Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 67: RALLY OF DOMAINS

Chapter 67: RALLY OF DOMAINS

Marshland Central Palace had never witnessed such an assembly. The grand hall—once a symbol of human dominance and goblin exclusion—now teemed with representatives from every corner of the known world. Lords and ladies whose bloodlines stretched back generations sat shoulder to shoulder with evolved goblins whose very existence defied all established order.

Reed stood before them, his corrupted form commanding attention despite his diminutive stature. Black veins pulsed beneath his ashen skin, occasionally emitting faint luminescence when he spoke certain words. The corruption had spread further since their escape from Ahn’Karesh—now covering sixty percent of his body—but he had achieved a precarious balance with it, neither fully accepting nor rejecting its influence.

"Three settlements have already fallen," he announced, his voice carrying an unnatural timbre that caused several human nobles to shift uncomfortably in their seats. "Oakhollow, Riversbend, and Eastwatch—all consumed within the corruption zone. No survivors."

Lady Serena of the Northern Holds rose from her seat, her usually immaculate appearance now marred by dark circles beneath her eyes and hastily applied bandages on her sword arm. "Your messengers spoke of transformation, not destruction. What exactly happens to those caught within this... expansion?"

Reed gestured to Blightclaw, who activated a crystalline device salvaged from the ancient city. Above the central table, an image flickered to life—a projection showing the ruins of Riversbend. What had once been a thriving farming community was now an alien landscape. Buildings remained standing but had been reshaped into organic-looking structures with pulsing veins of dark energy running through their walls. The villagers still moved about their daily tasks, but they were grotesquely transformed—additional limbs sprouting from torsos, faces melding with animal features, skin hardened into carapaces or flowing like liquid metal.

Most disturbing was their coordinated movement—hundreds moving in perfect unison, turning to face the same direction simultaneously, as though controlled by a single mind.

"They are no longer individuals," Reed explained as several lords recoiled from the projection. "Their consciousness has been subsumed into Vrashtor’kaal’s collective. Their bodies are being reshaped to better serve its purposes—experiments in creating the perfect vessel."

Lord Khar’Mokesh, one of the first human lords to ally with the evolved goblins, leaned forward, his weathered face grim. "And this corruption zone—it expands daily?"

"Exponentially," Grimclaw answered, stepping forward with a map marked with concentric circles of black ink. "The first day, it claimed one mile in all directions. By the third day, ten miles. Yesterday—the sixth day—nearly thirty. At this rate, it will reach the capital within two weeks, and cover half the continent within two months."

Murmurs of horror swept through the assembly. Lady Dalia, renowned for her mastery of bardic magic, raised a hand adorned with protective wards. "Can it be contained? Perhaps a boundary of magical warding—"

"Conventional magic is useless," Reed cut her off, not unkindly. "In fact, it accelerates the transformation. Three battalions of the Southern Legion attempted to create a firebreak with battle-mages. The flames turned black and spread the corruption faster."

The revelation sent a fresh wave of panic through the hall. For centuries, magic had been their ultimate recourse against any threat. Its ineffectiveness against this new enemy stripped away their most fundamental security.

Lord Blackthorn of the Western Forests slammed his fist on the table. "Then what do you propose? Surrender? Mass exodus to lands beyond the sea?"

Reed’s golden eyes—now streaked with crimson filaments—narrowed. "I propose war. Not as individual domains fighting for their separate interests, but as a single unified force. Every soldier, every mage, every evolved goblin, every artifact wielder—combined into the largest army this world has ever witnessed."

The hall fell silent, centuries of rivalries and border disputes hanging heavy in the air.

"Impossible," whispered an elderly nobleman from the Eastern Provinces. "Some wounds between our peoples run too deep for alliance."

"Deeper than extinction?" Shivblade challenged, stepping to Reed’s side. The female goblin had risen in prominence since their return, her tactical brilliance earning respect even among human commanders. "While you cling to ancient hatreds, the First Awakened grows stronger with each settlement consumed."

Reed raised his corrupted hand, black energy crackling between his fingers—a calculated display of power to command attention. "I have walked through the ruins of the Progenitor city. I have seen what awaits us if we fail. Your petty conflicts mean nothing against the void that comes."

He gestured to a group of his evolved goblins who entered bearing artifacts recovered from across the lands—the Tongkat Kosong, a staff of perfectly smooth black material that absorbed all light; the Crown of Whispers, a circlet of interlinked metal that occasionally emitted sounds no living tongue could produce; the Geometrist’s Prism, a crystalline object whose angles seemed to shift when not directly observed.

