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He fled throughout the Endless paths and exterior corridors, the spiraling stairs, and the everflowing winds of the Zone. Mord, a green-skinned ghost clothed in grey was fleeing from a horde of pitch-black wraiths fused with bioluminescent, crystal ranging from blue to purple, and held swords, maces, and axes made of sharp quartz and minerals enhanced with an ethereal aura reminiscent of bright clouds with small glitters, fading in and out on a random basis.
He took a deep breath and threw a yellowish-green ball fuming with a scarlet red smoke toward the misty specters. The spherical object exploded, triggering echoing screeches from the aggressors, flailing their lithoid arsenal to get rid of the blood cloud engulfing them. Mord saw a line of rocks and jumped away from the warriors and possessed one of these rocks. He covered his mouth and his breaths were slow and silent as not to alert the crystalline wraiths with his core. The cloud was gone and the specters looked in all directions, clicking similarly to an animal’s echolocations and after five minutes of cautious research, they left in a dark purple nebula with no bioluminescence.
When the clicks are completely gone, Mord leaves his mineral cover and looks up for potential sentient crystals floating nearby. None are seen in one of the many lone, floating islands of the Infinite Realms of the Dead: Only sick green grass and dried blood-colored trunks from a lifeless tree along with the ocean-blue rocks who served Mord as his cover:
“Finally...I made it”, Mord relieved, his left hand around his chest to feel his exhausted breath.
With haste, the grey-cloaked ghost spoke in an unknown tongue and poofed out of the small island. Mord teleported back to an isolated, wooden cabin found with the undergrowth of a luxurious temperate forest full of great, violet oak trees with toxic green leaves covering the realms’ sky. The small house is made from oak wood, making it able to blend within the dim-lit, natural landscape. Some of the wooden planks were worn out by the moss of the realms and others were recently placed to hold the cabin. Perfect for someone looking for a guaranteed shelter from prying eyes like Mord. He opened the worn-out door, leaving a loud creak in its wake:
“Home sweet home…” the wanted spirit spoke, slowly walking with Peace in his mind.
The inner parts of the cabin are populated by an arsenal of light weapons hung up on walls, spare clothes tidied up in a cabinet, and ornate furniture: some like his bed are decorated with the skulls of his favorite kills Norse-style and others like the desk he used to sharpen his skills and create potions with alchemist tools nearby came with a Renaissance-themed architecture such as a lot of motifs and varnished wood planks. The hidden cabin hides a small, royal-like private room, which clashes with the outer appearance of the cabin. Mord put a lot of work into this little place he calls home.
He groped his way to a baroque wooden chair, backed it slightly away from a circular table, and sat there. He took a scarlet red and black, curved dagger with spikes with stains of a toxic green substance, still fresh from the latest deed Mord managed to pull. He examined the liquid...and he chuckled
---
He planned this for mouths: Countless hours to spy, lurk and neutralize those who suspected his existence. Mord finally reached him: A fairly young king by the name of Phantom, the ambitious green-skinned ghost deed unworthy to the throne. None of the kings are unworthy to him...because Mord fully believes to be the true King of the Dead.
The current king has an endless curiosity for the Cosmos, that is a known fact: Dozens of “space stations” were scattered around the Zone where portals usually open. He heard of one space shuttle retrieval coming soon where the King would come to welcome the latest explorers. Through intel, he went to the station in question. Infiltrating the futuristic laboratory was child’s play to Mord the Ambitious and came first to the arrival of the explorers. Mord welcomed the king’s sailors with a swift stab to the core with the same scarlet dagger, destroying each one’s soul. None of them survived and only luminescent dust covered the blue carpet.
After sabotaging the shuttle, he was about to leave when he saw him: Phantom himself with a guard of eight lithoid ghosts soldiers came early and was about to reach the remains of the shuttle. The current king heard the boom from afar as his face showed his worries. It was an opportunity Mord couldn’t miss. He lurked as Phantom remarked the attack, flying his way through the dust. Crouched, the King from beyond the Stars took a pile of each dust and knew something was amiss. Phantom ordered the crystal guard to search for any worthy clues and ask any of the workers if they saw anything sketchy. The eight specters left in a mist of shadow winds, leaving him alone...and defenseless. Mord gets his dagger ready...and he pounced close to the king’s back.
