The Darkness Steals The Light - The Elim Chronicles

The Umghul

The oppressive grip of suffocation tightens, and the taste of searing blood and putrid decay invades the senses. A fevered furnace consumes the body, blistering the skin from the inside out with sores that rupture with oozing pus. Teeth forsake their roots, yielding jagged obsidian needles better suited to severing throats than chewing on soft fruits. Muscles spasm, convulsing into a sallow paralysis. The corruption takes hold, festering from within the mutilated remains. A web of spidery, black veins weaves its intricate pattern across the entire body. Long, clawed fingers twitch in anticipation, beckoned by consciousness. Death relinquishes its claim, and a wicked resurrection emanates from the tainted madness. Repulsive, oval pools of ink-black eyes behold his awakening world.

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Bright dawning sunlight streams through a dome of shattered glass; the razor-sharp fragments hang in the air like suspended blades, swaying to create eerie, chiming melodies. Tiny specs of dust drift down onto a malevolent altar, settling on the twisted and ashen form of the once, Lord Stenness. His dull gray flesh merges with the dark, blood-stained wood of the enormous butcher's block altar.

The shadow demons, the Umbal horde, skulk in the dungeon's darkest shadows, shunning the beaming light. The dank and oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon blends with the sulfurous stench of filth and decay in the humid air.

Death clings to every surface, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the putrid odor of festering wounds. The chamber writhes with malevolent energy, its stone walls oozing dampness and seeping like sweat from a fevered brow.

"Arise, Umghul, your creator approaches." Morana whispers as she places a delicate hand upon the brutish brow of the Umghul, which is cold as ice, hard as stone, and covered with a layer of slimy sweat.

King Madon strides through Castle Galt's dungeon with predatory golden eyes. "Unbind it." His voice cuts through the air like the crack of a whip.

"As you command, my king," Morana releases the taut leather straps that bind the Umghul to the wooden butcher block. "Arise Umghul, do you remember the man you once were?" Her voice sings in a see-sawing melody.

The once Lord Stenness's soulless black eyes flicker with a distant glimmer of recognition. In the shadowy void of its vacant gaze, a distant memory is consumed by a tumultuous sea of writhing black as the remnants of humanity slowly fade away. The vibrant colors that once adorned every facet of existence now bleed into a monochrome palette, shrouded in oppressive shades of black and gray. The Umghul's gaze sweeps across the chamber, absorbing its surroundings. It shifts its attention to the fragile dome of shattered glass, shielding its eyes from the ice-cold light where the pale first sunrise beams down onto its vacant face.

"The man you once were is no more," Morana declares, her voice echoing through the dungeon. She takes a step back and begins to circle the butcher's block altar, her eyes fixated on the foul creation.

The Umghul looks down at the palms of its ashen hands, where fingernails once were, are replaced with sharp brown claws that rattle against each other. His vacant eyes scan his sallow, leathery skin, the most corrupted shade of gruesome gray. His hands stroke over his transformed arms and legs, which ripple with thick slabs of muscle.

"You are born anew, an Umghul." Morana's fingertips glide across the Umghul's broad, green-tinged back, then she steps in front of it and places her fingertip under its chin. "Do you know whom you serve?"

"I serve Ana," the Umghul's harsh voice grates like gravel on a whetstone, stinking black drool dripping from its filthy needle-fangs.

"Then kneel before your god and bow to your maker." Morana's melodic tone rises in a whipping command.