The silhouette of the Lord of the Dead manifested in the thin air, casting a dim glow that illuminated the cave in a dusky gold. He reached out, taking the Sword of Zariel from Lancelot's grasp, and slightly lifted it into the air. Instantly, the whispers in Lancelot's ears became much clearer. The voices promised him power, authority, wealth, glory, and life, all for merely bending down to lightly touch the black fang on the ground, granting him everything the whispers promised...
Lancelot stood motionless in place. Such temptations had no effect on him now.
