Yo, I've cross-posted this fic to AO3, the crosspost contains drawings for certain chapters, drawn by me. Go check it out if you want.
Ao3 Link: /works/48403204/chapters/122085067
It clawed and clawed and clawed.
Its hatred was cast in an iron brand, bold and burning for everyone to notice. From day to night, it screamed in emblazoned shrieks, ones that would strike through the walls and echo from even the surface.
ARRRUUUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHH...AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHH...
Then, it would go on the hunt.
Searching for its prey, the legions of undead, hidden and entrapped within the dungeon labyrinths. Tearing apart their skeletal frames and gorging on their ectoplasmic insides to feed its malignant growth in power. By time, the undead population shrunk by a massive margin, and more and more of The Dungeon was sealed off. The haunt became a natural fear engraved across the minds of the dungeon denizens, a terror that peers while they slept and prowls the midnight for carnage.
Of spiritual aura, yet somehow coalesced into corporeal form with the raw resentment of its many souls. Clad in hollowed steel salvaged to patchwork armor, its eighteen eyes spiral forth of potent vehemence, each pupil burns with heartless malice. Its maw leads to a fate of nothing but pain, your body vaporized into blighted bile and your soul assimilates the ranks. The crippling links of old chains tether its disheveled hands to lay your gored body to ashes.
Its necroplasmic skin writhes with the torture of all it has claimed, their fury forms its tissue. Although all it was was fueled by blind rage, there was one form of order. At the center of the demon was its heart, flaunt in scarlet and beating anger throughout the husk. It was the singular soul of one of the executed.
The memories of that faithful day were fragmented.
The crowd roared around him as the paladins brought him to the altar. The crowd, there were not cheering to be entertained, the cheer was hateful, despising. He looked up to a balcony. There he was. The Golden Heretic. gaurds surrounded the gilt man as the crowd ceased to his command. He had never known his last moments would be serenaded with the ragged voice of the tyrant.
"█████, oh how I scorn you. How your existence brings misery upon my ranks. Your crimes are not worthy of mere incarceration, no - you shall be slain upon the altar, your soul will be entrapped within this labyrinth, it will never pass on. Before your execution is done, we shall remind you of your deeds."
The paladins dropped him to his knees. Trembling in rags, he laid his head low and stood still.
"█████, you are nothing but a fool. You blindly followed an advisor's demand. You spilled the blood of my subjects on my courts, before seeking approval from him. Now, you've committed murder, and the very man you thought favored you is dead by your hand. Foolish , nobody could ever love you, and now you're also charged with Murder."
He scoffed. Rubbing the maims across his wrists, a single tear dropped down from his eyes.
"But that is not the only crime you've committed. Worn from the advisor's execution, you sought to demolish all I have erected. My pillars, my spires, chiseled and fragmented. You attempted to bloom chaos across my reign. A revolt was formed, and the city of Azothus was partially burned down. Did these acts quell your rage? Was your attempt to anger me a success? Of course not. You were so stirred up in your sorrow that you ended up harming yourself even further. Your second charge is of Treason."
"..."
"Of the night of the hallowed moon, fueled by rage, you stormed in the Fifth Temple. The harvest spirit's ruckus drowned out the sight of your espionage, your hands and claimed the transcript of Apotheosis. Casting an aura veil across The Citadel, you spun deception across all my men, lies of...divine influence.█████, I lay your head upon your worst crime: Heresy. Thus the punishment is death and The First Hell: Limbo...
"What are your last words."
He wept. Never had he known his death would be to drown. Drown in the pity of hundreds who scorned him. Everything Yharim said was, undoubtedly true, he was nothing but a fool who didn't know what he was doing. It was shameful. He had so many thoughts and emotions stirring up inside him, ones he could never express again. Except now. He stood up and glared directly at The Tyrant.
The silence was absolute.
Then he spoke.
"...At this day, at this very moment. I speak for every soul within these accursed walls, every corpse you abandoned, rotting in a cell. My actions may be of fault, yet what do they compare to yours? You are nothing but a lord of lies, a usurper. Every life taken by your hands, dwells within this...dungeon, never passing on, never at rest. Today...I bring light to all of them as we make our existence prominent. All will see us boil with rage, wallow in sorrow...scream in madness...WE ARE NOW THE MISTAKES THAT HAUNT YOU, THE CRUX OF YOUR FAILURES, THE MONUMENT TO ALL YOUR SINS."
Yharim raised a gesture as his body was cremated instantaneously.
The crowd cheered in unity.
But once they had stopped, screaming could still be heard.
The walls around the auditorium were quaked and deformed. Bricks were pushed off as the ceiling cracked. The screaming overwhelmed the noise of the crowd by tenfolds, wailing ravenously in thousands of voices.
Several necroplasmic hands tore through the stage and paved the rows of seating in scarlet red.
The hands bashed through the scorched stage and melded into presence, a specter in amorphous, shifting flesh. █████'s soul drifting within the center, burning the brightest of them all. It rampaged throughout, ripping one and another to gore. His wish was fulfilled.
5 injured.
386 dead.
1 Yharim.
The next day was near the same, Laurence fought Ars in another duel. He had already been hits several times, but he felt his reflexes strengthening. He was capable of predicting simple strikes and how to evade them. He attempted multitasking his movements but that still led to failure without some proper concentration time, most rounds he would dodge and dodge only.
Even after so much time, he still rather he didn't think.
Not like he had much of a choice. He was pulled into this world to serve as nothing but a tool, and somehow he didn't care. He didn't need to exist, what was coming for him anyway? And something told him maybe he shouldn't uncover his past, maybe they bring more consequences than conclusions. But he couldn't help but question. What was Aerie? Who was that girl? No.
No...I must find out. The Aerie. The Ritual. What did it mean? Why do I fear it?
The Aerie...all the villages around. Who did that? What happened?
Yet, still, it lingered. Like a primal instinct that cannot be erased. Every time he tried to remember the emotion acted up.
Anger. Grief. Madness. Wrath.
The girl on top of the aerie, he knew her. Who was she? Why does she feel important? He couldn't think anymore. He wanted to rest. After the match, they sent him back to the room for the rest of the day. A meal had been prepared for him there, quite a sizeable one. He was told to finish it all but ended up eating half of it and pushing it aside for later. It tasted great, yet he never built up any hunger, but he did feel quite replenished afterward. He pulled out the drawer and picked up the Necronomicon.
Finally, you can communicate. Did you finish that meal?
No...I'm full.
Well, you should, it replenishes your mana.
I'll finish it later.
You'll have to return to the abyss, we have more work to do.
Okay, I...
At that point he felt something he never had before. He didn't want to go to the abyss. He didn't want to follow Cthulhu's rules he didn't need to. All at that time he wanted was...revenge. Find what happened in that memory and cease his longing. Did he not have to follow this voice's demands? He wasn't in his head anymore, he could think freely...what is it that he wanted?
...So?
...No. I won't.
Weapons: Void-forged Lacerates (not an item just magic), Furicus Pitchfork, Abyss Shocker, Blood Thorn, Black Anurian
Tools: Magic mirror, Necronomicon stage: 1
Armor: (no armor)
Accessories: (no acc)