Neapore climbed into bed; more accurately he crawled and collapsed. He was exhausted, as he was most days. With every passing day he was able to do less and less. What worries him most was that Simon's own health was rapidly declining as well. Before long, Neapore was convinced that Simon would share his fate.

Unless they killed Truid, he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that King Truid was behind the mysterious illness. Try as they might, the priestesses were unable to help them and the doctors had only succeeded in making him feel weaker. Neapore was at a loss; what was left for him to do? His last desperate chance to cure his illness was his brother and the army. If they manage to push back to Itriploc and kill the king, Neapore was certain that he would recover and more importantly, his son would recover.

Pulling the covers up over himself, Neapore prayed to Iro but his son would be saved. It was too late for him, he knew for sure. As he lay in the bed, he thought the terrible darkness closing and upon him. His chest and heavy and his breathing stifled. "Who's there?" he called into the dark room.

It was not one voice but many who answered; a chorus of cackling, whispering, and strange, unfamiliar words. The dark eyes seem to be moving towards him. The room felt smaller and the sounds, though terribly indistinct, were getting louder. "Go away!" Neapore demanded weakly. He tried to pull the cover up over his head, but his arms refused to move. Whatever strength he had left was gone.

Through the shadows, he saw a figure staring at him. The figure was cloaked; all Neapore could see beneath the hood were two small, green eyes burning into Neapore's soul. "Who are you?" Neapore managed to whisper.

The figure lowered his hood revealing a skull, hardly any flesh and muscle still attached. His eyes were gone, but the green glow emitted from the sockets. There were no lips, no mouth, just a hole. His nose and hair were all gone. He looked as if he were buried long ago. "I am the Dark Lord Mephistopheles," the figure hissed.

"W-what are you doing to me?" Neapore asked. He felt like he was floating now; he could no longer see even his bed, and the figure seemed to be floating toward him.

"Unfortunately, it will be over quickly."

"I-I don't understand…"

"You don't have to," the figure answered.

"My son…" Neapore's voice was distant. It was as if he was hearing himself talk from another room.

"Will share your fate."

"Why?"

"Truid chose you. I'm not picky." The figure let out a noise that was almost like a laugh, but sent chills through Neapore's being.

"But… why?" Neapore tried to look away as the figure seemed to get closer and closer, but the green eyes were hypnotic and he couldn't tear himself away.

"I gave him a son; he'll give me my freedom. And for that, I need your souls." The figure reached out through the shadows and touched Neapore's chest. There was a burning sensation and Neapore let out a blood curdling scream. At least, he opened his mouth to scream, but he was unsure he actually made a sound. There was a sizzling noise and a strange blue smoke lifted from his body to float before his eyes. Neapore watched as the demon inhaled the smoke in tendrils through the space where his nose should be.

In an instance, the demon moved away, disappearing in shadow and the darkness in the room receded. Soon, Neapore was alone in the room, his chest burning where a bony hand was burnt into the flesh, through his clothes, unable to move. A new darkness began to fill the room, but this one was almost comforting. Neapore sighed, his last breath.