The Assault

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A curse – the darkest magic. Threads twisted and tangled, frayed by malice and wrought of hatred, avarice, and despair. The tainted opus of a fallen master.

As much as love fills a heart, so too can hate pervade. And in a distant galaxy of the weave loomed a hallowed figure, aflame in spirit. He watched longingly, staring into the endless abyss of the weave. For ages he’d toiled, gathering power and knowledge of the dark arts, his mind focused on the singular desire of revenge.

He dare not stray from his path of hate, for his heart spoke for no other and longed for no other than hatred, not a single strand left to forgive. Lovers… he rejected the thought. None shall fill their bonds when his connections were all but severed. Such a thing was an abomination in the face of his own loneliness and misery. He must strike it away, else be burdened with knowing his own path less true than the other…

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