Instead of appearing to be ambiguous and conceptually indistinguishable from any other processing and otherwise semi-sentient locomotive, the lifeform in which the boy found himself briefly and dubiously encapsulated by had seemed to have found a grid in which it would carelessly move along uninterrupted like a slimming dead hand crawling and creeping against the Eastmere rain as if it had been created to do nothing but shift boldly across the log with an assuredness that suggested it was untouchable, finding, perhaps, some sort of amphibian amusement in glopping disturbingly back and forth as if it were unaware of its linear and balanced position in reality, its tar black skin, its searing orange eyes, its thin frowning mouth stretching across his blubbering face: a firm affirmation of deadliness to anything in its path, and so far this had all seemed to be working for the amphibian, remaining free of any responsibility or repercussions in his existence as a lone pond creature on the outskirts of the nearby Kingdom of Eastmere for which it could not conceptualize as the lesser fleshy monster that it was, but the young boy, of course, as the superior biped to even the other recently branched apes, was not vaguely intimidated by the slimy, pox covered tetrapod that, although once had been a behemoth monster of prey in the interim of earth's chaotic and prehistoric origins, was now a benignant ghoul, deadly no longer, a slogging and benign shadow on the biological plane of life's endless mutations, motionless and unnoticed by everything but passing insects. Although the longer the boy thought the closer he came to realizing that the reason he had not been afraid of the small beast was not because of any real or otherwise perceived superiority over the ancient dweller, but was a simple equation of mass, and he was, in fact, no more or less of a functioning force of nature than the unnoticed omnivore, equals in warrior battlements of introspective phenomenomic differences which, in fact, eluded them equally in different fashions, and in so attempting to capture the small beast he would either unlock the unseen world of the lesser swamp monster or would shortly thereafter go mad and die—in this he found great comfort—and now, before the toad could escape the clutches of his curiosity the boy lurched and seized the flying amphibian from the air just as the blubbering morsel sprang for the water, and in a rushing moment of adrenaline far outside the frogs comprehension the young boy without warning placed his tongue against the small creature and dragged his mouth sloppily across its back; the boy had not anticipated any particular taste but was not surprised to find there was no taste at all, and instead was astonished to find he had lost all sensation in his mouth almost immediately, the only lasting impression a lone burning sensation in his nostrils and the smell of his own cooking flesh sizzling up from the back of his throat, and just as suddenly came the baying of fleshly drum beats in the distance, his rational mind recognizing the sound as the rolling thunder above, but all reasoning slipped away when the transient beating marched closer, and it became clear that it was not a drum, but the gargling chant of a distant toad colony beckoned by his slimy adversary to destroy him, and he shuddered at the impossibleness of a legion of toads feasting upon his brains from his open skull splayed against the log where he ate his lunch every day, and suddenly he was vibrating in synchronicity with the vociferous rhapsody approaching around him, and now he held the fat toad up to his face peering wonderingly into its stern orange eyes saying, “Please don’t kill me, toad,” in a voice that he had not recognized as entirely his own, and his wish for the abstention of death would be granted (for the time being); instead he would receive something even worse than death: the gift of untold misery in a world of flesh and blood stained bone, a gift he had received at birth and a tread he would tow for the rest of his days after his encounter with the toadage friarhood of the forbidden green beyond the cities, a story of untold adventure lurking in dreary amphibian memory behind those orange eyes somehow blazing in this dark, wet air, a misty halo around them as if each eye was its own translucent entity completely separate from the black flesh of the creature who wore them, and he could just make out the vague madness of the world behind those blinkless eyes clashing with his own, burning the back of his paralyzed mind like a blazing cattle prod pressed against his very core, and then suddenly: darkness—and in the darkness he saw himself; a corpse hanging from a tree, the rope disappearing high into the jungle ceiling, the noose around his neck rotted black, and the beating rose in the blackness which claimed his mind for what here was eternity, the ideology of man’s time no longer conceptual in the realm of the croaking death, and the boy knew that it was death calling his name; he knew that the sound of death was not the killer of man but the promise that he was already dead, his mind a rotting crops and the black madness crawling around in his brain like invaders claiming a new nest, each thought more impossible than the next, but somehow tangible at once; a dream too real to forget, a myth too relic to remember, a door too small to open from the inside, leaving only the echoes of mindless fear whirling longer than his mind could endure; the history of the great unknown, the ancient underground battlements of the cryptic toad hordes dwelling in endless darkness under the black swampy water like a barrier between the human world and the secretly sentient amphibians below, huffing smoke like toad shamans and chanting enigmatical frog songs unheard by the human surface roamers above, writhing with the sound of their own twisted, sticky croaking, unearthly baying, and the horrible, pulsating gurgle of chants, the terrifying beating of death, a blundering madness to the ears—not even his twisted child brain could have created such screamingly tormenting intonations.
