Acererak the Demi-lich paced around the pentacle inscribed into the floor, the gutters that form the star filled with freshly drained blood.  In the center of the design, flickering candlelight illuminated a large form in dark armor, sprawled on the floor.
Satisfied that the design was complete, the lich turned and raised his hands, muttering the seldom-used arcane words of an obscure spell.  Green energy flowed from his bony fingers into the blood gutters, the blood flaring up to match the emerald light.  A high pitched keening echoed from the walls as wafts of energy slammed into the body, being absorbed by the corpse.
The demi-lich lowered his arms and paused for a moment, letting his power regenerate before speaking.
“Rise, minion…”

The former corpse stirred, and slowly got to its feet.  Flesh sloughed off through the cracks in blackened plate armor.  One eye fell from its socket with a wet pop and rolled a few feet before stopping.

“Who do you serve?”

Glaring at the lich, the death knight dropped to one knee and pounded his chest with one mailed fist.  With a bony, grating voice, he replied, “I serve you, master…”

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In the months to come, the newly minted death knight lead an army of the undead across the continent, cutting a swath through the villages, towns, and cities in the area.  In one instance, he even laid siege to a wizard’s fortress for three months.  Eventually, he had expendable troops with explosives dig underneath the tower and detonate, crumbling the tower in on itself.  He brought the remains and the magical treasure trove back to Acererak.  Acererak approved.

For three hundred and eighty one years he served the demi-lich faithfully and cruelly.  But finally, he was sent against the city of Teral’Ka.

-----------------------

“Heh.  Heh.  Heh…”

The grinding laugh pierced through the crackling of flames and screaming of civilians as Omen stepped over the halved body of a guardsman that had tried to prevent him from entering the town.  He silently motioned to his contingent of skeletons, who immediately fanned out to begin killing, looting, and burning where they could.

“Never much resistance.  Never.  Heh.  Heh.  Heh.”

He stalked towards the Temple of Heironeous, his rusty darkened platemail squeaking and clanking as he moved.  A clump of guardsmen and hastily armed villagers were gathered in front of the temple, locked in combat with a number of slow, fleshy zombies.  Omen smirked and raised his sword to the heavens and let out a bellow.

“Behold the power of Acererak!”

A column of purple lightning ten meters across crackled down from the sky, slamming into the ground in the center of the resistance.  Villagers and zombies alike were vaporized in an instant.

Omen walked forward, sniffing the scent of burning flesh with a smile, and stepped into the scorched temple.

A single, white-robed figure knelt at the altar at the end of the aisle, golden light pulsing around them.  A small golden box sat on the altar.

Omen snarled and pointed his sword at the figure.  “You.  Give me the box.”

The figure didn’t move.

He stepped forward, his ire growing, and rested his sword at the figure’s neck.  “Move, fool!”

The figure still didn’t respond.

With a frustrated growl, Omen grabbed the priest by his robe’s collar, spun him to face the deathknight, tossed him into the air, and planted his barbed bastard sword deep into the priest’s stomach.

There was a bright flash.

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Omen awoke in a great marble hall, lying in front of a monstrously large throne.  Weapons, armor, and shields adorned the walls, each looking both well made and well used.  As he looked around, he let out a gasp and looked down at himself.

The deep, pitted flesh and old, rotting tissue were gone.  With the exception of his eye, he was whole, and clad in only a simple brown robe.

“A…Acererak?”

Your master cannot reach you here.

A glowing, armored figure strode around one of the pillows.  He has as huge as the throne, and likely its owner.

Omen shrank bank in fear, eyes darting between the imposing warrior and the weapons on the walls.  “Who are you?!”

I sense… despite the darkness in your soul… there is good in you as well.  I will spare you and give you another chance.  Use it well.  I WILL be watching.  And I do not take kindly to failure, young one…

Another bright flash engulfed Omen’s vision.  The last thing he registered was a fist grasping lightning on the giant’s breastplate.

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After years of recovery and training, Omen stood on the hilltop overlooking Acererak’s tomb.  Wind dramatically blew his cape and hair back, but he ignored it.

“Foul creature!  Hear me!  Your link to me is faint now, but I still feel it.  My faith will burn you with the fire of the just.  I am the hammer. I am the edge of His sword, the point of His spear. I am the gauntlet about his fist. I am His wrath, just as He is my shield!”