Alaster had hoped to one day stand before the very village that had cast him out, now mighty and powerful. He knew why they did it, he did not even blame them. Even then he had known that the village could not do anything to protect him from the powers that were after him. Even if they didn't know what they were.

He did not fault them for this.

But it did not sooth away the kernel of spite in the pit of his stomach of every time he thought of them.

He had hoped to return to his home village and show the villagers how powerful he had begun.

How proud his parents must be.

He never had the chance before Onigas fell.

And by then it would have likely already either been evacuated or wiped out along with all the other villages. Yet he had to see for himself.

When he finally made his way over, without his various armies, just by himself, after slaughtering his way through nearly a dozen Demon Patrols, he finally laid eyes on the place he had been born.

It was smaller than he remembered, even razed to the ground as it was now. Without any enhancements or spells, he could have went from the very edge of the village all the way to the opposite side in just three seconds.

It had seemed so large when he was a child. Even back then he knew that his village was a small one, but the comparison had never really caught on in his mind. After all, a man could be given a piece of paper that said he had a million gold coins, but the true weight of such a number would not be truly felt until he saw what that number meant personally.

For a moment, memories overwhelmed him. Memories he had long since thought forgotten. And he let them rush over him.

As he walked the paths, he remembered weaving between villagers as he chased and was chased by his friends, laughing and giggling as they fled from being scolded.

He saw the bakery that he and his friends were constantly trying to find ways to sneak into and steal a treat. He even remembered when Tom had the not so bright idea to climb onto the roof and go through the thatch.

He forgot that behind the thatch, there was nothing to hold him. He fell, and the baker's barrel of water had been the only thing that saved the foolish boy from breaking his neck.

The baker had not been happy. Tom had been forced to work for the baker for two weeks, waking up well before dawn every day and well into the evening every night, before the pastry master had been satisfied.

Then there was the time Mike had been curious what would happen if he mixed powdered charcoal with flecks of iron and baked it under the sun. He had thought it would bake into a reflective black disk. Instead, it nearly burnt down the village's oat shack.

Or the time Alaster tried to carve a doll for his sister, but he put too much force behind a shoddy knife that was far from suited for the work. The blade snapped and flew off, nearly hitting the Alderman's eye.

Even after all these years, Alaster could still remember the burning he had felt on his rear for a week after that event.

Yet, the memories that clung to him were those of his family, now lost to him.

He stopped in front of the house that had once been his home. The place he ran to when he felt scared. The place he craved when he was tired. The place he felt safest. The place where his parents had been butchered.

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Even with the building now a blackened husk, remnants of an inferno that had devoured it completely. The image of that night still remained burned into his eyes.

That night, his family was reduced to just his sister and him. A paltry number of two separated children. And when they finally reunited many years later, he had attempted to grow their family.

Alaster's gauntlets creaked as his fists tightened.

Regardless, he now stood where it all started.

Where a little boy had been forced to grow up.

And now that little boy had grown.

He had saved Cities from invasions. He had repelled Monsters of myth and legend. He had found and punished the ones who had killed his parents. He had even toppled nations and bound the horrors of the night to his banner.

There was not a single person who did not want to be like him.

Yet he wished for nothing more than to be that same weak little boy from back then. At least back then, when even a single goblin could easily gut him, he was happy. When he could still hug his mother and laugh at one of his father's horrible jokes.

Now, he had nothing here.

Alaster turned away without emotion. This was no longer his home. It was just a pile of rubble and ash.

He rejoined his army a few miles away and continued his journey to Galmore.

As they marched across the very land that had taken him several weeks when he was just a small child, now only taking a few hours as all monsters fled from him, Alaster noticed the Galmorian Scouts observing him from miles away. He felt their magic brush across him and was able to trace it back.

Ethereal Sprits were watching them in just a few minutes.

Through them, he watched a few leave for the city, traveling through the dense monster infest forest with impressive speed.

For a moment, Alaster considered stopping them, but ultimately decided that it would be pointless. The scouts' reports of his arrival would have no effect on his goal.

The other scouts continued to watch, moving from high point to high point as Alaster marched his army across the very road he had helped build.

Soon, the towering walls of the city came into view. The walls of the last Human City that meant anything to him. The bastion of Humanity.

His army flooded out of the forest and surrounded the city. Great Horns within the city were blown, calling the city to arms. Flags bearing the Galmorian Emblem were raised, soldiers in gleaming armor stood defiant at the battlements. Siege Weapons were loaded and aimed.

Yet despite holding their city against the hordes of Monstrosities that had surrounded them for centuries, they understood the threat that stood before their gates was greater than anything in their city's history.

The complete silence of the foe that now stood ready to reduce their city to rubble unnerved even the experienced soldiers, causing them to shift uncomfortably in the eerie silence.

Alaster let the stew for nearly an hour before he sent forward a single Death Knight with a raised white flag.

He could feel the attention of everyone shift to that lone Knight as it stepped ever closer.

It stopped short, just outside the Galmorian Archers' range. Far from the lines of its allies, far from the walls of Galmore, yet well in range of the Ballista atop its walls.

And waited.

A sharp gust of wind caused the banners and flags to blow peacefully.

A peace that none in the city felt.

Alaster sat atop Nightmare, content with waiting.

After nearly twenty minutes, the large gates of Galmore finally opened and a Noble flanked by four Guards rode out atop heavily armored horses.

They slowly approached the Death Knight, wary of any potential traps, but none came.

They stopped, ten feet away.

"What is the purpose behind this parley?"

"My Master wishes to speak with you." The Death Knight spoke slowly, as if each word was foreign to it.

The Noble's nose twitched in irritation, "Very well. We shall wait."

They did not wait long.

Alaster swapped places with the Death Knight, startling both the Guards and the horses, yet the Noble never broke eye contact.

"I have but one request. A request, that I am only asking for out of courtesy. You will allow me, and ten of my Honor Guard, to enter the city."

"You wish to speak with the City Lord in person?"

Alaster did not reply.

"You understand that as a Necromancer, it is never just you. For what reason would we allow you inside our walls?"

Alaster sighed, already tired of this man, "Because I could appear where I wanted regardless of your permission? Because I could cause your walls to crumble? Because I could turn every man, woman, and child inside those walls into my Undead? Because there is nothing you could do to stop me? Because I am the greatest chance Humanity has to survive the Demon Invasion? Or perhaps because I asked nicely? Take your pick. You have one hour."

Having said what he wished, Alaster turned away from the Noble and his entourage and began walking back to his army.

Their response would decide his own.

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