Back in the fields, the oppressive crimson light from above casts long, jagged shadows across the desolate field, the air thick with a suffocating stillness that makes every heartbeat echo like thunder. It feels as though the world itself is holding its breath. In the being’s hands, the bud begins to tremble violently, its grotesque energy warping the very fabric of reality. Waves of distortion ripple outward, bending the air and the light with an almost unbearable intensity. A low, resonant hum rises from the bud, a soundless pressure that drills into Regna’s skull, making her teeth ache and her vision swim.
She can barely hold onto consciousness. Her body feels heavy, her limbs numb, but her wide, terror-stricken eyes remain fixed on the towering being before her. The deity’s form flickers and shifts, its grotesque humanoid shape struggling to hold itself together, like a nightmare forced into human form.
Their pulsating hands tighten around the bud, the trembling energy growing more erratic. Without warning, they release a devastating pulse, a shockwave that spreads out in all directions, silent yet all-encompassing.
The force slams into Regna like a hammer, throwing her backwards. She hits the ground hard, the breath torn from her lungs. The world tilts violently as her vision blurs, her ears ringing so loudly she can’t even hear her very own ragged breaths. But through the haze, her terror spikes as she sees the shockwave continue outward, racing through the crimson dome like a ripple through still water.
It surges over Krenkol, brushing rooftops, streets, and fields. It touches everything and everyone.
At first, nothing happens. The silence returns, pressing down heavier than ever, broken only by the faint crackling of distant fires. Regna groans, pushing herself on shaking arms, her heart pounding against her ribs. Something is wrong.
Then, the bodies start to move.
Scattered across the fields, the corpses of townsfolk twitch violently, their limbs jerking as though seized by unseen hands. Heads snap to impossible angles with wet, grotesque pops.
A sickly, dark mist begins to ooze across the ground, slithering like a living thing. It seeps into the corpses, pouring into their mouths, eyes, gaping wounds and every orifice. The bodies convulse, their flesh twisting and tearing as the mist forces them into grotesque mockeries of humanity. The silence shatters as a chorus of unnatural groans and guttural wails fills the air, the grotesque symphony echoing across the blood-soaked fields. Dead eyes snap open, glowing faintly with the crimson light of the cursed moon. One by one, the corpses lurch to their feet, staggering at first but quickly finding a horrifying rhythm.
Regna stares, frozen in abject horror, as the reanimated dead turn their heads in unison. Their glowing eyes fixate on a single point: the being. And then, on her.
More bodies rise with each passing moment. From Krenkol, the tide grows, a grotesque parade of the once-dead spilling into the streets. Mothers still clutch their children’s limp forms, dragging them against the earth. Farmers drag their tools, now bent and broken.
Even the torn apart are not spared. Severed hands claw their way across the ground, while torsos drag themselves with shattered ribs scraping against the earth. Chimeric beasts, their flesh forced with limbs fused into creatures with shredded hides crawl forward, their twisted maws snapping back into their sockets.
Regna wants to scream, but the sound dies in her throat. She is paralyzed, her mind unable to process the sheer scale of the horror unfolding around her.
Windows shatter as corpses lunge through them, their movements driven by a singular, horrifying purpose. The streets flood with shambling figures, their moans blending into a deafening cacophony that fills the dome. The crimson moon casts its unholy glow over the carnage, painting their grotesque forms in shades of blood and shadow.
It doesn’t stop.
The pulse from the being continues to resonate, dragging more of the dead from their rest. The horde swells, countless figures moving with chilling precision, their grotesque march in perfect sync. Their destination is clear: the fields, and mainly, the being.
Her wide eyes shift to the monstrosity. Their flickering form has stabilized, their shape unnervingly solid now. The bud in their hands pulses rhythmically with the crimson moon above, a sick, macabre heartbeat feeding the chaos they have unleashed.
The being tilts their malformed head, their attention settling fully on her. A wave of cold dread crashes over Regna as their voice fills her mind.
“W̶̺̙͂̿̈̀̑̒̕͘i̶̛͕̺͉͈̞͎͑̾͗̌̆̊̉͠͝t̷̛̜̯͆͐͒̿̅̑̔͠͝n̵̜̒̽e̶̢͙̫̻͚̼̫̋̎͐̄͊ͅs̸͓̤̕s̶̛̛̲̯̯̫̥̲̥͐̅͒.̸̟̫̬̱̪͇͛͛͂̋̏”
The single word reverberates like a curse, shaking her very soul. Her body seizes as an invisible force grips her. She tries to resist, but her limbs feel like lead. She is dragged forward, her trembling legs moving against her will.
