Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

The catacombs are hidden beneath the tower that was once the fortress of Ores, who and his family were deposed years ago when they were revealed to be followers of Slaanesh.

The Witch King skinned every member of Ores and his family, from Ores himself to the lowliest slave, and nailed their wet, bloody bodies to the walls of Naggarond. Some of the cultists took weeks to finally die, the groans from their tongueless mouths a grim warning to all Druki.

Perhaps even in Naggaroth, some obscenities were too much? Or perhaps this was just a... ? A follower of Slaanesh, or so Malekith declared.

Since Ores's title of Dread Lord was abolished, no new Dread Lord dared to boldly take this taboo spire for himself. But the fact that there is no Dread Lord on the surface does not mean that there is no Dread Lord in secret. The tomb under the tower has become the best secret gathering place. At night, when the eternal lead gray fades and the two moons rise, this place becomes the best gathering place for the dignitaries of Naggarond, of course excluding Malekith and his confidants.

Hemara, who kicked aside the scattered bones of Ores' ancestors, looked out of place in this eerie setting. She was dressed in a black robe trimmed with silver, with thin lace decorated with bloodstones, which matched her raven-like hair. She looked like she was attending a festive banquet, not planning a midnight plot to overthrow the evil rule of the Witch King.

She maintained perfect elegance and composure, but there was always something about her that made Tigasus's blood run cold. Through her beautiful face and charming figure, one could see a malice that even Duruchi could not bear. For Tigasus, watching her was like watching a giant spider weaving a web, always wondering if a trap was being woven for it.

Tigasus had been lucky enough to escape the trap set for him by Hermara, when he foolishly underestimated Hermara, thinking that sleeping with her would give him some immunity from the conspiracy. But fortunately, he avoided the mistake by shrewdly betraying her, and only in this way could he protect himself in such a dangerous environment as Naggaroth and avoid the wrath of the Witch King falling on his head.

"I thought you would come alone, but I didn't expect..." As Hemara said this, her eyes passed over Tigasus and looked at the entourage behind Tigasus with displeasure.

"Have you forgotten? I know you!" Tigasus made a kind reminder, and then he pointed his right hand at his two companions behind him, "If I knew someone was here to protect my back, I would be more focused on our negotiations."

He could no longer suppress his smile when he saw the contempt in Hemala's eyes. Hemala probably knew that one of his companions behind him was his current lover. Could Hemala be jealous? No, not real jealousy, just the bitterness of a spoiled child seeing others playing with her toys. He reminded Hemala, just to tell Hemala who was the dominant figure in this conspiracy.

"Your behavior has shaken my assessment of your ability. Maybe... you are not..." Hemara shook her head in dissatisfaction.

"My ability? I have the ability! And it's higher than you estimated. This is why I'm here. If I don't have the ability, I have nothing!" Tigasus looked at Hemara coldly.

Hemara hissed and complained angrily, making idle threats and empty curses. If it weren't for some reason, she really didn't want to be here, and she didn't want to see this guy who made her feel disgusted.

But there was no way. This was her duty, this was her obligation. When the empty curse came out of her mouth, she thought of Dacus. Maybe Dacus would soon return to Naggaroth? Maybe she would get rid of all this? Do something she liked, something she wanted to do? She believed that Dacus would help her with this.

Tigasus brushed aside Hemara's displeasure like a buzzing insect.

"You're confident?"

"Only necessity can make you welcome me back into your arms." Tigasus replied calmly, and the hateful look from Hemara made him take a step forward. He had considered every detail before coming here, and he understood the current situation. Hemara needed him and would endure everything until this situation was no longer necessary.

"The Witch King is weak, he can no longer rule us, that's why I'm here." After a moment, treasonous words burst out of Hemara's mouth.

Tigasus was not surprised by what Hemara said, nor did he show any fear or look around. He squinted his eyes and looked carefully at the woman in front of him, hoping to catch some useful information from Hemara's eyes.

"I didn't know you were so afraid of the Witch King. Perhaps... there is no need for us to continue talking? If a usurper is afraid of his monarch, then he has failed before he even begins." As Hemara spoke, she put her hands behind her back and slowly stepped back, her fingers pinching the Night Ring that she had obtained as a trophy in Elsing Arwen.

