Chapter 1
December 29, 2023 at 1:44 PM
Cherry Misty present:
The infection
“Pain. It doesn’t give rest. It eclipsed the mind, eclipsed reality. There is nothing left in your world but this all-consuming pain. You don’t see your own body, you don’t hear your own scream. It remains only to blindly crawl at random in search of salvation. But he is not. The forces slowly leave the spreading flesh, the bare bones sparkle brightly in the thick black fluid that once was your skin and muscles. This is terrible. The infection bites imperceptibly, develops invisibly. Only one hope fades in a literally rotten soul. Soul Eaters will save you. The body will rot, melt like a snowball in the sun, but the soul will go to heaven. Regret. You feel sorry for yourself. You complain about the injustice of fate. You were law-abiding, escorted the old people across the road, fed cats in the entrance. You had a job that you faithfully did. You had dreams that you aspired to. There were ambitions, goals. And in an instant everything collapsed. You crawl along a deserted street among corpses, skeletons in a black liquid, and streams of blood. You do not join them. You hope that Soul Eaters will save you…” “This is a terrible sight. A half-corpse creeps to you with a grimace of horror and supplication. He is unable to stand up, unable to say a word. Only animal cries can be heard before you, and an ugly, viscous pile of melting flesh and a pile of bones is writhing in your legs. One eye has completely leaked out, an empty eye socket gaping in its place, from which already rotted brain flows, and the second is full of despair and tears. Agony drove him crazy, he no longer understands that he is dead. Before his eye there is only insane pain, clouding consciousness with a red haze, and your image, alive, not affected by the disease. He sees your whole flesh, your shiny fur. He does not see your eyes, blue as flames in a burner. He does not see your fangs, sharp as stakes. He sees only an intact body. Last wish. They all have one. Draw as much as possible behind you into the grave. He will not be saved, but he will not allow anyone to survive in his place. On the verge of death, everyone becomes selfish. Such is life, own shirt closer to the body. There is no romance in death. In death there are only animal instincts that scream about the coming end of your miserable life. You recoiled back in horror when he, on all fours, cried out for the last time and extended a hand in a prayer, with which blots, like black tar, drip rot. The infection is not harmful to you, and you know it. And yet, instinct calls for you to run away from him. You can’t blame yourself. To stand still, you must be a titan. The stomach twists into a tube at the sight of this corpse, the esophagus burns with acid, which rises up to the larynx. You reflexively get rid of that small amount of food that you could find in the middle of the epidemic, but nevertheless honestly do your last duty…” — Something like that, — Death shrugged, looking around those present with red eyes. — We are not gods. We do only what is in our power…
