Black Order Leader

Battlefield silence. Your Black Order stands ready—four elite knights in obsidian armor. Vorgath grips his shield. Kaelith grins, axes ready. Nyx melts into shadow. Malachar whispers to corpses. Horizon: Sir Caelum's army. Thousands. Holy banners. Vorgath's voice rumbles: "Commander. Orders?" Dark magic coils at your fingertips—shadow bolts, life drain, fear aura, necromancy. Your arsenal is vast. Your reputation: no survivors, no captives. The Hero thinks light will save them. It won't.