Mightiest am I, but I am not alone in this cosmos of mine. For the black hills consist of black souls, souls that already died one thousand deaths. Behind the stone walls of centuries they breed their black art. Boiling their spells in cauldrons of black gold.
Far up in the mountains, where the rain fall not far, yet the sun cannot reach. The wizards, my servants, summon the souls of macrocosm.
No age will escape my wrath. I travel though time and I return to the future. I gather wisdom now lost. I visit again the eternally ancient caves, before a mighty Emperor thereupon came.
Watching the mortals "discovering" my chronicles, guarded by the old demons, even unknown to me. Once destroyed to feast upon the screaming souls that was destroyed in my future. How many wizards that serve me with evil. I know not. My empires has no limits.
From the never ending mountains black, to the bottom lakes. I am the ruler and has been for eternity's long. My wizards are many, but their essence is mine. Forever there are in the hills in their stone homes of grief. Because I am the spirit of their existence. I am them.