Without hesitation, Mord pierced Phantom’s neck with the scarlet dagger. The weapon’s lethality does not come from its sharp blade but from the poison extracted from blooming blood blossoms, a painful poison often used to repel the dead of the Zone. When the poison spread to the veins, Phantom let out a howling scream similar to banshees and grabbed the green-skinned with his clawed hands...He graved his ice-dagger fingers on Mord’s ribs and he too infected his assassin with a subzero acid manifesting through blacked veins. The ambitious one removed the blade and stripped himself away from the cold lord’s cold dead hands and fled. The King tried to pursue Mord but he fainted: Even strong ghosts are weakened by the blood blossoms and if not treated quickly, will kill him. Even if Phantom fell to the poison, the wail he unleashed alerted everyone in the station, including the crystal guard. The quartz wraiths quickly darted at the fleeing, green-skinned ghost concluding in whoever the culprit is and banded under the black wind towards Mord.
---
“Holy Death...I made it.” Mord realized with a crooked smile, wanting to take a drop of Phantom’s blood from the blade, only to put it back as blood blossoms is an insidious poison that spares no one...even the master of poisons like him. “I have defeated the king!”
The ambitious assassin left the poisonous dagger on the table and went to his bed, ready to take a well-deserved rest from the prowess he pulled. Yet, he still feels the pure cold, bleeding wound around his left ribs. He should heal that before something worse happens: Mord took a nearby piece of cloth, ripped it in half, and bring it above a candle-lit chandelier to warm it up. When hot enough, Mord wrapped the ragged cloth around the wound, removing most of the frozen shards of Phantom’s poison only to be absorbed by the rag. The acid’s effects faded to the hot cloth, disinfecting the wound. Mord only needs to wait for his regeneration to kick in and close it.
Feeling better from his self-medication, Mord the Ambitious lied on his bed, covered his body with a blanket made from a ghost bear’s pelt, and from there, he sleeps with a smile on his face.
---
It was a black landscape filled will neon magenta winds blowing away from a great, ornate black castle. Violet crows with scarlet red and black feathers cawed in unison as they fly above the nefarious towers of the keep. In front of the majestic gothic castle stands a crowd of skeletons, ghosts, and other races of the Dead, chanting “King Mord” or “The Nefarious king of Ambitions” as if they worship a god.
And then, he came out of the main window of the castle: Mord wearing a pure black cape made from ghost stoats covering his body. He now bears a black crown engulfed in green rose roots wrapping it and a black ring with a green skull on his right hand. He looked to his people with his signature crooked smile and opened his arms to the world before him:
“The White Phantom Horror has been slain by my blade!” Mord declared aloud with confidence, raising his greatsword stained with the neon turquoise blood of the Beast. “The Zone is now at peace! You can now come back to your daily life, knowing that the Monstrosity from the Starry skies won’t plague your mind anymore!”
The crown cheered Mord in celebration. Crows were thrown upwards before they flew above the crowd. Mord opened his arms to welcome every chant, eyes closed and still smiling. Minutes after, he went back to his apartments to reach his dining room. The Ambitious king is welcomed by a great feast he couldn’t wait any longer. He devoured everything the cookers game him: A quest against an Eldritch Horror sure makes you hungry and tired.
After a well-deserved feast, Mord walked back to his rooms only to be greeted by one of his counselors shrouded in a black and blue robe:
“Good day to you, Your Majesty.” The counselor greeted. “Would you like to play cards to pass the time?”
“Sounds good to me”, The Nefarious king gladly accepted.
Mord is always fond of the infinite activities and pleasures a king could do: He would do anything to have fun rather than to deal with the problems of the Zone unless his position and his access to his desires were threatened. He wanted to become a king out of greed and decadence, not out of righteousness, conquest, or kindness like so many kings would typically do.
He and the counselor played a simple game of poker and whoever loses would give their earnings to the winner. Although poker is a common activity with his nobility, he never played with this one: whoever was his adversary radiated with a fresh cold aura and his voice was calm but sharp and refined for a young man. Doesn’t matter, Mord thought: He would win by either luck or rigged deck.