In the darkness he found himself bound in, he suddenly wished for the lonesome refuge of the great Oak Tree of Life as the cold marsh water splashed over his face. The sounds of the encroaching swarm rose in his ears like an impossible whisper. He opened his mouth to scream but could produce no noise, his tongue thick and rotting, his whole body shuddering with the inevitable fate that loomed over him. Somehow he knew they were waiting for him, their thickly croaking becoming more frequent. His eyes burned in the inky blackness, still unable to see anything but his own lifeless form hanging from the ominous tree, the smell of death becoming overwhelming. As if being hauled into a river of blood, he was dragged further and further into the endless chant, until he felt himself being lifted off the ground by unseen hands. The boy thrashed and screamed, but no sound came out as the blackness consumed him. He tried to claw at his surroundings, biting his tongue as he felt his weightless body being tossed roughly among the chanting and croaking hoards, their oozing, black toad-skin clinging to his own flesh. He remembered the myths, the whispers of the old men in the Kingdom about the cursed swamps, the places where no one returned from, the lands where even the toads spoke. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all—but shrill cries of welcome caressed his ears, signaling his acceptance into their malodorous society.
In the depths of the forbidden swamp, the boy's mind was consumed by the pulsating echoes of the toad horde's macabre chant. His body, no longer his own, was dragged deeper into their murky realm, a gelatinous nightmare that defied the laws of reality. The swamp transformed into a distorted tapestry of shadows and whispers, the air thick with the stench of decaying vegetation and an undercurrent of something sinister. Fireflies, usually a comforting sight, now danced in a chaotic ballet, their bioluminescent glow casting grotesque shadows that warped and twisted the surroundings. As the boy was unceremoniously tossed and turned by unseen forces, he caught glimpses of other unfortunate souls who had succumbed to the toad horde's siren song, their forms contorted and minds lost to the relentless chanting. One by one, they were absorbed into the amorphous mass, their individuality devoured by the collective consciousness of the toads. His eyes, strained from the ceaseless darkness, caught sight of a glimmer in the distance—a beacon of hope amidst the despair. It was the Great Oak Tree of Life, its branches reaching towards the sky like a lifeline. A flicker of defiance sparked within him, and he fought against the invisible grip that held him captive, desperate to break free and seek refuge beneath its ancient embrace. With a surge of adrenaline, he wrenched his body free from the spectral grasp, the guttural roar of the toad horde echoing in his ears as they realized their prey was slipping away. His limbs propelled him forward, each step a testament to his will to survive. The chanting grew louder, more insistent, as if the toads were conjuring all their dark powers to ensnare him once more.
As he stumbled towards the Great Oak Tree, its towering silhouette casting an ethereal glow, a sudden, horrifying realization washed over him. Rooted beneath the tree, croaking in unison with the approaching horde, was a gargantuan toad—an ancient, primordial entity that dwarfed even the largest of its brethren. Its eyes, glowing like twin beacons of evil, fixated on him, a sinister smile stretching across its bloated form. Despair flooded through him as he recognized the futility of his escape. The toad horde, led by their monstrous sovereign, was relentless, inevitable, and he was but a lone boy caught in their malevolent web. The ancient toad opened its maw, unleashing a deafening croak that reverberated through the swamp, the sound waves distorting reality itself. The boy felt his body growing numb, his mind succumbing to the pervasive influence of the toad king's chant.
