep into his chest.
You fight your way into the tower, bashing a large beast with a too large mouth through its most likely cursed door. Tentacles stream out from the shattered door and tear the struggling demon to shreds. You pass thru, slicing a tentacle that was too slow in retreating.
Red and bloody battle is fought on your journey up the tower. Quarter is neither given or offered. Floor by floor you climb, leaving only broken bodies in your wake. Your rage is not quenched as you arrive at the top of the tower.
The walls are translucent, revealing a commanding landscape of mountains and valleys, with the world stretching out before you. The Sorcerer, eyes blazing red, sat on an iron throne, attended by a demon on his right and left, one floating with long draping black robes and the other a tall and armored giant, with a cruel axe. Could be good sacrifice to restore your soul.
The Sorcerer rises to his feet.
“Ahh, so much potential you have! I could help you become so much stronger! We could unleash your abilities, we could conquer the Abyss itself! Join with me, Rogg.”
What do you do?