Speaking of which, his adversary was very good at poker to the point he was about to win. The king had no choice but to add some of his trickery to the decks. Mord plunged his free right hand and moved his fingers. A small, red smoke slithers from below to the table, imbued with powers in the Nefarious King’s favor without the black counselor noticing it. Naturally, this tipped the game and Mord won the game, his large smile waiting for the black-robed rival to hand over his gold coins.
However, the counselor did nothing instead. He remained there, all silent, and didn’t move an inch:
“Listen, you braindead secretary: I have won. Hand over the coins”, Mord spat, frustrated by the act of defiance from whoever he was facing. “Unless you want to take a quick dive in my private pool for not paying me”
“You do not deserve them”, replied the black ghost, his voice now crystal clear with a pitch-black breath coming out of the night sky-blue cowl each time he speaks. “I won’t give the coins to a cheater”
“You dare call me, the Nefarious king of Ambitions, a cheater?!”, Mord roared at the noble specter. “I’ll make you eat those words!”
The king charged a bright, crimson sphere, crackled with amethyst sparks, ready to punch the rebel’s face. He pounced at him but the cloaked figure backed to the left and avoided the attack. Traitors are bound to be found within the ranks of the true king but Mord deals swiftly with them, ending them with the rebel agonizing from the assassin’s mastery over Poison.
Not this time.
The failed surprise attack only fueled the anger of Mord as he stood up to retry, only to be pinned against the jagged, damaged stone bricks. The cloaked figure held the king’s throat with firm, clawed white hands with a touch so cold it felt like absolute zero burning. The dark noble breathed a cone of pure darkness smoke and the face is now visible: two void black eyes with no pupils in a pale white skin gazed with a maddening hatred the assassin has never seen before:
“You do not deserve to wear this crown…”, He said harshly while his other hand took the black thorny crown and threw it to the ground, away from the assassin. He then grabs the false lord’s right middle finger with the ring, making sure it is well covered by his clawed dead grip “...Nor this ring”
Cold surges coming from the hand spread to the held finger. It felt excruciating to Mord as he lost all of the nerves from the middle finger...until a loud crack breaks the silence. The cloaked figure ripped the frozen finger with ease and the Nefarious king screeched like a pig being slaughtered by a butcher, watching as best as he could his right hand, now bleeding. After the figure examined the ripped finger, mint green mists cover the black ring and with the care of a jeweler, it is slowly pulled from the finger until fully removed. The ring is put with the crown while the finger is thrown to the open window:
“You wretched coward! You will pay for angering the king of the dead!” Mord threatened to the figure, still pinned against the wall.
The figure darted back to Mord and the cold grip gets more severe to the point the assassin’s throat has issues circulating the air into the lungs. His darkest breath covered the assassin’s face once more:
“Enjoy your last days in the Ghost Zone.” He responded with a solemn, severe tone, supported by other voices: echoing duplicates of the figure but angered or slithering at Mord. “The Abyss is calling your name.”
The figure further pinned Mord to the wall and his pale white skin headbutts with the green-skinned ghost. The figure made sure to cross Mord’s scared sight and screeched with a thousand wails of the dead so high that it invaded the assassin‘s senses with evergrowing darkness. The howl is unbearable to handle: The young figure’s voice was accompanied by hundreds of maddening screech of other damned ghosts and bellowed roars of unknown horrors Mord couldn’t fathom. The prolonged effect sapped the assassin’s sanity to the point it gradually killed him off. The Nefarious king couldn’t support it and without knowing, he began to scream too with no control over his movement. A desperate plea before the infinite wails engulfed his senses and his core with a void-black smoke and dragged him into the Abyss with the rest of the damned souls.
---
Suddenly, Mord screamed out of his blanket for a solid minute before regaining his head and senses to stop. He quickly looked around, still afraid of whether he’s still dreaming or not: No black smoke and no cloaked figure with a thousand screams. It’s only him and his faithful cabin. He remained in his bed for five more minutes before concluding he had a nightmare. Even with this rational reasoning, he still felt terrified at the sheer horror he had faced:
“Oh, mighty Death. What was that?”, Mord wondered, still bewildered and trying to make sense out of this
He looked at his right hand out of caution: His middle finger wasn’t ripped off nor frozen. He sighed in relief as all of this eldritch horror was nothing but a deranged nightmare:
“I should get something to drink...”, the assassin pondered as he leaves his bed, dedicated to whatever he had just dealt with.
