Chapter 1: The END of the World
The world was a perpetual twilight, a landscape of ash and eternal shade since the Darkness had devoured the sun.
An old man sat atop a shifting mountain of corpses. Monstrous shadows and a dizzying swarm of flying, chitinous parasites blanketed the dead, including his own people, now hideous hosts for the infestation.
The old man's name was Varakel.
the old man, a ruin of his former self with a fatal wound tearing across his gut and one arm gone, stared through the swirling cloud of buzzing, winged parasites.
A young man stepped out of the teeming circle of monsters. He carried a massive sword, the blade reflecting the sickly green glow of the air, and stood with chilling confidence.
"The time for the world's end is near," he said, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of pity.
Varakel's gaze did not meet the young man Instead, it locked onto the face just behind him the vacant, familiar face of his son, Nyzor, resurrected as a skin-sheathed puppet, a cruel marionette controlled by the parasite.
"Stop using my son's dead body to talk to me," the old man rasped, the effort pulling a fresh ribbon of blood from his torn abdomen.
The young man, radiating cold composure, gave a soft, almost pitying sigh. He did not retreat. Instead, he took another step, causing the corrupted son to shift slightly.
"Is that not the point of the Darkness?" the young man murmured, his voice cutting through the parasite's buzzing like polished steel.
"There is no 'dead body.' There is only vessel and utility.
He glanced casually at the zombified Nyzor a gesture rich with cruelty.
This one was merely convenient. Strong loyalties make for strong distractions, don't they? Though I admit, I expected a man of your legendary resolve to last a little longer.
The blade rose again, its tip pointing directly at Varakel's single, desperate heartbeat.
"I came not to fight, but to offer you a final, pointless choice. Die protecting your mountain of lies… or submit and become useful, like your son."
Varakel spat a mouthful of blood and bile onto the corpse-strewn ground.
Go to the silent cold you worship. My name dies with me, not with your parasite's leash.
The young man smiled—a terrifying, emotionless expression.
"A noble sentiment. Pity it changes nothing."
He lowered his sword and gestured toward Nyzor corrupted form.
Then let your final sight be the end of the line you fought so hard to preserve.
With a silent command, Nyzor monstrous body detached from the ranks of the infested. His eyes glowed with the pale, sick light of parasite control as he took an unnatural, shuffling step toward his father.