"These were not created as weapons or tools of power," Reed explained, his corruption supplying knowledge beyond his years. "They are components of a system—keys to lock away that which should never have been freed."

Lady Serena approached the artifacts cautiously. "You claim these can stop the entities?"

"Not stop," Reed corrected. "Contain. Return them to stasis. But only if used together, properly configured, at the nexus point of their original design—the Temple of Convergence."

Lord Khar’Mokesh studied the ancient objects with narrowed eyes. "That temple lies less than ten miles from the current edge of the corruption zone. By the time we could marshal sufficient forces—"

"Which is why we must move immediately," Reed interrupted. "Tonight. Every soldier who can hold a weapon. Every lord capable of command."

Protests erupted from all corners of the hall—logistical impossibilities, supply concerns, the need for proper planning. Reed let them voice their objections, watching as Grimclaw made careful note of which lords seemed most resistant.

When the clamor subsided, he spoke again, his voice carrying an undercurrent of power that silenced the remaining murmurs. "While you debate, the darkness advances. I did not come seeking permission."

With that, he nodded to Thorngrasp, who activated another recovered device. The doors to the grand hall slammed shut, locking with mechanical clicks that echoed ominously through the chamber.

"This is outrageous!" Lord Blackthorn sputtered, reaching for his ceremonial sword only to find it transmuted into black glass, crumbling at his touch.

Reed stepped onto the central table, ensuring every eye was upon him. "You misunderstand. This is not imprisonment. It is... enlightenment."

With a single fluid motion, he drove his corrupted arm into the surface of the table. Black veins spread outward like lightning, reaching toward each lord and lady present. Before they could react, tendrils of corruption touched their feet, sending most collapsing to their knees as visions flooded their minds.

Reed shared what he had witnessed—the true history of the Progenitors, the nature of the First Awakened, the horrors that awaited should Vrashtor’kaal’s influence continue to spread. Most importantly, he showed them the face of the enemy—the countless suffering souls already absorbed into its collective, their individual consciousness preserved only enough to experience eternal torment.

When he finally withdrew his hand, leaving a black handprint seared into the ancient wood, the lords remained kneeling in shocked silence.

"Now you understand the stakes," Reed said quietly. "This is not a war for land or power or ancient grudges. This is a war for existence itself."

Lady Serena was the first to recover, rising on unsteady legs, her eyes haunted by what she had witnessed. "How... how do we fight such an enemy? Even with combined forces, how can flesh and blood stand against... that?"

At this, Reed nodded to Shivblade, who unveiled a collection of objects arranged on a side table—helmets modified with crystalline components, breastplates inscribed with geometric patterns, weapons coated in a substance that shimmered with unnatural light.

"We have been preparing," Reed explained. "These are crafted from the same materials as the artifacts, modified using knowledge extracted from the Progenitor ruins. They cannot prevent physical harm, but they will shield your minds from possession and your bodies from immediate transformation should you enter the corruption zone."

Lord Khar’Mokesh lifted one of the helmets, examining its alien construction. "Your evolved goblins made these?"

"In six days," Reed confirmed. "We have enough to outfit one thousand elite soldiers, with more being produced hourly. Your craftsmen will need to be taught the techniques to create more."

"And for the commanders?" asked Lady Dalia, eyeing the artifacts with new understanding.

In answer, Reed extended his corrupted hand toward the Crown of Whispers. The artifact levitated, splitting into twelve identical segments that hovered in the air like a constellation. "Each domain lord will carry a fragment. It will provide limited immunity to the corruption and allow communication across vast distances. More importantly, it will link your consciousness to the artifact network, giving you insights no unmodified mind could comprehend."

"At what cost?" Lord Blackthorn asked sharply. "Those black veins in your flesh—will we suffer the same corruption?"

"A calculated risk," Reed admitted. "The fragments contain minimal corruption compared to what I carry. Some influence is inevitable, but it will manifest as enhanced perception rather than physical transformation."

He did not mention the dreams that had plagued him since their escape—visions of the Unmaker watching from beyond the veil of reality, patient and terrible in its ancient hunger. Some burdens were his alone to bear.

One by one, the lords stepped forward to accept the fragments, each flinching slightly as the alien material bonded with their flesh. As the final piece was claimed, Reed felt the network activate—twelve points of light in his mind’s eye, connected to his consciousness through the corruption.