---
Days passed by and Mord came back to his usual activities, sheltered from the rest of the world until the guard gives up on tracking him. Since his assassination attempt thought, certain events sprung out to shake the assassin’s afterlife to the worse:
The first of them is the progressive drop of the temperature around the cabin. Each day, Mord took time to warm himself up either through the pelts of recently-hunted ghost animals or stolen fire artifacts. However, nothing happened and the assassin would hide in layers of pelts from the cold temperature. The outer appearance of the cabin and the landscape around it began to be covered in a coat of snow and ice. No matter how fast Mord removed it, the frost always came back the next day. The worst of all is how the cold made the local afterlife forms flee from the cabin, making Mord’s hunts for survival harder.
The cold and inhospitable shelter wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for the recurrence of the eldritch nightmare ending in the ghost’s “death” to the Abyss: He gets the same one every night and over time, he began questioning about him being in an endless nightmare he couldn’t wake up from only to face with simple pieces of evidence of the opposite such as the damages done not transferred to the real body.
Things get worse once Mord discovered something horrifying: unknown entities stalked him in every nook of darkness and black: from the unlit parts of his cabin to the black pools of the island, these unknown beings whisper harsh judgments toward Mord, shaming him for every vile deed that has been done with one event coming back: the assassination of Phantom. They all shun the assassin, deeming him as irredeemable even by the neutral chaotic standards of the Ghost Zone. Because of them, Mord now sleeps with lights on to ward them off.
All these events forced the green-skinned ghost assassin to look back at his assassination. He did it to take the crown and the ring from the most unworthy of all ghost kings: It didn’t matter Phantom was a full ghost by the time he claimed it, Mord always saw him as this frail halfa from the Mortal realm who shouldn’t have stolen the spotlight when Pariah Dark rose from his prison... His spotlight. What Mord didn’t expect is the chain of events that will lead to his cherished shelter being turned into a hostile, subzero wasteland filled with entities that pollute it.
Whatever triggered them, the ghost had no choice but to leave the cabin he took years to build in his image and move somewhere else. Mord felt saddened but at the same time, he was tired of all of this:
Tired of the frost
Tired of the nightmares
Tired of the whispers from the darkness
He heard of a fertile lone island with a volcano and lifeforms from nomad specters. He deployed a magic bag able to stock anything within their infinite bag and threw every piece of furniture he wanted to save. It took him a few hours to pack it all and he finally set it off from this forest.
Mord levitates out of the abandoned frozen cabin and wanders in the forest to reach his new haven. As he was about to reach the end of the forest, the assassin heard the sounds of stomping hooves getting closer. At first, the green-skinned ghost didn’t pay attention to it. Then, the hooves were getting closer and Mord slowly picked up the face until it evolved into a full-blown run from whatever followed him at full speed. The assassin heard the guttering breaths and neighs of an equine creature and got the impression whatever this was could smell his fear. At one point, Mord glimpsed in the reflection of a black pool: an entity shrouded in green and purple bright flames. The most visible detail is what looked like a sword covered in a cloud of damned souls.
This glimpse is what betrayed the assassin. He didn’t pay attention to what’s facing him. To be accurate, a small root from one of the ectoplasmic oak trees his feet tangled in. Mord fell to the ground and his infinite bag was thrown a bit farther. He tried to stand up but his grey cape was trampled by one of the creature’s hooves, making him unable to move.
That’s when Mord met with the gazes of whom hunted him down: a bulked up, black alicorn with crimson red eyes, four fangs poking out of its muzzle, large bat wings, and a flowing, green fire mane and tail. From this vicious beast, an armored being got down from his steed, his steps were just as loud as the hooves, only more ear-piercing with each metal rubbing with each other from its movements, showing its true self: a great black, medieval paladin daunted with an amethyst cape of fire coming from his horned helmet and chest plate. His shoulder pads made him much larger and the knight’s smaller face was unseen aside from two green eyes piercing the darkness from the helmet. His sword was what catches his eyes and made him realize the current situation: a yellowish-green sword with a pumpkin-themed guard, imbued in pure, vile ectoplasms and could cipher wailing faces from the blade’s flames.
