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As an Assassin, Dictum's knowledge of the Dark Arts performed by the castes of Sith Sorcerers was vaguely limited and estimated. His own realm was that of the Shadows, Death, and Chaos, a realm that few walked with sanity and decree. For him to assume anything of the veils beyond was mere stipulation and guess-work. And so, it did not surprise him of the reality in which he had mistook. As Inmortos appeared behind him, he turned to greet the Sorcerer with a degree of respect and acclaim. But that held no extended pleasure as the Master's words etched themselves in his mind and in his soul. For Inmortos' own reality soon forged its self upon Dictum's own. And in that very moment, as two realities collided, his just reward was just that. And in its consummation, became more. As finger plunged flesh, the seeping of soulfrost encapsulating the puncture, Dictum found himself delving a deeper understanding of pain, fear, and gluttony as Inmortos scratched upon his soul. There were no words that could allow comprehension of what transpired, only a simple layman's term could give subtle hints as emotions swept at Dictum's mind and soul. For pain stood at the forefront, inconceivable pain that treated both consciousness and spirit, and in the moment, fear compared to deathly fright filled his mind with anguish and agony. But Dictum's soul was not without strength, and it stood welcoming as the revelation of power consumed his heart gluttonously. Even as his form trembled and his soul ached in pain and fear, an almost freezing paralysis station of being, deep within the soul that Inmortos touched, a deep well of hunger resided, threatening to consume both. Yet, as Inmortos' finger found its scarred crevasse, and with a single motion tore out a portion of Dictum's soul, the world trembled at its awakened power. And in its final moments, Dictum fell to all four. Gasping for air, Dictum's strength wavered immensely as his weak bones threatened to crumble beneath his weight. He coughed, then gagged, before ichor vomited from his mouth and his gaze struggled to watch the moments as they transpired. But his hunger remained, the gluttonous depravity lingering in his soul as he held onto his power. And as the dust settled figuratively and the rumbling stone settled physically, Dictum found strength to rise once again to his feet as the crystals sealed his wound. Hearing the movements beside him, Dictum's gaze turned toward the mummified remains as they lifted from their sleep with true revelation. Dictum had offered his soul, and in it's acceptance, the devil arose. Now the time to unleash hell grew even closer. And upon the precipice of Chaos, Dictum stood between two worlds. No longer was he a mere Assassin of the Sith. No, he had became more, a living blade that stood at Death's Door. And in his gaze, he saw his mission. He was to answer those who came to knock. He was to be the voice of Chaos. He was, is, Death's Divinity. He would sow it's seeds and reap it's harvest as Harbinger.