He stumbled back,hands shaking violently,shielding his eyes from the most dangerous weapon.For years he had been master of the world’s armies,owner of the most powerful attack mechanisms known to man;all had bowed low before him – all but the Few.

Now he was weak.Starving,in the dark,at the mercy of those Few who had somehow,finally,managed to take him alive.In such a state,all thoughts of triumph,of resistance,of escape had gone from him.All that remained was a shell.A shell that begged just to be let alone,left to die in the misery it had brought upon itself.

But could they leave him be?No.He had hunted them,those Few,like animals,and he had slaughtered many of them just the same.And he wanted them to merely leave him to die?

He could have stood to be killed.Even torture he could manage,to bring him closer to the death that waited.But the Few were not like him.One had come.And from the recesses of his robes he had brought this thing,held it out as if it were nothing.This powerful thing.

This book.