England fought the battle with ease. Malcolm commanded a force too great in numbers for any resistance to be effective; Macbeth's doom seemed inevitable. Within hours, it was confirmed. MacDuff presented the head of the Macbeth. Scotland’s putrid tyrant was dead. A time for a new and sudden era had begun.
Ripping the crown from Macbeth's bloody head, and placing it on his head, Malcolm became the rightful King of Scotland. The people in awe; cheering cries of joy and loyalty towards the new king. Malcolm soon stood high and firm above the crowd, silencing the loyal citizens. He preached of a new beginning. A new reign for the better, everyone listened with complete reliance and trust.
But then, Malcolm felt the presence of something ancient. Then that "something" appeared out of the corner of his left eye. Resting on top of a nearby hill were three unseen womanlike figures watching him intensely, conversing quietly. Time slowed down, everything froze as the figures suddenly appeared in front of him. They wreaked of death. You could see hatred in the look of their faces, in their stance, within their souls. It was this sudden presence of horror that Malcolm would later describe as “hell itself.” The figure’s appearance had knocked Malcolm off track, but he compelled himself to listen as they spoke.
"Macbeth's day is done, his doom has come and gone, and so must we," said the first.
"ah yes, a new game must be played, for is it not true that we bore easily my sisters?" the second one...