Hope. He hated hope. It made people cocky, bold. People were not as easily manipulated when they had hope. Instead, they were stubborn, determined, a barrier to his goals. Aradhon did not need a barrier to his goals. Not when he was so close. The dark elf stood on the eighth floor balcony of the Leary Building, staring out over the hovels of Feather Lakes, his arms crossed over his chest, his face stoic.
They had been close to opening a Gateway to the Nether. Close until Bertram Leary screwed it all up in his ridiculous quest for vengeance on an elf that had been dead for centuries. Not only was Mephalus dead, but his soul was trapped inside the human Warrior's Guardian Sword. Bertram's vengeance could have waited until after the Gateway was opened. The man was lucky that he and his sis
