It was an ancient and forbidden tongue, spewed forth by creatures that needed no vocal chords – not even mouths – to speak it. But here were the Cult of Legion, calling out to their abyssal lord in his own foul argot like they were natives of the Pit themselves. It could only be the Key of Lunos that allowed them to shout across the planes, it was the only explanation. As Lord Julius held the Key of Lunos in one tightly clenched fist, it glowed with a hellish light, black smoke effusing from its surface. He had discarded the mask now, and his face was twisted in rapture. Blaklok wanted to do something, anything, but he was held fast by the clawed hands of the two demoniac acolytes that flanked him. He could smell their fetid breath and the stench rising from their infected bodies, and it sickened him. The lengths they had gone to please their foul deity were loathsome in the extreme – they had allowed themselves to become energumen; infected by the evil of the Pit itself. And less than ten feet away stood Castor Cage, staring at him with unbridled hatred.