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Behind her, the horde of undead surges. Their broken forms stumble and then sprint, the thunder of thousands of feet pounding against the earth growing louder each moment. The grotesque symphony of moans and cracking bones swell, drowning out Regna’s ragged breaths and racing thoughts.
She collapses to her knees, her body unable to go any further. The shadow of the being falls over her like a storm cloud. Their grotesque, clawed hands lower the bud toward her, the searing crimson glow burning into her vision. The last thing Regna sees before the world goes black is the cresting hill behind her. The horde of reanimated corpses surges over it, their twisted, lifeless faces lit by the fiery glow of Krenkol’s destruction.
The being’s towering form loomed over Rayne’s lifeless body, their grotesque silhouette warping and flickering in the crimson glow. Their elongated arms stretched forward, the pulsating bud cradled in jagged, claw-like hands. The ground seemed to shudder under their presence, immense and unnatural energy distorting the air in rippling waves.
They bent lower, leaning in with an eerie stillness, their hollow, shifting eyes fixed on the girl’s pale, motionless form. For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint hum of the pulsating bud.
“Fragile child, pathetic... as one can be. Cursed to be fragile, just like snow,” they murmured with an unsettling amalgamation of tones, deep, high, guttural, and melodic, blending in a harmony that defied comprehension. There was both reverence and disdain in their words, a loathing fascination. The bud trembled violently in their claws, quivering as though alive, sensing the moment to strike.
With deliberate, almost ritualistic slowness, they lowered the bud toward Rayne’s chest. The air grew heavy, dense with power, and just as the bud came within inches of her, a soft, glowing pink light shimmered into existence around her body. The ethereal glow enveloped her like a protective cocoon, pulsing faintly with a life of its own.
Snap!
The bud jerked backward, as though struck by an unseen force. They recoiled, their elongated form snapping upright as a low, venomous hiss escaped their jagged maw. Their clawed hands trembled, and their hollow eyes narrowed with seething rage.
The pink glow around Rayne intensified, pulsing with rhythmic strength, each beat growing brighter and stronger, pushing them further back.
“Rafiel,” they spat, the name twisted with venom, their voice slithering through the air like a curse. The word carried an ancient weight, resonating with hatred and scorn.
“Even now, after a century of silence, you cling to this realm.”
Their jagged claws twitched, curling and uncurling as frustration rippled through their grotesque frame. A guttural growl escaped their throat, a sound that made the very air tremble.
“You abandoned this world,” they snarled, their words dripping with venomous fury.
“You turned your back on this wretched land, left it to drown in its own decay. And yet…”
They gestured to the radiant barrier encasing Rayne, their tone shifting to one of mocking derision.
“And yet, here you are, meddling still. You dare protect this child?”
Their form bent lower, their grotesque face now mere inches from Rayne’s serene, unmoving features.
Their jagged teeth glinted in the pink light as they hissed, “Do you think she holds the potential to be your saviour, Rafiel? That this frail mortal can bear your legacy? Pitiful.”
The protective light surrounding Rayne pulsed again, stronger this time, sending a rippling wave outward that pushed them back another step. They stumbled briefly, their elongated limbs twisting unnaturally as though fighting against the force.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, they began to laugh.
The sound was low and hollow at first, but it grew quickly, a discordant cacophony of overlapping voices, each one mocking, cruel, and alien. The laughter echoed across the field, a grotesque symphony that sent shivers through the air, mingling with the distant groans of the undead horde.
“Ah… how amusing,” they chuckled, their voice a twisted melody of mockery and malice.
“Even now, after all this time, you cling to your futile hope. This defiance, this fleeting ember, will be extinguished.”
They threw their head back, the laughter erupting louder, their grotesque frame shuddering with malicious glee. The sound was unrelenting, a terrible, bone-deep mockery that made the crimson-lit world feel smaller, darker, and more fragile.
When their laughter subsided, they straightened, the faint remnants of a cruel, toothy grin twisting their monstrous face.
“No matter,” they said coldly, their voice sharp with resolve.
“There is always another way.”
Their gaze dropped back to Rayne’s still form, and the grin widened, its malevolence almost tangible.
“If I cannot take her, I will simply… make her.”
Their claws flexed, the pulsating bud trembling with renewed intensity, crackling with unholy energy. The air around them began to ripple violently, the ground beneath their feet splintering under the weight of their rising power.
“This world will kneel, Rafiel,” they growled.
“Whether you intervene or not, all will bow. Let us see how long your little light endures.”
The scene ends with the being standing over Rayne, their grotesque form outlined against the crimson sky. Their malevolent laughter echoes once more, carrying through the night as they prepare to enact their final, terrible solution.