With a final desperate cry, he lunged towards the Great Oak Tree, hoping against hope that it would offer him some semblance of protection. His outstretched hand brushed against the rough bark as the world around him dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. The boy's consciousness slipped away, consumed by the overwhelming power of the toad horde and their ancient monarch. As the darkness enveloped him, he could have sworn he heard a faint whisper carried by the wind, a whisper that spoke of forgotten legends and ancient prophecies. It spoke of a hero who would rise from the depths of despair, wielding the power of the Great Oak Tree to vanquish the evil that plagued the entire world.
As the boy made his desperate dash towards the Great Oak Tree, the very ground beneath his feet seemed to turn against him. The swamp, a once-passive observer, erupted into a frenzied storm of mud and water, churning and frothing like a living entity. Jagged tendrils of swamp flesh erupted from the depths, coiling around his limbs and dragging him deeper into the morass. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing the relentless chant of the toad horde. With every step, he felt his strength waning, his body growing heavy and sluggish as if the swamp itself was siphoning away his life force. The croaking grew louder, more insistent, a cacophony of voices that gnawed at his sanity. As he struggled against the relentless pull of the swamp, the boy glanced back and saw the Great Oak Tree receding into the distance, its branches no longer a beacon of hope but a fading memory. His last glimpse of the ancient tree was of the gargantuan toad king, its massive form silhouetted against the ethereal glow, its eyes burning like malevolent lanterns. With a final, desperate surge of adrenaline, the boy broke free from the swamp's grasp and stumbled towards the tree, his body battered and bruised, his mind teetering on the brink of despair. But it was too late. The toads, their numbers seemingly endless, swarmed around him. As the darkness enveloped him, the boy felt himself sinking, not just into the depths of the swamp but into an infinite abyss of nothingness. The chanting of the toads faded into a distant hum, and the last thing he remembered was a fleeting vision of the Great Oak Tree, its branches reaching out towards him like skeletal arms, a silent promise of salvation unfulfilled.
In the murky depths of the swamp, where light dared not penetrate, the boy's unconscious form was dragged deeper and deeper into the darkness. As the boy's body sank to the bottom of the swamp, he found himself in a place that defied all logic and reason. It was a realm of swirling shadows and distorted reflections. The water around him pulsed and throbbed, a living entity that seemed to be aware of his presence. He tried to move, to swim upwards, but his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. His lungs burned for air, but there was no air to breathe. His eyes strained to make sense of his surroundings, but all he saw was an endless expanse of darkness.
As the darkness closed in on him, he felt a strange sensation creeping over his body. It was a feeling of emptiness, of nothingness, as if he were being consumed by the very darkness that surrounded him. Panic surged through him as he realized that he was losing himself, that he was being transformed into something else, something less than human.
He fought against the consuming darkness, clinging desperately to his sense of self, but his resistance was futile. The darkness enveloped him completely, and he was lost. For an eternity, the boy drifted through the infinite void, his consciousness teetering on the brink of oblivion. Time lost all meaning as he floated aimlessly, suspended in a state of non-existence. His memories faded, his thoughts dissolved, and he became nothing more than a wisp of energy adrift in the darkness.
His thoughts were no longer his own, but he understood what was happening to him, understood the dream of life had come to end, for now.
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The boy found himself at the edge of time; he overlooked an endless ocean of blackness. A sea like the slimming toad who had captured his mind. At his feet, just on the edge, was an opening. A long ancient burrow with an infinite depth. Somehow he knew it led not to a place, but to a nightmare beyond the long dead world of the real. The question simmered instantly: who, or what, constructed this endless cove? He shuddered at the things that came to mind.
