[hr]
There were phantoms in the darkness drifting in and out of the shadows. Rugal couldn't tell if they were real or if they were fragments of his own distorted psyche. They were people that he knew. The very earth was echoing with the voices of past sins. Those who were lost to time reached out, hands grasping at him.
A dragon and her rider, the devil himself, young girls who held each other close. A shapeshifter with a broken soul. An elf with ashen skin. Two angels. A fox-woman. A man in a baseball uniform. Young creatures lost in the ancient winds. A boy and his puppet. A mage in red.
An inkling of recognition danced on the inside of Rugal's mind. These were people he had once known. People that had once known him. But their faces were washed away in the inky black.
In the master's quarters, Rugal found a single corpse propped up against the bed. His hands still clasped firmly around a small stone box. The surface was a dark rock, set with veins of green. The lock and hinges were forged from a dirty gold. It was about the size of a breadbox. It's weight left an indent in the atrophied flesh of the man holding it. The stone box was devouring the energy around it, leaving the hands of the corpse covered in thin blossoms of ice.
The man's eyes were empty, as if they had been torn out of his skull. His mouth was agape, and the toothless hole was smeared with the black of dried blood. All of the fluid was drained out of these people, all of their bones ground to dust, leaving only grey muscle and skin behind. The distinctive acrid stench of oil lingered faintly on the corpse.
Livia pointed toward the rings on the corpse's hands. "That's Marcus Aurelius," Livia said softly, "what in the world could have caused this?"
The answer was more than obvious to Rugal. He could tell now that they were in the thick of it. This wasn't some work of magic or god. This was the result of a nanite infestation.
Another bolt of lightning illuminated the room.
The shadows didn't fade. In fact they were shimmering. The rumble of thunder echoed through the empty house.
Right to Rule
[hr]
Code:
rugal's story
There were phantoms in the darkness drifting in and out of the shadows. Rugal couldn't tell if they were real or if they were fragments of his own distorted psyche. They were people that he knew. The very earth was echoing with the voices of past sins. Those who were lost to time reached out, hands grasping at him.
A dragon and her rider, the devil himself, young girls who held each other close. A shapeshifter with a broken soul. An elf with ashen skin. Two angels. A fox-woman. A man in a baseball uniform. Young creatures lost in the ancient winds. A boy and his puppet. A mage in red.
An inkling of recognition danced on the inside of Rugal's mind. These were people he had once known. People that had once known him. But their faces were washed away in the inky black.
In the master's quarters, Rugal found a single corpse propped up against the bed. His hands still clasped firmly around a small stone box. The surface was a dark rock, set with veins of green. The lock and hinges were forged from a dirty gold. It was about the size of a breadbox. It's weight left an indent in the atrophied flesh of the man holding it. The stone box was devouring the energy around it, leaving the hands of the corpse covered in thin blossoms of ice.
The man's eyes were empty, as if they had been torn out of his skull. His mouth was agape, and the toothless hole was smeared with the black of dried blood. All of the fluid was drained out of these people, all of their bones ground to dust, leaving only grey muscle and skin behind. The distinctive acrid stench of oil lingered faintly on the corpse.
Livia pointed toward the rings on the corpse's hands. "That's Marcus Aurelius," Livia said softly, "what in the world could have caused this?"
The answer was more than obvious to Rugal. He could tell now that they were in the thick of it. This wasn't some work of magic or god. This was the result of a nanite infestation.
Another bolt of lightning illuminated the room.
The shadows didn't fade. In fact they were shimmering. The rumble of thunder echoed through the empty house.