The suit of armor stood about as tall as a normal man, a deep cyan flame sparking from deep within the iron chest of the beast. It was still human shaped, very few changes made to the armor itself, simply a dew intricate engravings sprawling across the metal surface of the armor, inlaid with small strips of gold. The suit was impressive, commanding attention and respect of all those below him. The fog gave him less of a menacing look, more of a regal majesty, that of a man striding victorious from a battle.
The new creation turned to its master, more confused than anything else. At the heart of the construct were souls, ripped out from his human slaves. Though the slaves remained alive, they were now little more than husks of their old selves, shambling beasts, able to do little more than carry out the simplest of commands. In return for their most noble sacrifice, the new construct was graced with their combined knowledge of the region, as well as their tactics and battle prowess.
Viktor smiled, proud of this creation. "I bestow upon you a name, something to take pride in, something to whisper in the ears of your victims as you trample them into the ground. You shall be known as Stamrad, a name to strike fear in the masses of lesser beings. You will command our army, lead our glorious revolution! Now go, train your men, we must be ready for battle before the enemy strikes." Viktor said, raising his fist, a signal within his army, equating to Hitler's salute.
The Construct, Stamrad, raised his fist in response to the signal. He raised his head, bobbing it slightly as he spoke. "M-m-master. Who is the enemy?" Stamrad asked, his strong, deep voice pierced by a small hint of fear. Viktor tended to illicit this kind of response in those of weak mindset. The grayish fog slipped back into the armor, Stamrad not wanting to disgrace his master with so much as a wisp of fog touching him.
"Don't be silly, my dear child. The enemy is everywhere. they are ALL the enemy. Now go, make us proud! For blood! For glory! For victory!" Viktor said, a firm, yet friendly tone in his voice.
Shadows and flame darted through the hills spreading a fire as the storm advanced. The smoke had a semi-solid form, and as it ran, a skeleton began to form beneath the darkness, notably animal in shape. It wasn't too strange, seemingly the skeleton of a horse. However, protruding from the back was the massive twisting tail of a serpent trailing behind him, tipped with a barb. The skull was seemingly reptilian in shape, with two large horns twisting out from the obsidian skull.
As the beast neared its destination, it skidded to a halt, many trees falling beneath the might of the monster. It looked down on the town of Paterdomus, seeing nothing of interest, nothing but food. It leveled it's fiery gaze upon the town, a deep hunger rumbling within it's bones. Trotting slowly closer, the beast let out a massive roar, crying out for it's hunger, it's lost memory, and more importantly, it's rage.
The beast remembered very little, but he remembered enough. He remembered hunger, and the deep rage that fueled him to satiate it. He remembered that rage, and the endless destruction that it caused. He remembered the humans, and how their simple steel fell beneath his might. He remembered the magic, that vile weapon, forcing the seemingly unstoppable beast to his knees. He remembered flesh, what it was like to have a shape, a solid form, and how this had been granted by his master.
Yes, his master. Perhaps one of the most powerful sorcerers of all time, he ruled over his kingdom with an iron fist, using his... pet... to enforce the law, and bring the people to their knees. But no. His master was long gone, slain by the uprising, his town buried beneath the stone of the mountains. However, there was still hope for him to regain his full body. He sensed that there was great magic in this land, many beings powerful enough to restore him to his full power.
But for now, there was only his hunger and his fury. Now, there was only the rampage. He was smoke. He was rage. He was death. He was Ifrit, the scion of The Infernal King. Fire plumed into the sky, accompanied by a bloodcurdling scream, tearing through the peaceful sky.