Chakan lifted her head, a blue unreal light growing in her skull's eye sockets. Had the voice been true, or had it only been a delusion cast by her unending fantasies of reaching eternal rest? "Who speaks?" She asked in a dry, crackling voice, yet she knew the answer. It was indeed a messenger of the dark lord. If it was indeed a true offer, and not some sadistic tease, she might lay down her pride. Not even that would stop her from accepting the peace of death. How desperate was she? How long had it been? Chakan gripped the arm of the throne with her clawed hand in irritation. How she hated to come to him, but of all offers to make, all words she could hear, this one she could not resist. Her old bones stirred and she stood from her seat. "You have my attention." She began, and picked up her swords. Slowly, Chakan began to walk. She'd leave the decrepit castle and make her way toward one of Darko's sealed portals to the underworld. No matter what hydra or wraith stood guard, she would furiously dispatch it.