To be sure, this was madness; he knew it. This was what madness looked like to the human eye. Even his crude understanding drove him to the edge of everything that truly terrified him. He knew it because there was nothing to compare it to. Nothing at all.
The rock was black and dimensionless. It slimmed as if alive. As if it had insides, or (he would consider later) this was its insides.
Far back in the deep, primordial crypt of his mind, unnatural and unsettling, something urged him to crawl in.
Slowly he gave in and began to crawl hands and knees into the oozing hole in the ground.
As the boy ventured deeper into the infinite abyss, an ethereal presence descended upon him, a spectral figure cloaked in darkness. With eyes that shone like distant stars and a voice like the rustling of leaves, the figure introduced itself as Moros, the embodiment of impending doom and the harbinger of the Black Death.
The Black Death revealed to the boy that he was not merely a figment of his imagination, but an ancient entity that dwelled in the shadows, observing the tapestry of life and death in the mortal realm. The boy was chosen, Moros explained, to witness the unfolding of a catastrophic event that would forever alter the course of history.
They stood at the precipice of a desolate and barren expanse, where the ground lay cracked and scorched, the air thick with the stench of decay. Skeletal trees reached out towards the sky like grasping claws, their branches devoid of leaves, their bark blackened and withered. A sickly green mist hung low, obscuring the horizon and casting an eerie pall over the landscape.
"This," the Black Death intoned solemnly, "is the Black Death, a pestilence that will ravage the lands, claiming countless lives and leaving a trail of destruction in its wake."
With a gesture of his spectral hand, the Black Death conjured a vision before the boy's eyes. The scene shifted, and he found himself transported to a bustling city, teeming with life and activity. Merchants haggled in the crowded marketplaces, children played in the cobblestone streets, and the sound of laughter and music filled the air. But the idyllic facade was soon shattered. As the Black Death descended upon the city, a wave of darkness swept through the streets, casting a pall over the once-vibrant metropolis. People keeled over, their bodies wracked with fever. The stench of death permeated the air as corpses piled high in the streets, unmourned and forgotten. The boy watched in horror as the plague spread like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. Entire families were extinguished, villages were abandoned, and the land was left desolate. The once-bustling city was transformed into a ghost town, its streets empty and silent, save for the mournful cries of the few survivors.
"This is but a glimpse of the devastation that awaits," the Black Death said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "The Black Death will sweep across the land, leaving no corner untouched. Kingdoms will fall, economies will collapse, and the world will be forever scarred."
As the boy witnessed the unfolding of this catastrophic event, a profound realization dawned upon him. This was not merely a story or a dream, but a glimpse into the future, a future that was rapidly approaching. The weight of this knowledge settled heavily upon his young shoulders, and he felt a surge of determination coursing through his veins.
"There must be a way to stop this," he said, his voice filled with resolve. "There must be something we can do to prevent such devastation."
The Black Death looked at him with a mix of pity and admiration. "The Black Death is an inevitable force," he said. "It is a natural disaster, beyond the control of mere mortals. All you can do is bear witness and learn from the suffering that will ensue."
But the boy refused to accept this grim prophecy. He knew that there had to be a way to mitigate the destruction, to save innocent lives and prevent the world from succumbing to chaos. With newfound purpose, he turned to the Black Death and said, "I will not stand idly by and watch as my world is torn apart. I will do everything in my power to stop the Black Death, even if it means sacrificing my own life."
The Black Death smiled, a faint glimmer of hope lighting up his ethereal features. "Very well," he said. "You have a brave and noble heart, young one. Perhaps there is more to this encounter than meets the eye. Perhaps you are destined to play a role in the events that are to come. But be warned, the path you choose will be fraught with danger and hardship. Are you prepared to face the challenges that await you?"
The boy hesitated for a moment, contemplating the gravity of his decision. But in his heart, he knew that he could not turn away from this responsibility. With unwavering determination, he looked into the eyes of the Black Death and said, "I am prepared."