"The largest army in recorded history," he said, feeling their combined might through the network. "Three hundred thousand humans. Seventeen thousand evolved goblins. Every artifact recovered from across the lands. All united under a single purpose."

Lord Khar’Mokesh cleared his throat, the fragment embedded in his gauntlet pulsing in rhythm with Reed’s corruption. "And who, precisely, commands this unprecedented force?"

The room fell silent, centuries of hierarchy and tradition demanding a human lord take precedence. Yet the artifact network had made clear that only one among them possessed the necessary connection to direct the power they would unleash.

Reed met the lord’s gaze steadily. "We all do, through the network. But the final configuration of the artifacts at the Temple of Convergence requires one who carries the Progenitor essence. One who can interface directly with their technology."

"You," Lady Serena stated flatly. It was not a question.

"Me," Reed confirmed. "But know this—the corruption advances within me as surely as the corruption zone spreads across our lands. I cannot predict how long I will maintain control."

The implications hung heavy in the air. They were placing their fate in the hands of a goblin who, by his own admission, was gradually succumbing to the same power they sought to contain.

Lady Dalia touched the fragment embedded in her necklace, wincing as it pulsed against her skin. "Then we must move quickly. How soon can this army be assembled?"

"It already is," Shivblade answered with grim satisfaction. "While you debated in this hall, our forces were mobilizing. Fifty thousand await outside the city walls. The rest converge on designated points along our march route."

Lord Blackthorn’s face darkened with anger. "You assumed our cooperation before even presenting your case?"

"I saw the future," Reed said simply. "After witnessing what I showed you, there was only one possible choice you could make."

As if to emphasize his point, a distant rumbling shook the palace, causing dust to rain from the ornate ceiling. Through his connection to the corruption, Reed sensed a massive surge of energy from the direction of the expanding zone—Vrashtor’kaal had claimed another settlement, larger than any before.

"The First Awakened grows impatient," he announced, the knowledge flowing through his corruption. "It senses our preparation. We have three days at most before it attempts to reach the Temple of Convergence ahead of us."

The lords exchanged grim looks, centuries of political maneuvering abandoned in the face of extinction. With newfound resolve, they began issuing orders through their fragments, coordinating the greatest military mobilization in history.

As the assembly dispersed to prepare for immediate departure, Reed remained at the central table, studying the map where the black circles marking the corruption zone seemed to pulse in rhythm with his veins. Shivblade approached quietly, concern evident in her reptilian eyes.

"The fragments you gave them," she whispered, ensuring no humans could overhear. "You didn’t tell them everything, did you?"

Reed’s corrupted hand clenched involuntarily. "They know what they need to know."

"And the fact that the fragments will eventually corrupt them as well? That they are becoming conduits, just as you are?"

"A necessary sacrifice," Reed replied coldly. "The artifact network requires thirteen nodes to properly reconfigure. I need them linked when we reach the Temple."

Shivblade studied her leader’s face, noting how the corruption had begun creeping up his neck toward his jaw. "And the voice you heard—the Unmaker—have you told anyone else about that?"

Reed turned to her, his golden eyes now more crimson than yellow. "Some burdens cannot be shared, old friend."

As if in response to his words, the corruption within him pulsed violently, sending him staggering against the table. For a brief moment, his vision shifted—instead of the map, he saw the world from above, watched the massive army beginning to form outside the city, observed the corruption zone where Vrashtor’kaal stood at its center, face turned toward the heavens as though in communion with something beyond.

Then, most terrifying of all, he glimpsed something vast moving beneath the reality he knew—a presence so enormous it defied comprehension, its attention now fixed firmly on the coming conflict.

When his vision cleared, Shivblade was supporting him, genuine fear in her eyes for the first time since he had known her.

"What did you see?" she demanded.

Reed straightened, forcing his expression to reveal nothing of the cosmic horror he had glimpsed. "Our path forward," he lied. "Nothing more."

As they exited the hall to join the gathering army, Reed felt the corrupted veins pulse once more—this time forming a distinct pattern across his skin, a symbol he recognized from the deepest chambers of Ahn’Karesh.

The mark of the Unmaker.

And he understood with terrible clarity that the army they were assembling, the artifacts they were gathering, the very conflict they were marching toward—all of it was exactly as the Unmaker had designed.

They were not fighting against the apocalypse.

They were bringing it.