Twelve years ago.

The wind, a biting scourge across the desolate Southlands, tore at Morzan's tattered cloak, chilling him to the bone. He pulled the worn fabric tighter, his breath misting in the frigid air. For days he had trudged through this barren wasteland, answering the summons of the Coven. Ahead, like a beacon in the oppressive darkness, shimmered the Great Barrier, its kaleidoscopic hues a mockery of the life it had stolen. It marked the forbidden border, the dividing line between their desolate exile and the vibrant lands of the Brightlands. He spat, the taste of dust and bitterness clinging to his tongue. That cursed wall, pulsating with stolen life, was a constant reminder of their defeat, their banishment.

As he crested a rise, he saw them – his fellow Warlocks, gathered in a ragged assembly before the Barrier. They were a motley crew, their forms twisted and corrupted by years of dark magic and desperate attempts to cling to life. And there, at their forefront, stood Nyx Marvolo. Even from this distance, Morzan could sense the raw power emanating from him, the dark ambition burning in his black eyes. Marvolo, with his wild white hair whipping in the wind, was a stark figure against the swirling chaos of the Barrier's light.

Morzan's heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he approached. He scanned the faces of the assembled Warlocks, recognizing some he hadn't seen in centuries. Lady Grissema Dreadwood, her beauty a chilling, ageless mask, stood near the front, her gaze fixed on the Barrier with an almost predatory hunger. Varkath, his flesh a grotesque tapestry of self-inflicted runes, fidgeted impatiently, his clawed fingers twitching.

Marvolo's voice, amplified by necromantic power, boomed across the wind, silencing the whispers and murmurs. "Brothers and sisters," he declared, his voice resonating with a chilling confidence, "for too long we have languished in this wasteland, our powers waning, our spirits broken. But tonight, we reclaim our birthright!" He gestured towards the Barrier, his voice rising with fervor. "This…this monument to Druidic arrogance, this prison that has held us captive…will fall!"

A wave of doubt washed over the crowd. Morzan felt it too, a cold knot of apprehension tightening in his gut. He'd seen too many Warlocks die trying to breach the Barrier, their bodies reduced to withered husks by its unforgiving magic. Whispers of dissent broke out around him, a ripple of unease spreading through the assembled Warlocks. Then, a figure stepped forward, pushing back his hood to reveal the gaunt, weathered face of Kael Blightcaller, Lord of Thainskeep and a member of the Dark Sanctrimon, the Warlocks' ruling council.

"Marvolo," Kael's voice rasped, heavy with skepticism, "do you truly believe this is possible? So many have tried and failed. Their souls consumed by that…thing!"

Morzan held his breath, watching as surprise flickered across Marvolo's face. "Kael," he acknowledged, suspicion lacing his voice. "You live."

"I do," Kael spat, defiance burning in his eyes, "and I will not stand by while you lead our coven to its doom." He turned to the others, his voice rising in accusation. "He is a liar and a murderer! He has slain the other leaders of the Dark Sanctrimon! He would sacrifice us all in his mad quest for power!"

"Silence, old fool!" Marvolo snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You cling to a dying hope! The Brightlands are ours! They were stolen from us, and I will see them returned!"

"The Barrier cannot be broken," Kael insisted, his voice unwavering. "It is madness to even try!"

"Madness?" Marvolo scoffed. "You are blind to the truth! The Druids are not gods! Their magic is not invincible! I have studied their secrets, uncovered their weaknesses. We can overcome this obstacle and reclaim our birthright!"

"Your lies will not sway us, Marvolo!" Kael retorted. He raised his hands, dark energy crackling around his withered fingers like a swarm of angry wasps. "I, Kael Blightcaller, sole member of the Dark Sanctrimon and rightful leader of the Warlock coven, declare you a traitor! You will pay for your crimes!"

Kael unleashed a torrent of dark energy, a wave of raw power that struck Marvolo with the force of a battering ram. Morzan flinched, instinctively shielding his face from the backlash of the attack. Marvolo staggered, but quickly recovered, his own power surging to meet the challenge. The two Warlocks clashed, their magic a terrifying vortex of death and decay, tearing at the very fabric of reality.

Morzan watched, awestruck and terrified, as the two masters of death magic battled. The air crackled and hissed, the ground trembled beneath his feet. Shadowy tendrils lashed out, coiling and striking like venomous serpents. Bolts of necrotic energy crisscrossed the battlefield, leaving trails of frost and decay in their wake. The very air grew heavy with the stench of death, a cloying sweetness that made Morzan's stomach churn. He felt a thrill of fear mixed with excitement. This was a duel unlike any he had ever witnessed, a clash of titans that could reshape the destiny of their coven.