And so, under the watchful gaze of the harbinger of death, the boy embarked on a perilous journey, determined to unravel the secrets of the Black Death and find a way to save his world from impending doom. As the boy ventured deeper into the desolate realm of the Black Death, his skin began to undergo a strange and unsettling transformation. The once soft and supple flesh hardened and darkened, becoming as black as the underbelly of the abyss. His hair fell out in clumps, revealing a smooth, hairless scalp. His nails elongated into sharp, talon-like claws, and his teeth sharpened to points. His eyes turned a deep, blood-red, and his once-familiar features twisted into a grotesque mask of death. He watched in horror as his own reflection stared back at him from the murky waters of a stagnant pool. He was no longer the boy he once was, but a creature of darkness, a living embodiment of the plague that ravaged the land. The transformation was complete, and the boy had become the Black Death itself. A wave of revulsion washed over him as he realized the true extent of his transformation. He was no longer human, but a monster, a harbinger of death and destruction. Despair threatened to consume him, but deep down, he knew that he had to maintain his resolve. He had to find a way to control this newfound power and use it for good. With newfound determination, the Black Death set out on a journey to understand the nature of the plague and to find a way to stop its deadly rampage. He traveled far and wide, witnessing firsthand the suffering and devastation that the Black Death had wrought upon the world. He saw villages reduced to smoldering ruins, families torn apart, and countless innocent lives lost. The Black Death was both horrified and fascinated by the power that he now possessed. He could feel the plague coursing through his veins, a malevolent force that threatened to consume him entirely.
Then came the final dream:
In the dream of the Black Death there was no voice to tell him these things, but an understanding of them appeared and he knew them to be true. And the understand was this: one by one you must take the life of every man and women and child on earth, you must feel their blood on your hands as they scream, and then you can finally be free. You must become the Black Death. He understood, and in the dream of the Black Death the boy moved about the earth, and one by one he killed them all. He drowned them, he strangled them, he carved the flesh from their bone, their blood covered his skin and filled his eyes, billions of human corpses drained and chopped, their flesh piled and piled until there was nothing but blood covering the face of the earth, and when the boy woke from the dream he understood. No longer was he human, for now he understood. Flesh was not what he was. Beyond the eyes of the human there was something that could not feel.
It could only watch.
The boy, having shed his flesh, now sat on The Throne of Enlightenment beyond the realm of men as a great watcher. He now understood that only death could free mankind from the prison of their flesh.
In the desolate realm beyond the mortal world, the boy, now transformed into the embodiment of the Black Death, roamed the ethereal expanse, his form shrouded in darkness. The weight of his newfound power and the responsibility it entailed pressed heavily upon his ethereal essence. As he journeyed through the endless void, he encountered countless souls, each carrying their own burdens and secrets.
But this was not the boy's freedom from the flesh—it was only a vision, given to him by the black swamp toads. He would have to return to his flesh; return to society with his secret from the great throne of enlightenment beyond the realms of men.
As the boy's consciousness teetered on the precipice of oblivion within the slimy entry of the toad's deep borrow, an ethereal presence took notice. From the depths of the swamp, an ancient and mystical entity stirred, its essence intertwined with the very fabric of the world. This entity, known as the Mad Black Dragon, had witnessed countless cycles of life and death, of creation and destruction. It had seen civilizations rise and fall, witnessed the ebb and flow of nature's delicate balance. And now, it sensed a profound disturbance in the realm of the living, a disruption that threatened the harmony it had long protected.
Moving with a fluidity that defied mortal comprehension, the Mad Black Dragon took the form of a luminescent wisp, its body composed of shimmering motes of light. It floated effortlessly towards the boy, drawn to his flickering spark of humanity, a beacon in the darkness that threatened to consume him.
