Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 166 In The Deep

Stone cracked, falling apart as a fist came crashing down against its surface, the culprit behind this act of destruction cursing loudly, his sounding as though he had been living in a smoke factory for birth.

"What the hell is the matter with you again?" another nearby asked, many people, their identity nearly impossible to decipher, garbed in tattered robes and cloaks fashioned from materials recuperated from the trash of others, part burlap, part whatever.

Their hands were all grossly misshapen, covered in burns, bones protruding out from flesh that had once melted, solidifying into the abominations they still dared to call limbs, the one that just spoke up limped his way to his angry associate.

Their heads and faces were no better off than their deformed hands, all of them had both of their eyes carved out by dark orange flames, ever burning inside of their sockets, replacing their sights.

"The matter with me?! You know very well what the problem is! Why are we stuck in this shit hole, why are we always hiding? We are the scions of the new age, we were chosen by The Defiler, yet, we allow the holy to spread, they erect their churches and cathedrals with impunity, we are destroyers, we must spread the fire no matter what!" his teeth were stained black, the skin on his face flaking off.

The inferno infecting his eyes grew darker for an instant, prompting him to grab his head, ignoble pain assaulting him, he did not stop however.

"Why is it that we have to associate ourselves with those doll botherers and stupid bitches?! Answer me, why are we taking orders from that forsaken skeleton?!" clenching his molten hands, he only received a wave of the head as an answer at first.

"You little idiot, there are only a handful of us, if we want to accomplish anything meaningful, we have to partner up, otherwise we'll be snuffed and serve as the kindling of our disgusting enemies" despite sounding more sane than his compatriot, the way this one smiled was a rather clear indicator that he was not even remotely close to sanity.

Though, the madness plaguing each and every one of them was far apart from the natural lunacy that could creep up upon everyone, for it was most certainly the dark work of the fire that had nested inside of them.

"Urgh, we still lost perfectly good husks just for a meaningless stunt, I don't understand what that bag of bones thinks he is accomplishing by riling up the king as well, if one of his two knights shows up here, we'll all get crushed"

"The undead seems to know more than he has any rights to, but it does not matter what his own plans are, we are along for the ride because we can use this opportunity to finally crawl out of obscurity, he knows it, we know it, everyone involved knows that we are each in for our own benefits, that's why he doesn't share his own goal with us" the more composed madman explained his reasoning, the flames brushing up against his brain as he thought.

"We, the Puppeteers, Alizé, we are all working with this corpse for our own benefits, I am certain, so shut the hell and control yourself until then, I am certain he is listening in on us at this very moment, we will wait until time comes, right?" he pointed his finger at the face of the rowdy fellow.

"Fine, fine! I can't believe we have to employ such tactics, The Defiler was-"

"We are not The Defiler, we are mere ember"

__________________

"Dearest, it seems like our fiery allies are punching the walls again" someone, their voice perfectly androgynous, noted as they did a light twirl, such grace completely unwarranted in the dank depths they were currently in, surrounded by nothing but stone, some minerals scattered here and there.

Garbed in a huge piece of dark fabric, covering their entire body, giving no room from them to move their arms as they wished, a gorgeous, thin red rope tightly wrapped around their necks, ensuring that their peculiar attire did not move out of position.

Without any sound of a footstep, the one that just spoke danced their way back to the rest of the people grouped up here, all dressed in the exact same way, down to the very particular way the rope was tied, utterly impossible to tell any of them apart.

"Dearest, the beautiful lord has something to say" another said, in the exact same voice as the first one.

"What wisdom is our beautiful lord imparting upon us, dearest?"

"Dearest, do relay our handsome lord's words"

The congregation of dark figures spontaneously moved to positions around a much larger figure than themselves, beginning a slow, perfectly learned group dance, their dark cloth fluttering around, giving the impression that they were all dark roses blooming.

A single one remained immobile, leaning their head near the pale, porcelain face of the handsome lord, absolute silence filled the room as the dancing continued.

The lord of the Ironic Puppeteers, was a puppet, utterly inert and unmoving, many times larger than a regular man, dressed in incredibly thick clothing, layers on layers of the same dark fabric it's servants wore, some part of its attire floating up in the air seemingly by themselves, only the face of the lord was visible, lacking in much details.

The porcelain was pristine however, despite the near constant fall of dust from the ceiling, the appearance of the lord continuously tended to by its eager followers.

"The lord is speaking"

"The lord is saying for us to only prepare ourselves for the coming descent"

"The lord is saying that the lost lambs are not a matter to concern over"

"The lord has spoken"

This signalled the end of the performance, the puppeteers twirled closer to their lord, many of them resuming the tending, whilst the rest went into different tunnels, off to prepare for the descent their lord warned them about.

Just as they wished to do this, the cave rumbled in a particular way, sign that they were called by the master of this operation.