"You have a heart of gold," Stockpile Thomas uttered for the first and only time. "Don't let them take it from you!" Somehow, this hero was different from the others. Years had passed and many warriors had come through Boletaria seeking to end the terrible Demon Scourge, but none possessed the radiance and hope of this nameless saint.


Word reached Stockpile Thomas that the once-hero was no longer a force of good in the lands. The Scourge had taken a toll on him. What few human outposts remained were quickly ransacked by this terrible, frightful warrior. It was as if the evil that hung like a web of ass throughout the land had clung to the warrior, fueling his evil ambitions. What demon slaying that did take place was for the soal purpose of gaining more power with which to threaten the land.

That was when Stockpile Thomas made up his mind. That night, while the once-hero slept, Stockpile Thomas made his way secretly into the warrior's room and stood across from the bed. The warrior awoke, as if the sorrow and anguish emanating from Stockpile Thomas had been enough to stir him from his rest. What he beheld can hardly be put into words.

The man standing before the warrior vaguely had the reminiscent appearance of a friendly being he had met years ago, but, like him, he had become transformed as a result of the evil rampant in the land. No longer did the caring demeanor and bright, warm smile remain. Instead, this creature's body gave off an aura that was most certainly not black and yellow, but more of a black and reddish color. The red coursed its way over his form like a living membrane, evil enough to steal the very breath from the warrior's lungs. He had encountered many black phantoms before, but this was the only one he knew to utter words.

?"You let them take it from you," Stockpile Thomas said despairingly. The anguish was too great - it radiated like waves of sadness of hatred, leaving no energy in the great warrior's body. He stood powerless as the phantom approached, and, like mist, Stockpile Thomas flowed through the warrior's air passages. Not two seconds passed before all of Stockpile Thomas' essence had invaded the warrior's lungs and he collapsed in a lifeless heap. Stockpile Thomas materialized again and walked out of the tent, never looking back and always roaming the land out of pure hatred for the demons that took the hero's heart of gold.