The sky above me was the color of dried blood, a sickly red that seemed to stretch for miles, as though the heavens themselves were torn open. The air was thick, stifling, and carried with it the scent of decay and burning flesh. It was a world teetering on the edge of oblivion, and I was standing at the center of it, my hands trembling, my mind unraveling.
I had been chosen.
Alekhan, the god who had awakened the dead, the force behind the apocalypse, had chosen me to be his instrument. I could feel it in every inch of my being—the pull of his will, the weight of his power. Every soul I consumed, every step I took, was a step deeper into his darkness.
I had felt the hunger before, the gnawing desire to feed, but now it was more than that. It was control. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed to echo with his presence, his influence wrapping around me like chains that grew tighter with each passing second. The more I resisted, the more the hunger grew, a constant presence, always there, always waiting.
But the worst part was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to resist anymore.
The creature—the one who had spoken to me in the warehouse—had made it clear. I had become the vessel. And whether I liked it or not, I was bound to him. Bound to Alekhan.
I stood at the edge of the ruined city, the fires in the distance casting long shadows across the rubble. The undead roamed in the streets, their movements jerky and mechanical, their minds lost to the void. But there was something different about them now. They weren't the same mindless creatures I had fought against at the beginning of this nightmare.
They were controlled.
The whispers in my mind told me that Alekhan was behind this, that he had turned them into his army, his vanguard. And I? I was his herald. I could feel it—every soul I consumed only fed his power. The more I took, the more I could feel him pressing in on me. He was always there, a shadow in my thoughts, urging me to embrace the darkness.
I had to stop.
I had to resist.
But the hunger… it was unbearable.
I turned away from the city, the ruins of my former life, and began to walk toward the forest on the outskirts. My legs were heavy, but my mind was heavier still. The pull of Alekhan's power was constant, like a magnet pulling me back, urging me to return to the heart of the destruction. He was waiting for me. I knew that.
The forest ahead of me was dark, the trees looming like silent sentinels, their branches reaching out like claws. It was quiet, too quiet. But it wasn't the silence that made me uneasy. It was the presence. Something was watching me, something that was not of this world.
I stopped.
The whisper in my mind was louder now, echoing in my skull.
"You cannot escape him. You are his now. His will is your own."
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I could feel the blood running through my veins, thick and hot. The hunger roared within me. It wasn't just for souls anymore. It was for power.
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the trees, tall and slender, with eyes that gleamed like polished obsidian. Its skin was a shade of pale grey, its features sharp and angular, almost ethereal. It was cloaked in tattered robes that fluttered in the wind, and it radiated an energy that was both calming and terrifying.
A god.
It didn't need to speak for me to understand.
You have chosen your path.
It spoke directly into my mind, its voice a soft murmur like the rustling of leaves. The presence of this being was overwhelming, its power palpable in the air. But this wasn't Alekhan. This was something else, something older.
I could feel the weight of its gaze as it studied me.
"You are lost," it said, its voice gentle yet piercing. "You are caught between two worlds—the world of the living, and the world of the dead. But in the end, you will choose the world of the dead."
I swallowed, my throat dry. I couldn't take my eyes off the figure. Its presence was suffocating, pressing down on me like a physical weight.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "I don't want this. I didn't ask for this."
The figure tilted its head, its eyes narrowing. "No one asks for power, mortal. But it is given nonetheless. And once it is given, it cannot be taken back."
"I didn't ask for Alekhan to choose me," I said, my voice breaking. "I didn't ask to be a tool, to be a vessel for a god. I didn't ask for this hunger."
The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, it stepped closer, its movements fluid and graceful, like a shadow in the night.
"The hunger you feel is not your own. It is his." The figure reached out, its hand brushing my cheek. It was cold—colder than death itself. "You have tasted it now, and you will never be the same again."
I recoiled, stepping back, but the figure was faster. It grabbed my wrist, its grip like iron, and I couldn't break free.
"You are bound to him, child. Your soul is his. You are the key to his rise, and you will play your part in the destruction of this world."
"No!" I screamed, my voice a jagged thing, full of fear and fury. "I won't be his puppet. I won't let him destroy everything."
The figure's eyes glowed with a light that was not of this world, and I felt a chill run through me, as if the very air had turned to ice.
"You think you have a choice?" it asked softly. "You think you can fight against him? You are already his. You have consumed the souls, fed his power. You are the instrument of the end."
I shook my head, my chest tight with panic. "I can still fight. I can still stop it. I don't want to be his weapon. I don't want to be his—"
The figure tightened its grip on my wrist, pulling me forward. Its voice dropped to a whisper, so soft, so deadly.
"You are already his. You are the destroyer."
The world seemed to spin as I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by the pressure in my chest, the weight of the power inside me. The hunger roared louder than ever, and for a moment, I couldn't tell if it was my own voice in my head or Alekhan's.
"You can't escape," the figure said. "The world is dying, and you are the cause."
The hunger surged again, overpowering everything else, drowning out my thoughts. I reached for it, the power, the souls, feeling them just out of reach, so tantalizingly close. But something stopped me.
A flicker of doubt, a tiny spark of defiance.
I remembered the woman I had killed. The soul I had consumed. I remembered the moment I had become a part of this nightmare.
I wasn't just Alekhan's puppet. I wasn't just his vessel. I was human. I was still me.
"I'm not like you," I said, struggling to find my voice. "I'm not like them."
The figure let out a soft, hollow laugh. "You are exactly like them. You are exactly like Alekhan. You have already chosen your path. And there is no turning back."
I pushed against the figure's grip, forcing myself to my feet. My body felt weak, but I wasn't going to give in. I wasn't going to be another mindless servant, another weapon of destruction.
The figure stepped back, watching me, its face unreadable.
"You are not yet ready to fight," it said softly, its voice distant now. "But you will be. In time, you will be the one who leads the world into darkness. You will be the one who finishes what Alekhan has begun."
With a final glance, the figure turned and melted into the shadows, disappearing into the night.
I was alone again, the weight of its words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
I took a shaky breath, forcing my hands to stop trembling. I had no answers. I had no plan. But there was one thing I knew for sure: I couldn't go back. I couldn't be a part of this destruction.
I had to find a way to stop it.
I had to find a way to stop Alekhan.