Malzahar had almost forgotten what it felt like to be a man. Since his visions of “The Void” began, the thoughts that drove a mortal began to fade and the prophet was born. His fractured mind stilled by the emptiness, the hungering dark driving his will. He was no longer human, but an instrument of the void; the herald of its coming.
Not everyone “bought into his religion,” so to speak. At least those were the words of his latest opponent. A man who had also given his mind to the dark, but following the path of shadows.
Never did the prophet question the void, which turned into his downfall. “Finish it then,” Malzahar sneered, beaten on the ground with the ninja stepping on his very chest. You could almost see the smug grin under Zed’s steel mask as he gloated, “And send your soul to the void you’re so eager to embrace? ...I think I shall keep you bound to that mortal body of yours longer.”
