Algol sat down on the throne, his body sinking into the Sum of all Emperors; the ghostly images of all the Emperors who had ever ruled Agglemon. All merged together to form a single composite image in which the occasional glimpse of one Emperor or another would now and then rise to the fore, dominating the image for a moment or two before sinking back into the throng. Their faces were twisted into screams of horror and terror, the same as all the other shades occupying the throne room. The images of all the other people who had had occasion to enter the room during the Empire’s days of glory. Courtiers and supplicants stood around the throne, bowing low before it even as they screamed in eternal torment, and around the perimeter, standing in shallow alcoves in the wall, the Staunters stood proudly to attention, also screaming. They weren’t ghosts, or any other kind of undead spirit. There was no consciousness there. They were merely images of the past, brought back to life and twisted into images of horror by the awful power of the Shadow.

     Even so, though, the face of the Sum of all Emperors seemed to scream even louder as Algol sank into it, as if it was indeed aware of the demon rak violating its space, and Algol smiled in cruel satisfaction, as if he knew that he was indeed inducing torment. Was it possible? wondered Resalintas. Could it be that centuries of Emperors sitting on that throne had somehow left some trace of their souls and personalities? Could it be that the Sum of all Emperors really was conscious and aware, even if only in a rudimentary sense? And if so, how could they take advantage of that fact?

     Algol watched them curiously for a few moments before speaking again. “When the new Shadowbeast arrives, it shall be hungry. Thou shalt be fed unto it to give it strength, and so that thou shalt know the suffering that I have known. If thou art still sane when thou hast been completely consumed and thy bodies have reformed, thou shalt be fed unto it again, and again and again until thy minds have been completely destroyed and thou art nothing but idiots screaming for mercy that shalt not come. Perhaps in a thousand years, or ten thousand, I shall finally forgive thee and allow thee to go at last to the judgement of thy God, whom thou willst by then have utterly forsaken.”

     He then turned to look at Resalintas himself, and if they’d thought the demon rak was mad with hatred before, the expression into which his thin, bony face twisted itself into now contained such insane malice that even the Samnian raks were struck with fear. Their twisted, leathery guts tightened even further and they made signs of protection from evil that they hadn’t made since childhood. “As for thee,” he spat, rising from the throne again and striding forward until he was almost nose to nose with the undead priest. “As the leader of this band of sackers and defilers, thy suffering shall be the greatest of all. So great that thou shalt come crawling unto me upon thy hands and knees to beg and plead that thou mayest share the lesser punishment of thy fellows.”

     Resalintas knew that the demon rak could, and would, carry out his threats, but his own fate meant less to him than the fate of the world if they failed to overcome this creature. But how? Algol had returned the strength he’d plundered from his soul, but no more, and the Samnian barely had the strength to remain standing, let alone fight and cast spells. Even if he’d been at his full fighting fitness, he doubted that he’d have been able to overcome this creature. Not all of them together could have done it. What could they possibly hope to do against him now, now that they had nothing left but their faith?

     Resalintas lifted his head to look at the demon rak, and the burning points of light that served him as eyes shone with a new intensity as those thoughts passed through his head. Nothing left but his faith? But what else did a priest need?

     He returned Algol’s gaze, therefore, and spoke proudly and fearlessly. “Do what you will,” he said. “You may triumph for a while, but evil can never achieve a lasting victory over hope and goodness. Whatever you do to me can only be the will of the Gods, and I accept it, therefore, as I always have, and always will. I praise the name of Samnos, God of the endless fight against evil, and I submit myself utterly to His will.”

     Algol bared his teeth with rage, but a peaceful serenity was descending upon Resalintas as he immersed himself in his faith and he completely lost interest in his own fate as he filled his mind with praise and love for Samnos. Whatever Algol did to him had to be the will of his God, and he welcomed the suffering to come in the sure and certain knowledge that, in some way he couldn’t possibly understand, it would bring the ultimate triumph of good over evil a tiny little bit closer.

     So deeply did he immerse himself in his faith that, without realising it, he entered a state of mind that most clerics and priests only achieve centuries after their deaths, that only one priest in a thousand achieves in his own lifetime. It was a state of mind known to the most learned philosophers and theologians as Immaculation. A state of mind which allows the priest to channel vastly more of their God’s power than is possible under ordinary circumstances. A state of mind in which miracles are possible.

     Algol stared at the immaculated priest, his rage momentarily replaced by puzzlement, and then he burst into mad, contemptuous laughter. "What foolishness is this?" he demanded. "Thou still dost not understand thy situation? Dost thou think that..."

     His voice broke off when the other priests gave gasps of amazement, staring at something they saw behind him. Algol laughed again as if thinking they were trying to pull a child’s trick on him, but something made him look behind himself anyway, and then it was his turn to stare in stunned, disbelieving surprise when he saw what it was that was approaching him.

