Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Loimos stood in the middle of the forest, now turned into a wasteland, facing a huge, leafless tree.

The tree wasn’t simply large, it had a face, the face of an old man sprouting out from the trunk, looking down on the undead.

The old wood creaked and cracked as the ancient tree smiled softly, though there was a certain sense of madness to it.

Loimos wasn’t familiar enough with the facial expressions of the living to get much of that display, he simply stayed in place.

The tree wasn’t being affected by the life-devouring miasma, in fact, there was some sort of bubble free of the smog surrounding the overgrown plant.

"Your soul, it is quite special, undead" it spoke slowly, its voice deep, so deep that it seemed to come from the depth of this very world.

"You are an undead unlike any other, dead in all forms and shapes, never having tasted the sweetness, delicateness, bitterness of life" it chuckled, the voice was neither masculine nor feminine.

Loimos couldn’t and didn’t wish to respond, he was only there to try and figure out a way to bypass the tree’s defences.

Upon being exposed to its voice however, it became clear to the skeleton that The First Seed wasn’t nearly as simple as the goblins and other tribes believed, the voice wasn’t truly present physically.

But it wasn’t occurring within Loimos’s undead mind, he could clearly feel how it was communicating with him.

Soul to soul, they were much closer to one another as it seemed.

"Truly an antithesis" it mused aloud without elaborating.

A sudden burst struck Loimos, eradicating his left arm entirely, he didn’t make a sound or any sudden movements, he didn’t feel any pain or emotion.

"I was aiming for the head, I wasn’t off either, I shall watch your movements with great interest" not aggravated by missing his attempt at destroying the undead, the old tree began to fall into pieces.

The protective bubble disappeared, allowing the miasma to consume the remnants of The First Seed.

He didn’t receive any word from the system telling him about slaying anything, and he could trust the system for this, since it told him about every single thing he killed, from the smallest bit of grass and insects.

Anything that was alive was counted by the system, so not getting anything for the ancient tree meant that it had lived, considering the soul to soul proximity Loimos had just experienced, it must have evacuated and simply left after using this tree’s last bit of life force to try and destroy him.

The blast had completely erased his arm however and he had no idea if he could regrow it, it should be possible, he just didn’t know how to.

He didn’t dwell on this small loss in the least and instead moved from his position, the other undeads should have already been done dispersing small bits of the miasma generator.

Loimos looked back at said generator, the piece that barely fitted inside of the larger skeleton’s rib cage had been cut out of it, it had begun growing exponentially, moving it was impossible for the small group now, but seeing the rate at which it was now pumping out rot, blighted blood and miasma without growing any weaker even without nourishment was well enough.

Grabbing a piece of the decay, he stuck it in his own rib cage and walked into the lake, the surface of the water quickly darkening as he went by the goblin tribe.

Taking a quick look out of the water, the goblins were running around frantically, trying to deal with the small bits of rot thrown around and not quite succeeding as miasma had already begun to gnaw at their homes and defences, spreading much too fast.

It was already too late for them to salvage anything and they instead started to save whatever they could.

’They are going to leave’ they had no other choice, they were going to run away from their own birthplace, leave it all behind and try to reach another tribe.

Loimos knew that they would have to follow along the edge of the lake, for he had already contaminated all other water sources in between the goblins and the next tribe, which was inhabited by scaly monsters with snake tails.

They weren’t the smartest bunch and had already suffered greatly from his actions, even if the goblins managed to reach them, they would be greatly disappointed.

To ensure that maximum damage was dealt to the goblins, Loimos quickly made his way toward the small, central island and planted a small portion of rot on the tree there before returning near the shores.

Sitting at the bottom of the water, he began producing the maximum amount of rotten blood he could, quickly tainting the water.

The goblins wouldn’t be able to get water from anywhere, apart maybe from some wild fruits, they would only be able to satiate their thirst by drinking the blood of beasts and monsters, which were most certainly already all contaminated to some extent.

They would either slowly die or be forced to venture deeper into the lake to get some untouched water.

Loimos couldn’t completely extend his rot to the entirety of the lake in so little time.

If they tried to do that however, they would be attacked from beneath.

Maimed and dragged into the depth, there was no cutting it, Loimos didn’t need to put any of the plans he had thought of to deal with the tribe’s strongest members, they would have to die without being able to lay their eyes on him.

Gobstroz had the sheer might to take on all of the undeads by himself, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered for them anymore, they would simply have to accept death, something no living being could do.

After their lives were reaped, it would be time for the next tribe, and then the next, until the entirety of this small world was overtaken by death.

The miasma will eventually condense and force its way beyond the limits of this place.

Loimos didn’t know what was beyond here, but he would be finding out soon enough.