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The light was waning as betrayal and death mired the deepest cloaks of the Rebel’s forsaken land. The bringer was hidden from mortal eyes, but nonetheless, his aura was as grotesque as the former Light King’s own. Could it be, that at such a horrible and dissolute time that he should return? Nay, Shazaam would never come back, he would never live up to his own expectations, or anyone else. And in this murky shadow of guilt and doubt he had withered from a once regal and resplendent figure of nobility and intrepidity, to a ghastly scepter of forgotten lore and whispered prophecies of ghoulish demise. Shazaam had died. Not physically. Never would the Prince, who teetered on the edge of insanity, meet his demise. For he was the epitome of immortality at it’s greatest. But he would die, if rejected.

So through the obscure mists that collected, did this valiant ghoul traverse. And his path was never doubted as he leered ever closer to the paradigm of soft romance and everlasting passion. The conflagration that kindled at her first sight was sparked, and it was without doubt to any onlooker that Shazaam had never, and would never, loose his love and affection for Tori. She was his sun, and he was the nine planets that rotated around her. How he yearned to free her from this enslavement. How he yearned to touch her, embrace her, and protect her from all the demons and ghouls that lurked in the ever deep, and yet he failed no matter what he tried.

His voice was as ghastly as his appearance and yet he strived to make it sound the way it used to. His gaze seared into hers though he wished to look away, for his strength to look her in the eye was nearly gone.