Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

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Reluctantly, the chief followed after the intruder outside, greeted to a most strange sight, had that goblin come to warn him of an attack barely seconds ago? Then how could it be? How could it be that all of those that had remained after the warriors had left were impaled upon spikes?

Spikes so high, so tall that they could accommodate dozens of the lanky creatures, said spikes not pointy, but rounded at the point of penetration, harmlessly pushing the organs away instead of tearing them apart, allowing for the victims of the impalement to remain alive for a long time.

The large goblin was stunned, this level of efficiency, of sheer violence, brutality and vile sadism.

'It's beautiful…' it almost brought a tear to his eye, even he felt intimidated for a moment, that was great work, one that he could not hope to replicate, for a tyrant like himself, this display was art.

"Heh… What about my warriors however? If you had to attack while they were gone, then…" his reasoning was cut short as the intruder turned to him, an act, that for some reason, felt incredibly abnormal, he did not say anything, but definitely demonstrated something, from one massacrer to another, the chief could sense the stench of the numerous lives claimed by this stranger.

"Point taken" a bead of sweat travelling the side of his head, a faint chuckle escaping his lips, the goblin stepping back inside quickly, grasping onto a rusted mass of iron, lifting it onto his shoulder, bursting back out.

It was the ancient anchor of a ship, pillaged upon the dangerous bottom of the nearby ocean, before the chief had ascended to his position and engaged in gluttonous activities, he used to dive into the monster-filled waters, claiming the lives of abominable creatures and plundering the remnants of sunken ships.

In the mere seconds that it took him to retrieve his weapon, all eyes had turned toward him and the mysterious mantled knight, those odd creatures garbed in armour from head to toe, head by two knights wielding their weapons with opposite hands, all were staring right at them, as though it was something to be witnessed obligatorily.

And indeed, Loimos wanted his soldiers to pay attention, the goblin chief was fully under the impression that defeating the pure undead meant total victory, not even considering the possibility that he was the last goblin upon this island, not even thinking for a second that the putrid skeleton could be more powerful than he was.

High off his supposed glory, off his imagined status as a god above the flock of mere mortals below, he was incapable of imagining the status quo changing, and thus, grasping upon his favourite weapon tightly, the rust flaking off over his fingers and palms, leaping into the air, putting his entire weight, his entire strength and that of the anchor upon a strike aimed right at the top of the undead's helm, the attack harmlessly bouncing off, completely inverting the momentum, sending him into an unexpected backflip, landing upon his legs, but confused nonetheless.

"Hey, are you a damned mage?!" he asked, spit flying everywhere as he shouted.

Without waiting for a response, the chief went for another swing, Loimos side stepping the strike entirely, plunging his hand into the goblin's chest, the surface of the monster's pale body rippled, no blood erupting, no bones breaking, no flesh rupturing, yet, agony befell the creature, the undead pulling upon the soul with his hands, taking it out for a split second, pinching a small part and then letting go entirely, the soul immediately returning to its rightful body, the chief stumbling back as though he had been struck.

The anchor slammed upon the ground, weapon wielding arm having gone entirely limp, numbed to all, unresponsive, grasping it, the chief clutched and slapped in an attempt to awaken his limb, but it was useless, Loimos had taken the part of the soul that was supposed to go there, normally, the soul would naturally flow back in, but the pure undead's action had not simply harmed it, he had made sure to stop its natural process as well.

"You and your little tricks! I don't need my right arm to-" he tried to lift the anchor again, but he found his strength lacking, noticing dark spots upon his arm, upon his stomach, upon his chest, upon his legs, upon everything, no… There were dark spots forming upon his eyes.

Words wanted to escape his lips, but only black blood came out, tainting his remaining teeth, the sludge-like sanguine substance nearly suffocating him, noticing the undead taking a step toward him, he raised his functioning arm in defeat.

"I- I yield! Remove your curses upon me, I abdicate! My freedom is yours!" the undead took another step, prompting the no-longer so proud chieftain to push himself back into the safety of his lodging, running and coming close to falling on his face multiple times.

"Are you not going to finish him off?" stepping from a shadowy corner, Maliah was scratching the side of her face with a dagger.

"I am demonstrating why one should never allow the enemy to retreat, it will be up to you in a moment" Loimos pointed at the ground, the assassin focusing at what the undead was trying to show her, actually trying to sense what was going on, The Death Dealer immediately noticing what was kept below the old stone structure, which appeared to have been a temple of some sort before becoming the home of the goblin chieftain.

The ground shaking below their feet, the chief went down a passage concealed behind a simple beast hide laid over the wall, gathering all of his strength to turn a simple key inside of its lock, freeing what was imprisoned inside.

Apart from feasting endlessly to the utmost limit, another hobby of the goblin was to feed the island's mightiest creature, which he had subjugated years ago, neither a beast nor a goblin, a monster that could have very well ruled the island had there been more of them.

Unlike the chief who only grew to resemble one over time, what bursted out of the stone temple, munching on the goblin's still living body, was an actual ogre, with pale grey skin, a small head with an oversized head, small eyes, elongated arms ending with large, four-fingered hands.

"So, I need to be slow and steady, right?" asked the assassin.

"Yes, it should have fairly potent regeneration, let it heal and demonstrate all manners of easily felling such an opponent" clarified the undead, the fin-limier liking the idea, in lack of mass murder, butchering something alive was a good alternative.

"Alright then, sit down for the next few hours…"