north americaeurope
 
 
 
   
   

 

mortanegra
amy downum
page 04:04
 
 
 
 
 

Now, just as the lights of the celebrating town were so close, I saw why she desired me to run. From every corner of the forest, from every shadow, spawned the creatures that were hunting me. They came from the shadows themselves, multiplying from each other and from the air its self. Countless numbers sprang upon me, knocking me into a tree that hit me back, lashing its great bough across my already torn chest. I staggered, cried out to the silver ghost girl who now watched in silence, then ran again.

Not even the greatest of divine forces knows how I managed to run with the weight of the ghouls and monsters on my back and arms, but run I did. I ran with the little creatures ripping skin from muscle, muscle from bone.

I burst out of the forest, screaming in the same, unbroken note, as did the apparition. Down the muddy streets I raced, flinging ghouls off left and right. But the remaining few I could not shake, and they proceeded to tear me apart quicker than I could take a breath to scream.

I stumbled again, and fell to my knees beside a pool of water in the town road. What I saw in the water spurred me to run again, the demons clinging to my back and eating me alive. The rest had refused to come into the light.

I was nearly skinless, and every inch of my body scoured by the iron claws of these foul creatures. I had not noticed in my terror, but my left eye was slashed, and in several places my muscles torn so that the bone showed through the gaping wounds, and still I was alive.

Now I was near the town square, where the celebration was still going on. I staggered through the same darkened alley I had wandered through only hours ago. Weak from loss of blood, my attackers swimming before my bleeding eyes, I lurched out of the alley and found myself thrust into the heart of the celebration.

Not a single curious glance fell upon me. I fit right in amongst these horrible people who were not people. Stumbling and twirling I staggered through the crowd, too weak and terrified to ask for help.

It was then I found myself, by some unholy dark twist of fate, standing at the edge of a giant pit, that at the bottom awaited spikes. The last three demons leapt from my back and surrounded the hideous, fleshless, bloody corpse that was all that was left of me. I leaned, exhausted and dying, against a lamppost, praying in my foggy mind that this light would keep them away.

But, alas, it did not. The larger demon, its many pointed teeth bore in a cruel grimace, launched itself at me.

Through crimson stained vision I watched, my mind to far gone to react. What little breath my torn lungs were able to hold was dispelled as the hard skull and pointed horns of the demon collided with my chest.

One last cry did I give, a moan of agony so intense words cannot describe it. I stumbled back, my hand releasing the lamppost, leaving a bloody hand print. And then… I fell…

Forty feet did I plummet until, with a terrible sound, I hit bottom. I did not feel the bone spires pierce my body, but I saw them, rising from my chest, my stomach, my shoulder, glistening red in the moonlight.

No longer could I draw breath, and yet I found I no loner needed to. Sound was fading… light was dimming. I lay there, bathed in warm crimson blood, and there I will lie forever…

So this is where the story ends, a bloody and gruesome finale to a bloody and gruesome story. But my story is just beginning. My time in Mortanegra is not spent as the living…but as the undead…

 

the end