     It was the Sum of all Emperors. It had risen from the throne and was advancing slowly but purposefully on the demon rak, and the scream of terror into which its eternally shifting, composite face had been twisted had been replaced by a grimace of rage. Rage directed at the leader of the creatures that had so hideously transformed its once beautiful city. At first Algol could only stand there, as if he was unable to comprehend what was happening, then he took a trembling, hesitant step back.

     “Thou art just a shade!” he accused, the fear now plain on his face. “Thou art nothing but a memory awoken by the Shadow! Thou art not real! Thou art not real!” The Sum of all Emperors made no reply. It simply came on one slow, purposeful step at a time, and Algol backed away from it.

     Even then Algol might have escaped and defeated the planet’s last, desperate attempt to save itself if he’d turned and destroyed Resalintas, the man whose faith was opening the doorway to Samnos’s holy power. Instead, though, he could only back away as the Sum of all Emperors advanced on him. It was as if his surprise at this sudden development was so great, so total, that it had paralysed his mind and left him incapable of any coherent action. Or perhaps the God of Righteous Warfare had deliberately numbed his mind to prevent him from taking the one action that could still have assured the victory of the Shadowlord. Either way, he failed to strike out at Resalintas, and seemed to forget that the Samnian raks even existed, to the point that they had to step aside to allow the demon rak to back through them. Then the animated shade leapt, pouncing on the demon rak, who uttered a single scream of terror and disbelief before the shade’s spectral hands closed around his throat.

     Raks no longer need to breath, so it should be impossible to strangle one, but Algol struggled desperately as the shade’s hands squeezed tighter and his eyes stared in terror as he felt the forces that sustained him beginning to unravel. The Samnians stared in astonishment as the demon rak writhed ineffectually in the shade's grip, the union of all the rulers of Agglemon finally taking their revenge for the century of mutilation and desecration to which the mightiest Empire in Tharia’s history had been subjected. Algol clawed desperately at the shade’s hands, his tongue flapping like an obscene pink flag, and his eyes bulged while the Sum of all Emperors screamed its rage into his face.

     Gradually, though, his struggles grew weaker, and then he was hanging limply in the grip of the shade, which continued to squeeze as madly as before. The shade and the demon rak then began to fade into transparency, and a few moments later they were gone, while above them sunlight began to stream in through the gaps in the dome of human ribs as the Shadow tore itself open again, the power that had held it together now gone.

     The Samnians fell to their knees, crying words of praise and devotion to Samnos, while Resalintas began to emerge from his holy trance. To him, it seemed as though he was descending from a very high place, and he sensed that it would be a long, long time, maybe centuries, before he attained such heights of faith again. Kharsh and Renda filled him in on what had happened, and then Resalintas joined the others in offering his heartfelt joy and gratitude for their deliverance.

     They were interrupted when one of the Eeii entered the throne room, carefully staying close to the wall to keep out of the sun’s rays. “I see you have accomplished your mission,” it said, eyeing them with its puffy and swollen octopus eyes. “I regret to inform you that we have failed to accomplish ours. We have destroyed every Shadowrak in the palace, but we have been unable to locate their arks. Soon, therefore, they will reform.”

     “It doesn’t matter,” said Kharsh. “By the time they reform, we will have been either completely victorious or completely defeated. They will not return soon enough to make a difference.”

     “That doesn’t mean we have time to waste, though,” added Resalintas, who now seemed to have completely recovered, although with him there was never any telling how much of it was just a bold front. “There are still thousands of spirits out there, trying to get in. Enough to overwhelm us.”

     “Not so, Samnian,” said a new voice, and they span around to see Kar-Noth, the vampire mage, entering through another of the throne room’s entrances. Behind him were the other vampires, as well as a Skorvosian and two of the gl hugzi, telling them that all the members of the invasion force were probably on their way there. “The spirits fled as soon as the sunlight broke through the first time. They may have begun to poke their noses out when the Shadow came back, but you can bet they’re cowering in whatever dark corners they can find now.”

     “We were lucky to escape ourselves,” added another vampire who had a nasty looking burn on the side of his face. “Some of us were right out in the open when the sun broke through, and after expending so much energy in combat we no longer have the power to protect ourselves from it.” He huddled against the tall, circular wall, glaring nervously at the golden rays of sunlight slanting through the holes in the dome of human ribs above them. Fangrap sneered at him as he strode casually across to join the Samnians. The vampires glared back at him, but none of them dared step too far from the wall, which alone was now shading them from the full force of the late afternoon sun.

     “We now control the palace,” added the Skorvosian, his shrunken, mummified face split in a broad grin and exposing more teeth than any human skull ought to possess. “A glorious victory, and a magnificent tribute to the power of Skorvos. Mightiest of the Gods!”

     “It was Samnos who destroyed Algol and the Shadowbeast!” replied Vasta angrily.

     Resalintas stepped between them before they got into a heated argument. “Let us find Tragius and the Puncturium,” he said. “The wizards may need our help in dealing with it.”

     He then led the way out through one of the doors, the others following him.