This trophy is very useful to her. When the ring is activated, a dark cloud will appear around her. She can use this opportunity to escape. She still wants to stay alive and wait for Dacus' return, rather than hearing the news of her death when Dacus returns.

"Anyone who is not afraid of Malekith is either a madman or a fool like Dacius. No! Even if there is any chance, I cannot deny my fear of him." Tigasus replied when he saw that Hermara was planning to terminate the talks.

"In your eyes, Dacus is a fool?"

"What else? A fool, a fool, he actually left Naggaroth as an archon, he gave up the enormous power! If necessary, I really want to teach him how to use power correctly!"

"Interesting!" Hemara bit her lip after she finished speaking, trying to control her expression. She tried not to let her pupils reveal an intriguing look. She was about to be amused by Tigasus, and she was worried that she would suddenly laugh and ruin this secret conversation.

"Then will you expose my conspiracy?" Hermala asked immediately after she controlled her expression in order to avoid arousing Tigasus' suspicion.

"I will not expose anyone, at least not now. I will listen carefully to your proposal and see how much support I can get. But you must know that I hold the power, not you."

"This is a land filled with chaos, with rumors of betrayal everywhere, and nobles turning against each other. It takes a strong arm to bind them together again and serve their country.

This requires a more cruel method than the Witch King, a barbarity that even the demons cannot match, only in this way can their pride be broken and they be bound in the shackles of terror. I believe that you will become the lord of all Duruchi, the master of Naggaroth! This is why I am here. "Hemara kept saying things that she didn't even believe.

"I have received a cruel education and experienced the horror of the wilderness. My hands are stained with the blood of my father and brothers. You know that I am willing to do anything cruel for power!" After saying this, Tigasus paced in the tomb, digesting Hemara's rebellious remarks.

These words still contain truth even when stripped of the tempting greed and hatred. There was no news of Darkeus after he left Naggaroth, as if he had disappeared out of thin air. He had reason to suspect that Darkeus died somewhere in the jungle. Perhaps it was because of the greed of the Witch King Asriel that Darkeus was secretly executed. Otherwise, why would Darkeus never show up?

Malekith, who had found the so-called Sun Blade, was in a strange state of weakness. He could sense Malekith's weakness and compromise, which he had never seen before. A plan to invest in Asheril? Ridiculous stuff.

But he lacked some necessary intelligence, which was why he agreed to meet with Hemara. Only a jackal like Hemara could smell the signal and approach quietly, ready to seize anything he could get.

"What if I expose you? What if my army joins his banner?" Tigasus asked after a moment, staring at Hermara, wanting to see the look of horror on her face.

"You want to stand on Malekith's side? Are you sure? What benefit will you get from doing so?" Hemara said as she took a big step back.

"Unless it's in my best interest, you invited me here but are just talking empty words, shouldn't you make a suggestion? Or some kind of promise?" Tigasus stopped pacing and said, scraping his fingers across a charred coffin lid.

"I think you have decided what you want." Hemara replied with eyes as cold as a glacier that has not changed for thousands of years.

"I ask for the crown, I ask for rule over Naggaroth. In exchange, I will support you against your enemies and rivals," Tigasus corrected.

"I agree. We will recognize you as our king. But if you want to be king, you must get rid of the current one."

"You know my army cannot resist Malekith's army." Hemara agreed too quickly, so quickly that Tigasus didn't like it, and he responded with a frown.

"I know your army cannot fight Malekith and protect this land at the same time, so... let's try another way." "Oh?" Tigasus showed a curious expression.

"We don't need your army, we only need you. We need the only swordsman in all of Naggaroth who can accomplish this, and you are the one. You must kill Malekith!" After saying this, Hemara strode back and left.
-
"You know they are only using you, and once you have done what they need you to do, they will betray you just as quickly as they betrayed their king."

"You have it backwards. It is I who am using them. They serve my purposes, even if their pride does not allow them to understand that. When their usefulness is over, even Hemaara will find her disposable."

