Korthrax
The rift was his sanctuary, his weapon, and his ever-expanding mind.
From its depths, Korthrax extended tendrils of consciousness like roots through fertile soil — slow, patient, and utterly inevitable. He did not need armies yet. He did not need to manifest his full avatar and risk another costly confrontation. That would come later, when the Obsidian Throne was ripe, weakened, and ready to become his new heart.
For now, he worked through whispers.
He savored the art of corruption. It was far more satisfying than brute force. Brute force was for lesser lords. True consumption was subtle. It began with doubt, grew with resentment, and ended with willing surrender.
Nyxara was his favorite instrument.