Marvolo, fueled by a cold fury, moved with a predator's grace. He deflected Kael's attacks with contemptuous ease, his own spells striking with the precision of a viper. Each blast of necrotic energy seemed to drain the older Warlock, the shadows under his eyes deepening, his movements growing sluggish. Morzan watched, mesmerized, as the very air around them crackled with the intensity of their duel. He could feel the oppressive weight of death magic pressing down on him, the ground vibrating with each exchange of power.

With a final, triumphant roar, Marvolo unleashed a devastating torrent of dark energy. It struck Kael with the force of a thunderbolt, throwing him back against the Barrier. He slumped to the ground, his body wracked with convulsions, his life force draining away like sand through an hourglass.

Marvolo stalked towards the fallen Warlock, his eyes blazing with victory. "In the end, it seems," he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper that carried across the hushed crowd, "you will have helped me one way or another."

Kael let out a final, agonized scream as Marvolo consumed his life force, his body withering into a desiccated husk. Morzan felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He had never witnessed such raw power, such ruthless efficiency. Marvolo, chest heaving, stood over the fallen Warlock, the embodiment of death itself.

He turned to the remaining Warlocks, his gaze sweeping across their stunned faces. "You have witnessed my power," he declared, his voice ringing with unquestionable authority. "With the last of the Dark Sanctrimon dead, I claim leadership of the coven. Obey my command!"

Morzan, along with the others, stared up at Marvolo with a mixture of fear and awe. No one dared challenge him. He was their Deathlord now, and they would follow him, wherever he led, even into the heart of oblivion.

"Now," Marvolo commanded, his voice sharp as shattered glass, "turn your attention to the Barrier!" He pointed to a specific spot on the shimmering surface, a nexus of swirling colors. "Focus your power there! Unleash your fury! Tear at its essence!"

"Now, begin!" he roared. "Do not hold back, my Warlock brethren! Drain its energy!"

One by one, the Warlocks obeyed, their fear outweighing their exhaustion. Morzan raised his hand, his face grim, and focused his will. He could feel the Barrier, a living wall of stolen life, pulsing with raw energy. He reached out with his mind, grasping at the strands of power that held it together. He pulled, and a searing pain shot through him, a burning torrent that coursed through his veins and set his nerves on fire. He gasped, his vision blurring, but he did not relent.

The air crackled with the combined power of the coven. Around him, his fellow Warlocks cried out in pain, their voices a chorus of agony and desperation. They strained against the Barrier, their magic tearing at its shimmering surface.

The multicolored wall rippled and bucked, resisting their assault. Waves of raw energy pulsed outwards, striking them with agonizing force. Morzan felt his body burning, his muscles screaming in protest. He saw a Warlock near him collapse, his form withering into a lifeless husk. Still, he pressed on, fueled by a primal fear of failure.

Then, a crack appeared, a hairline fracture in the Barrier's surface. It spread rapidly, like a spiderweb of lightning across the multicolored expanse. Marvolo's cry of victory echoed across the desolate landscape, a chilling counterpoint to the Warlocks' groans of pain.

Suddenly, Marvolo lunged forward, plunging his hands into the fissure. Morzan watched in horror as his skin blackened and smoked, the flesh charring as he tore at the Barrier with brute force. The air filled with the acrid stench of burnt flesh and ozone, a testament to the raw power unleashed.

Another crack appeared, and Marvolo, with a guttural roar, ripped a chunk of the Barrier free. He widened the fissure with savage intensity, multicolored fragments raining down around him like shards of a shattered rainbow.

He stumbled back, his charred hands smoking, the flesh hanging in blackened strips. "The rune!" he rasped, his voice hoarse with exertion and pain. "Quickly, a rune of binding!"

Varkath, ever eager to defile, rushed forward, his clawed fingers scraping a complex symbol into the earth at the base of the breach. Marvolo, with a grimace of pain, drew a wickedly sharp knife from his belt and sliced his palm. He pressed his bleeding hand onto the rune, the black blood flowing freely into the intricate grooves. The symbol flared with infernal light, pulsing with dark energy. Marvolo pressed his other hand, charred and smoking, into the center of the rune. The air thrummed with power, and the rune began to glow with an eerie light, weaving a net of dark magic that held the breach open, preventing the Barrier from healing itself.

Morzan collapsed to his knees, his body wracked with pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He felt drained, emptied, every muscle screaming in protest. But beneath the pain, a thrill of exhilaration coursed through him. They had done it. They had broken the Barrier.

Marvolo, his blackened hands raised in triumph, his eyes blazing with unholy fire, proclaimed, "The Barrier is broken! The Brightlands are ours! Penumbra City awaits! No mercy! Kill them all!"

Morzan, exhausted but exhilarated, roared his approval, joining the other Warlocks as they surged through the breach, a tide of darkness sweeping towards the unsuspecting city. The Fall of the Druid Barrier had begun. And with it, the reign of Deathlord Nyx Marvolo, the Black Hand of Death, had begun.