As the Mad Black Dragon approached, the boy's unconscious form quivered slightly, his mind stirring from its slumber. Images flickered behind his closed eyelids, memories and emotions swirling in a chaotic dance. Mad Black Dragon reached out, its ethereal fingers brushing against the boy's forehead. A wave of tranquility washed over him, calming his troubled spirit and easing his passage into the next realm.
In the vast expanse of the boy's subconscious, the Mad Black Dragon found echoes of an ancient prophecy, a whisper passed down through generations, speaking of a chosen one who would rise from the depths of despair and wield the power of the Great Oak Tree to restore balance to the world. The Mad Black Dragon recognized the boy's potential, the spark of greatness within him, and it vowed to guide and protect him on his arduous journey.
With a gentle touch, the Mad Black Dragon severed the boy's connection to the toad's malevolent influence, freeing him from the horde's insidious grip. The boy's body shuddered as the last vestiges of the toad's power dissipated, his consciousness slowly returning to the realm of the living.
As the boy's eyes fluttered open, he found himself in a strange and unfamiliar place. He lay on a bed of soft moss, the air around him filled with the gentle hum of life. He looked up and saw the Mad Black Dragon hovering above him, its luminescent form radiating warmth and compassion.
"Do not fear," the Mad Black Dragon said, its voice a soothing melody that echoed through the boy's mind. "You are safe now. I have watched over these lands for countless ages, and I have seen your potential."
The boy stared at the Mad Black Dragon in awe, his mind still struggling to comprehend the events that had transpired. "But... how?" he stammered, his voice raspy and weak.
"You possess the power of the Great Oak Tree of Life," the Mad Black Dragon explained. "It is a power that lies dormant within you, waiting to be awakened. But first, you must complete a series of trials, tests of strength, courage, and wisdom. Only then will you be ready to wield the full extent of your abilities. Now that you have felt what it means to die, to become the Black Death, and you have sat fleshless on The Throne of Enlightenment, you are ready to become a great prophet in the realm of men."
The boy's heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He knew that the trials ahead would be challenging, but he was determined to succeed. He had seen firsthand the devastation wrought by the toad horde, and he was resolved to put an end to their reign of terror.
"I will do whatever it takes," he vowed, his voice ringing with newfound strength.
The Mad Black Dragon smiled, its ethereal form shimmering with approval. "I have faith in you, young warrior," it said. "Your journey begins now. Follow me."
With that, the Mad Black Dragon turned and glided away, beckoning the boy to follow. The boy rose to his feet and took a tentative step forward, his body still weak from his ordeal. But as he walked, he felt a surge of energy coursing through his veins, a power that seemed to emanate from the very swamp itself. He looked back at the glowing entrance of the toad’s burrow, a symbol of the darkness he had faced. But he did not fear it. He knew that he had a destiny to fulfill, a destiny that would lead him to the Great Oak Tree of Life, the source of his true power.
He followed the Mad Black Dragon through the labyrinthine tunnels of the swamp, each step taking him deeper into the heart of this magical realm. As they walked, the boy marveled at the sights around him. Bioluminescent plants glowed with a soft light, casting an ethereal glow on the swamp's inhabitants. Strange creatures, some friendly and some hostile, watched them pass with curious eyes.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the Great Oak Tree. Its trunk was massive, its branches reaching up to the heavens. The boy could feel the power of the tree coursing through his veins, a power that was his by birthright.
The Mad Black Dragon smiled. "You have come a long way," it said. "Now, it is time for you to claim your destiny."
The boy nodded, his heart pounding with anticipation. He stepped forward and placed his hand on the tree's bark. A surge of energy flowed through him, filling him with a sense of peace and power. He knew that he was ready.
His eyes snapped open, and suddenly he was back in the rainforest, the toad he had caught looking up at him with its orange eyes. How long he had been standing there, he did not know, but the horrid taste of the toad-ooze was still on his mouth. He tilted his head up and let the rainwater swell in his mouth before swishing it around and spiting. He kept the toad firmly in his grip, and began to turn back.