Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 226 Vision

it was painful, genuinely hurting his very bones, to know everything, yet be forced to keep it all to himself, remain silent about the undead, agilulf wanneck had managed to piece things together, and clearly, fioldron ferrcrona had been somewhat moved by his speech, though, the hard-headed king would never follow his words.

endlessly thinking about the future, about the past, about what he could have done better, how he could have been clearer without breaching the terms of his ability, it was too late now however, it was all he could think about, to the point that he would lose himself inside of his own mind, so long that he now found himself well away from starkefolten, staring at the fading sun and the distant moon.

'there are only three people that can be trusted to go against them, only three of them that could rival the forces of death with certainty, three, three...'

the sun shone a bright orange, casting its soothing light upon the prophet, who had stopped just short of a cliff, the allure of the bottom was especially absorbing today, almost enthralling, a hand was waving at him, beckoning his approach.

quideos ignored it again, putting his attention toward the moon instead.

'thanatok ynigós, maiele liameilos and... and...'

'the first death hunter, elven light and-'

a cold hand placed itself onto his shoulder, rotten, festering with the buzzing clamour of an unseen insect swarm, something clicked its tongue, mockingly so. experience new tales on empire

"quideos audit, failing to remember your own visions? how far you have fallen, pitiful living seer, unable to handle the weight of the truth, your unstable mind, the insanity that made you into the untrustworthy man you now are... did it not occur because you tried to foresee the upcoming future entirely? thinking yourself untouchable in your visions?"

it paused, massaging quideos's shoulder, the damp flesh stirred and bent, stretching and moving away from the bones.

"i understand that feeling, i was the same before returning to the oblivion of true death"

the living seer turned to the loathsome wraith, this voice, this rotten carcass which held his own decapitated head under his left arm, clouds of locusts flying around, crawling over the decayed flesh, into the gaps opening the skin, fingernails broken, twisted upward or pushing deep in the fingers.

both sides began to blossom with countless blooms, one turning green, colourful with bright shines, erupting with plentiful life of all kinds.

the other however, was in no ways less colourful, still was bleak however, blood and flesh in decomposition laid as the foundation of this parallel reality where death ruled, both were at odds, spearheaded by two giant trees.

as soon as this vision happened, it all vanished, leaving quideos in pure darkness, all on his own, even the undead seer was nowhere to be found curiously, although drowned in dark, the prophet was able of making sense of where he was, the floor was creaking with a familiarity, the layout, even unsee, soon made sense to him, throwing him back to one of his earlier visions.

the home of younger years, when he had yet to have awakened his affinity for revelations, here, he did not find the third hero, nor did he find a way to convince his fellows of the approaching doom.

'to think that i am left unheard because a gravelord directly intervened...' he mused, suddenly feeling nostalgic, feeling like thinking back on his failings as he found himself in a safe place, a warm house unlike any other, even though the cold winds could go right through the walls.

a candle was lit, as he now sat across the rickety dinner table, not faced with his mother, nor flanked by joala, the sides were left empty, no chairs for anyone to come sit.

instead, barely visible in the candlelight, a figure quideos did not recognise was standing, the stench of decay hanging thick in the air.

was there even something here? the living was not certain, it soon dawned upon him, simultaneously a part of fate, yet ungraspable by it, there it stood, the undead that even fate feared to approach, for the corpse could even make that which is eternal fear oblivion.

"what is your name?! who are you?!" quideos audit fearlessly flung the table aside, grabbing the corpse by its collar.

it did not answer, something else did, and it left the seer shaken.

slipping through the cracks.

coming to himself, no longer on the edge of a cliff, but at its bottom.