The Myrdraath flew down into the Abyss that was its Master's abode. A few hundred feet below the earth, all light ceased to exist, and a thousand miles from the surface, beyond the earth's core, the darkness was total and limitless. 

 The Myrdraath thrived in such darkness. Its bat wings, now cupped to control its descent, had almost resumed its usual luster, no longer bombarded by that otherworld's relentless light. The black eyes glittered, still relishing the memories it had stolen from the boy's old guardians, then the mind of that armsman, the one who owned a score of those wonderful weapons called 'guns'. That slash of a mouth broke into a smirk. It would have relished the boy's memories, given the opportunity. There was such Power in the child's gaze. A pity. But the Master's instructions concerning this young human had been explicit. To disobey or even to question His word was unthinkable.

Down the Myrdraath descended, into the vast tunnel that was the entrance to its Lord's domain. It ignored the hungry, blood red eyes that glittered within the wall's crevices—the constant chittering of the guerlaxi. They were of no consequence to the assassin. Its task had been  accomplished, soon to bask in the glory of its Master.

Finally, after what seemed like eons, the Myrdraath reached level ground. To ordinary vision the tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, for here the darkness was absolute, but the creature reveled in the lightless paths. It glided, snakelike, through the black, winding corridors, emerging at last into a spacious cavern.

No count of centuries could have determined the age of that dark and ancient place. Perhaps as old as its Master, before the time of Creation itself. The walls and pillars were lined with alien glyphs the color of dried blood, and the ground was of polished onyx. A thousand feet above the earth, the walls began to converge towards a black swirling void, a vortex of Time. The vastness of the place was heightened by its emptiness, and yet a terrible Presence could be felt within its walls, watching. The dark within the emptiness seemed to stir, a solidified darkness that reeked of Power. Sweet ichor wafted into the stale, musty air.

The Myrdraath prostrated itself before the Being.

"Ver neiel sherez?" ("IS IT DONE?") The disembodied voice echoed along the cavern walls, and the assassin trembled before its might.

"Allez, Mireldein."  ("Yes, Master.") The Myrdraath hissed in the same ancient tongue. "I have been--discrete--as you wished."

The darkness shifted, seeming to expand.

"VERY WELL," it boomed, "WE SHALL SEE."

Sudden silence, but amidst the deceptive stillness, the assassin could feel the release of tremendous energies, and it cowered fearfully on the ancient ground.

After a while, the Power waned, and the Dark spoke:

"YOU HAVE BROUGHT THE CHILD ALMOST UNTO DEATH—TOO CLOSE, THAT I AM DISPLEASED. BUT THE BOY LIVES, AND FOR THIS AND THE GREAT PAIN YOU HAVE CAUSED HIM I GIVE YOU YOUR LIFE."

The Dark Lord's words rankled on the crouching minion, for his reward would not be forthcoming.

"Master, I seek Your will in this," hissed the Myrdraath, "but the human must die. He is the last—"

The Dark's shadow loomed over the minion, a massive penumbra of anger.

"YOU DARE QUESTION MY WILL?"  The Myrdraath shrank back from the rage in the voice. "REMEMBER THIS, ASSASSIN, YOUR PENCHANT FOR KILLING HAS SERVED ME WELL, BUT IN THIS, YOU WILL STAY YOUR HAND. THE CHILD IS MINE, AND HIS DEATH IS MINE!"

With that the Presence left, leaving the Myrdraath prone and trembling on the cold ground, to ponder on the Master's words. But who could ever understand the mind of a God?