Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 334: Fear The Night : Handy

The phantomatic soldiers of Antieeld spread out quickly, bringing their assistance to all that could still be helped, but a few fronts had been left without generals and with no more than a handful of soldiers, incapable of fighting back against the undeads, all attack forces from the dark had changed completely, not a single front was under assault of regular foot soldiers, knights and elites were everywhere, the near entire surface of the life pyramid was covered in cracks.

Those in charge of repairing the barrier could no longer follow with the damage inflicted, rumbles shook it completely as Svaltimas was thrown against its surface, his pale blue hide, once considered nigh unbreakable, had turned red, blood and flesh exposed to the outside, marks of dire burns riddling his body, veins smouldering from the inside out, wings torn and broken, one of his hind legs ripped off completely, pinned against the barrier.

The majestic sanguine lord stood over the disgraced lord of the frozen peaks, front claws digging into the chest, grasping into bones, no way to break free without further damaging himself, Svaltimas weakly howled, the frozen roar much too weak to faze Dracula.

"Long and hard, you have thought, yes?"@@@@

Dracula himself was in a worse state than he would have imagined ending up in, Svaltimas was much stronger and resilient than expected, no doubt about it, if he refused the grace of flaming blood, then it was mindless that he would serve as a soldier of eternity.

"So, what is your answer, deprived lord?" Dracula, Son Of Dragon, gave his ultimatom, body covered in frost, battered, clawed and bitten upon, mantle of blood flame covering his pale scales, melting the ice away and mending the injuries, soon, the vampire lord would be back to top condition.

The frost dragon stayed silent for a moment, raising his head with much difficulty, scorched upon the face, completely blinded, still did he know where to pivot his neck to meet face to face with the vile, most noble gravelord of all.

"Fuck you" had his bestial features allowed for it, Svaltimas would have smiled in this last act of defiance, but even without being visible, the pure joy of it could be heard clearly, for a split moment, the draculian dragons roared below, interrupted by the sound of the last living dragon of Viridis having his chest ripped open, killing him on the spot, body lifted from its position and slammed back down, again, and again, and again.

Uttering a word in death tongue, her mastery over the aspect of the dead’s language that compelled those that heard it to succumb and heed the orders given, her control over it was a notch above all others, even Lady Syklon had to focus to endure the dreadful orders given, and simultaneously, speaking taking none of her attention, the spectre lord formed multiple circle’s back to back, casting a spell that shrouded the ground in a wide area in the same ghost flames as before.

Following by unveiling monstrous hands that sought to crush with only brutal strength.

Multaemanus’s hands were not simply conjured up.

"Ah... Little Syklon, give them to me!"

The gravelord’s signature hands all once belonged to people, victims of hers, she never failed to take their hands for herself, adding it to her unending collection, where they would serve as both weapons and great things to look at in her spare time.

As all collectors were, she had very specific targets for her obsession, only taking the hands of women, and as Syklon discovered, it extended to beasts and monsters, claws lashing out as a giant’s palm came down from above, raising the ground and blowing the cold flames into a wider area.

"Kill me first"

"I wouldn’t have it any other way... I much prefer the coldness"