Tigasus growled at himself in the mirror, and after venting for a while, he stopped this meaningless action. He turned his head and looked at the lead-wrapped wooden box beside him. He walked over slowly and opened the box. The moment the box was opened, green light illuminated his face.

A Messer knife was placed in the box, with runes engraved on the blade, and bursts of green light emanating from the runes.

He did not touch it rashly. He knew it was best not to touch the blade without protecting his hands. The flashing runes were the manifestation of the dimensional stone, which was a terrible substance.

So far, Hemara's plan had worked flawlessly, and her knowledge of the Black Tower and the day-to-day operations of its Black Guards was simply invaluable.

Tigasus saw the loophole, and he believed he could deal with the sentinels patrolling the bridge between Hemara's own tower and the outer ring around Malekith's Black Tower. He had the strength to do so. Afterwards, his men would don the armor of the Black Guard, taking the sentinels' place, and adopt the golden belts that indicated the current rotation.

The sentinels would not be relieved before dawn, and his men would have to escape before then. Once his men retreated, the vacant posts would be discovered quickly, and the true Black Guard would converge on the bridge. He was sure that Hemara had some trick up her sleeve to relieve him of his duty, but that would not help him. If he was still in the Black Tower at dawn, there would be no way out for him, and he would face the captain of the Black Guard: Koran.

After Tigasus put on his protective gear, he grabbed the handle and raised the knife. The blade was as thin as a feather and extremely sharp. It could easily penetrate the defense of Iselamar Silver. He had tested it more than once. When the blade penetrated the defense of the armor, the skin touched by the blade would turn black, liquefy, and rot.

He didn't believe that Malekith's body could withstand this fatal blow! If one blow didn't work, then he would use multiple blows! He believed in his own strength!
There is no such saying in Naggaroth, or in the elven society: When armed with a sharp weapon, one will naturally want to kill. However, this saying best describes his inner thoughts at that moment.

Once a thought arises, it cannot be stopped, and the world becomes vast in an instant.

As the Dread Lord of Naggarond, Tilgarthus stalks through the Black Tower like a shadow, and one does not need to have a mind as cunning and twisted as the Witch King to guess his purpose. During Malekith's long reign, many assassins have tried to overthrow the tyrant, but their fates were horrifying enough to shock even Drukir. If there is one person in the world who can force fate to bend by force of will, that person is Malekith. And now, he is seeking such doom.

Sweat formed on Tigasus's forehead, his breathing turned into rapid gasps, and he could feel the blood rushing faster in his veins. How much of this was the effect of the potion he drank to enhance his reactions and senses? And how much of this was his instinctive fear, the fear he didn't even want to admit?
He has been through so much along the way, and his life has been like walking on thin ice. He is glad that he has gone through all this. But now, he is shrouded in the shadow of the tyrant and is full of fear. Can he make it to the other side alive? Can he become the new king of Naggaroth?

In the forgotten lower halls of the Black Tower, Tigarus was surrounded by the essence of the Witch King. Room after room of opulent opulence, walls covered with masterpieces that many a Druki noble would have sold their children into slavery to see. Carpets of intricate patterns and artistry, lines so fine that the slightest touch of the foot ripples like water. Sculptures carved from obsidian, amber, emerald, and crystal, details so exquisite that the sculptures seem to breathe as the eye passes over them.

Tables carved from rare woods, every curve possessing an immeasurable grace and dignity. Plates studded with diamonds and rubies, bowls of gold, silver and iselama silver, all laid out on the table, waiting for the attention of some passing guest, not caring at all about the faint discoloration left by the food they once held, long since rotted away.

The wealth of the lower levels of the Black Tower was immeasurable, enough to overwhelm the greediest of Druki, yet it lay abandoned and forgotten, gathering dust that showed centuries of disuse. From the casting and craftsmanship, he knew that most of the art he saw was a relic from Druki's shattered homeworld of Nagaryth.

To any of the great houses of Naggaroth these relics would be priceless heirlooms, but to the Witch-King they were little more than useless trinkets.

Nothing could have impressed him more deeply than the abandoned magnificence of Malekith's absolute power, but perhaps the last time Malekith had used these halls was before the coming of the Druki? Never before had any living Druki enjoyed them except the immortal Malekith, his witch mother, and the old ghosts of the House of Hellblight?

