The Prince was dead.
For a long time, everything was silent. Then the Adversary, realizing that his opponent and Master was dead, began to laugh.
It was an aweful sound, that laugh. Hoarse and malevolent, rumbling and creaking, it groaned over the scene with a shudder, chilling the marrow and withering the spirit, burning like the very fires of the pit. As he continued to laugh without surcease, he wove a spell to hold his victory, growing vines covered in thorns like great daggers all about the castle and over the Prince’s body. Finished, the thorns settled in place, hiding all traces of life. In his final act of malice, he imbued the vines with his own devouring spirit, always thirsting for blood…
And as he turned his back, his own spell grabbed and devoured the Adversary, and he was never heard of anymore.