“Are we alone” hissed a voice filled with evil and darkness, a hissing voice with a cold, metallic quality. The air was cold and the small figure across the room had its breath show.

“Yes, master, I…I…am sure, we are” came a fearful, submissive reply.

“There are no spies…no one to overhear”

“No master”

“Good”

“Yes it is good…s…s…sir”

“Silence…is everything in position”

“Yes master”

“Good…then leave me”

“Yes master” there was the sound of footsteps, the opening of a door, then footsteps of boots thudding down an empty corridor. After a moment Alex began to see where he was, he was in a black room, the only light came from strange jets of violet flames, and in the centre of the room was a throne of some description a chair with a 10 foot high back of a black metal and armrests of the same material, it was draped in a black fabric and a violet light eradiated from the front of it. It was at that time Alex realised he was in the corner opposite the door the slave had just used. His thoughts were interrupted by the doors yet again opening, from what he could see from the small puddles of light cast by the jets of flame Alex could make out it was a woman wearing a blazer that came down to her knees beneath that she wore black leggings and high heels made of what appeared to be wrought iron painted in a coat of blood red, her blazer was violet, the same shade as the light, but Alex couldn’t see any part of her face, except a piece of poisonous yellow glass that seemed to pierce him to his very heart, over what was probably was her right eye, though with the whole Cyclops thing he couldn’t be sure.

“Master” said a voice that was honey sweet, yet more poisonous than any snake. Alex thought he saw her bow though he wasn’t sure.

“Yes Cameea” replied that horrible voice, intertwined with something else, like the howling of a wolf and yet detached, not quite there.

“Master, there have been…problems lately”.

“Such as…”

“The sword has been freed” Alex’s arm twitched, the woman turned, Alex’s mind burned he toppled back and awoke, screaming. Screaming that name that burned into his mind, scarring it like boiling oil burns flesh.