Malakor The cursed Soldier

Origin
Ages ago, in a fierce battle between the forces of evil and the Vanquishers, a beast was unleashed. Morgvind Rother - a military general feared by his closest allies who ravaged through most of the Old World during his reign of terror. All that bloodshed and destruction for the most primal urge - survival. Morgvind was searching for a way to outlive his enemies, a solution for the inevitable doom that is death. After years upon years of searching he had found it - in the nation of Azgoria a legend was told from elderly to their kin about a Blazing Blossom - a flower so powerful, that it's pollen could make the ones covered in it immortal.

But to every myth and legend, there's a seed of truth. Some might call it boundless hope, others blind desire. Unbeknownst to the folk, Morgvind had found the location of the mythical plant. It came at a cost though - Morgvind's entire army was either dead, injured or on the brink of insanity. But Morgvind didn't bat an eye. In his head, he had already found what he was looking for. Malakor - because that was the nickname that the people gave to Morgvind after his conquests on the Old World, had searched the vast deserts, lush jungles and briny seas of the Old World but in the end it was worth it. Laying before him was a shimmering flower - it constantly shed its petals and regenerated them - the ones that fell off were set ablaze by the sheer warmth coming from the plant, and the ones that came in place of the lost ones sparkled with rejuvenating light.

He had spent his entire life to find this. Malakor blew his triumphant horn to signify his victory and determination. Apart from him, nobody else made it. The entire army, once known as the Undead Legion, was now in ruins. All the soldiers deceased - from plague, poisoning or hazards that they've encountered on their journey. To Malakor, the fact that he'd experienced his domination alone further empowered his desire. As he was reaching for the flower, he could feel the heat, but that didn't stop him from picking it up. He gave up everything for this and it was his sole purpose. This journey was his opus magnum. When he picked the flower, a series of events that were supposedly his demise started to unfold The seemingly warm flower started to melt Malakor's body.Engulfed in flames, he started thrashing around like a hurt animal. Despite his desperate attempts, he couldn't let go of the flower - the pollen already covered his entire arm.

Suddenly Malakor heard a voice - several of them to be precise As he was desperately screaming for help, Malakor realised that they weren't here to help him. He had realised that he wasted his entire life searching for a mythical flower and there was noone to aid him in his last stand. The figures standing above him, looking down upon his disfigured body with grins as wide as the wounds opening on Malakor's body. They were casting a spell. Banishing him to the Underworld for eternity. There was nobody coming to save him. As he was letting out his last breath, he couldn't see anything before his eyes. His life was a mere hollowed out husk. There was nothing he was proud of, nothing he regretted, nothing he remembered. His devotion for the search for immortality had driven him crazy and only now, in his last moments, he had realised that he failed.

Awakening
Darkness was the first thing that he saw - had he lost sight? Possibly. His eyesight wasn't his main concern though. As he was regaining consciousness his body slowly sprouted up to life - at least as far as a melted body can go. Slowly but surely, his cognitive functions were coming back. After a quick assesment of his surroundings, Malakor had noticed his left arm, or rather the lack of it. The bones were still there, but the brunt tissue was beyond repair. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't fully perceptive of the world around him that prevented him from fainting.

Alien - it was the only word that came to Malakor's mind when he saw the world he was now stuck in. With no purpose, he started wandering around the barren wasteland of the Underworld. Days, weeks, years passed. The Old World rejoiced after banishing Malakor but his mission was far from over - he had found a new goal, new task that gave his roaming a purpose - revenge. Throughout his time in the Underworld, Malakor stumbled upon many dangers, one of which was the Cursed Storm. It was an everpresent cloud of sheer terror that rained a toxine that mutated and cursed the body of a denizen unlucky enough to be caught by it. Malakor learnt how to exploit that power. He had experimented on his body to the point where he looked like a demon - even though he didn't manage to grow the flesh on his arm back, he was able to take control of it.

Maybe it was sheer luck, maybe destiny's call - either way, Malakor was presented with an opportunity. A unique offer that he couldn't refuse - a Gate was conjured. A doorway to a new realm. As he was stepping through the portal, he could feel the blood pumping in what was left from his veins. He was ready to fulfil his mission and take on the world.

Return
Fresh air was the first thing that hit him after he had crossed the Gate. Even though he escaped the Underworld after years of imprisonment, the realm where he originally lived seemed strange. Malakor couldn't quite put his finger onto it - it's not like it mattered to him though.

His mission was simple, and it's goal was straighforward - wreck havoc on the humankind as a revenge for his banishment. The realm travelling exhausted him and his powers so he hid under a tree trunk. Not so long after a light rain started falling from the sky. The wild animals were hiding in their burrows and Malakor learnt how to hunt them. With his long arms, he caught a stray hare, who was stuck in between two rocks. The seemingly human notion that was rooted deeply into his most basic human action quickly turned into a gruesome act of primal need - the cracking of hare's bones could be heard far from where Malakor was feasting upon the animal's carcass.

A wandering merchant had heard the terrifying sounds, and driven by sheer curiosity, he started walking towards the source of those ramblings. As he was approaching a clearing in the forest, he had noticed a large, almost human-like beast. Even though it looked like a wounded soldier, the massive horns on top of its head pointed against it. It was missing flesh in some parts of its body and the hands that it was ripping apart its prey with were covered in fresh blood. The beast slowly turned around, stared at the frozen Merchant and uttered only one word in the deepest and most hellish - Malakor. The merchant turned into stone, horrified by the monster. The paralyzation swiftly turned into a dose of dopamine that fueled Merchant's body and told him to run. And he ran, as fast as he could. As far from the nightmare as possible. He could barely think about it without his intestants flipping upside down. Not so long after, he stumbled upon a town where he reported the incident.

And a new myth was born - a Beast from the Underworld. They called it Malakor, since it was the only word it said. It had been spotted by many people, searching parties were called and no matter how hard they tried, none of them could slay the beast. Even if someone gravely wounded it, its tissue slowly but surely grew back. There was no way to vanquish it. You could only postpone the innevitable awakening of this wretched creation. After a while, the people started migrating from the areas where it was last seen. They knew that no matter how hard they tried, it would still come back. No matter what weaponry they used and who wielded it, at some point in the future it would come back. And that thought, that sheer possibility of seeing the beast again drove some of them crazy, others were left scarred but everyone who had even heard about it was paranoid. It could always come for them, and if it did, they wouldn't be able to stop it.