Time had turned the cup into a hollow, rotting shell. He ran his fingers over a wine glass covered in dust and decay, but his fingers, shielded by the armor, could not feel the touch. The cup shattered under his touch and fell onto the table in a heap of corrosion. The tarnished jewels stared at him desperately in the rotting garbage.

These rooms were a lost and haunted place, and every step through the silent halls reinforced this eerie impression. An urge to turn back stirred in his heart, an urge to escape the streets of Naggarond and escape the strange malevolence of the Black Tower. But he knew that he could not turn back. When the black guards on the bridge were discovered, what awaited him would be...

He stopped and walked along the way, and found that some traces were new. Seeing this, he felt jealous. Why? He knew that Dacus had stayed here before, and these traces were left by Dacus and his disappeared followers.

It doesn't matter whether Dacus is missing or executed by the Witch King. What matters is that when he becomes the new king of Naggaroth, there will be no place for Dacus and the Hellbane family in Naggaroth. At that time, he will not only be the king of Naggaroth, but also the king of Asheril. He likes the name Asheril, the land of despair.

The urge to flee was gone, replaced by an endless thirst for power, and he now stood before the ultimate power, the promise of the crown and throne of Naggaroth.

A moment later he caught the first sign of a trail, a trail of footprints pressed against the caked dust on tile and carpet. He was not as skilled in the art of tracking and hunting as the shadows that lurked in the wild or the beastmasters of Clar Karond, but even he could read the signs in the dust.

The tracks were made by an elf, and the boot that made them was long and wide. The tracks overlapped several times, indicating that the tracks were repeated, all of which were related to the strange change in the Witch King's habits that Hemara had told him about.

Since his return from Clar Karond, Malekith has often left the throne room atop the Black Tower. Many a night he has wandered the ruins of ancient splendor, contemplating the remains of Nagarythe. No Black Wardens protect him in this, no sorceress follows him. Whatever strange emotions cloud his mind, it is a boon to his enemies.

If the enemy was bold enough, he could take advantage of this opportunity. And he was taking advantage of it now.

There was a bitter smile on Tigasus's face. Although Hemara had so many conspiracies, Hemara lacked that kind of courage. In his opinion, all the Druks lacked that kind of courage. Only he had the determination to attack and kill!

He crouched and walked slowly through the millennia of desolation and decay, following the trail left in the dust. He felt as if every nerve in his body was on fire, his heart beating rapidly in his chest, his senses searching the stagnant air, trying to find the slightest sound, the faintest smell, anything that would alert the hunter to the presence of prey.

His hand tightened around the hilt of the warpstone knife, and he could feel the blade throbbing with hunger, the essence of the blade eager to take a soul. Soon, he promised, soon he would satiate the blade's appetite.

After passing through a gallery of statues, he entered a wide arcade lined with wooden screens covered with exotic scenes and ancient legends, which were obviously not the work of elves.

After a glance, he licked his lips, trying to moisten his dry mouth, his gaze wandering along the trail he was following. As he walked from one gallery to another, the world around him froze. His eyes did not linger on the dusty portraits in the halls, he did not stare at the jeweled frames and gilded inlays, his attention was completely focused on the solitary figure standing in the desolation.

He was tall and covered in armor from head to toe, and the metal with runes on it exuded an air of arrogance and contempt. The evil black armor, the tall helmet supporting the horned iron crown, the Yangyan sword hanging at his waist, everything was so recognizable.

Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth.

Malekith had his back to Tigarthus, staring intently at a painting on the wall that showed Aenarion roaring before the flame of Asuryan.

Tigasus dared not breathe, he could not even hear his own heartbeat, he felt an instinctive fear. Could he strike now and cut down the immortal tyrant? Who was he? How could he kill an elf who had survived the holy fire of Asuryan?
But now, it's too late, he has no way out.

Anger coursed through his veins, his fear was overwhelmed by a wave of malice. Pride had brought him this far, and pride would carry him further.

Tigasus tightly grasped the dimensional stone knife and jumped out of the darkness. (End of this chapter)