Mord couldn’t believe it: he was facing the dreaded Fright Knight and his steed. And yet, here he is, unable to move and forced to face him. He heard tales of him coming to take the lives of the livings as Dullahan but the souls of the dead? What made this legend track him down. The dark knight stares at Mord, looking for something quite specific. Fright remarked a burnt ragged cloth around the ghost’s left ribs, hiding what looks like blacked veins beneath the improvised healing bands. The paladin pointed the tip of his blade on the improvised:
“Remove this cloth at once”, the black ghost paladin ordered, willing to pin Mord with his cursed blade.
Mord wanted to plea but he held onto his life: If he did, the Fright Knight would have planted his signature sword Soul Shredder into his chest, sending him into his worst nightmares. He had no idea how he got into the sight of this legend of horror. The assassin took the cloth with his hands, shaking at the sight of the cursed sword as he untangled the knot holding it. After a few seconds, Mord slowly removed the burnt fabric and reveals the scar of five holes around the left ribs, all covered by a cloud of blackened, dead veins spreading to the shoulder and the waist. The Fright Knight removed his blade and put it back into its sheath. He crouched to examine the scar and nodded with a deep breath:
“We have finally found you…” He whispered as he caressed the numb, black veins. “...You pathetic assassin”
The cursed being channeled an amethyst aura akin to a liquid, shimmering ooze he molded into a long line of crystalline, jagged chain. He wrapped Mord in it and stood up to attach the other end of the magic chain into his faithful steed. The green-skinned assassin grew more worried about what the dark paladin planned to do with him:
“Wh-what-what are you do-do-doing?”, he begrudgingly asked with a stuttered tone.
“Your judgment is nigh, rogue”, The knight revealed as he mounted his steed. “I am here to take you there.”
One whip from the lead into the halter later and the demonic alicorn began stomping the ground at a slow pace, dragging the ghost behind him. Then, the knight whipped the lead once again and the beast galloped at full speed before flying from the temperate island. Mord was flailed around from the sharp violet chain around the realm of the dead.
What judgment? Isn’t the Zone supposed to crown the one who fought the previous one? Something doesn’t make sense here: Since he killed the king, Mord experienced subzero temperature, endless nightmares, and taunting entities from the shadows. Now, he is dragged to the unknown by the Fright Knight himself without being warned. Maybe he will be forgiven by the Ancients: He heard rumors about the Fright Knight serving the Ghost King but that doesn’t explain why he was ordered to remove the cloth who helped him heal from Phantom’s cryomancy.
---
After what felt like an eternity, they all arrive in a pitch-black cosmos and into a small flickering, blue spark. As the paladin gets closer, this spark gets bigger to reveal itself as a portal but not a natural one due to its rectangle shape. They all pass through the hole and enter into a long corridor plunged in darkness with only small blue lamps craking on some occasion, making them flicker. Some of the lights highlighted the architecture of this hidden realm: modern white walls made of metallic alloys with a simple sentence all written on them:
Welcome to INS-COLUMBIA.
Mord never liked the latest building prowess of the Living: too simplistic and disconnected to the more regal and heavily decorated ones of the Old times where kings ruled over lands. Yet, he could feel the liminal atmosphere of the place: Thousands of ghosts went there to work here but none of them are visible...or even present aside from him and the Fright Knight riding his stallion. Silence dominates this place, even with the heavy hooves of Fright’s legendary mount clashing with the metallic echoes from the white steel.
Then, they cross the path of a great, triangle-shaped, black door locked by three-tesla rods: At the center of it stand a singular, diamond hole linked to them. Fright stopped in front of it and unsheathed Soul Shredder. He inserted the blade onto the unusual hole, unleashing some of its cursed aurae into the three locks. Once the tesla rods ignite themselves in blue flames, they unlock the door and Soul Shredder is removed, coming back to its rightful owner. They were met with a bright, white dome larger than a tower with no windows, no furniture. It was so bright Mord blinked several times to accommodate his tired eyes to this place. His journey finally stops when reaching the center of this room: A great, pure white, glass disc framed by a dark grey railing graved on the very ground of this place.
Once they all went to the center, the Fright Knight summoned his eldritch shackle back from whence it came, leaving Mord free and alone. The assassin stood up from the extended time captured and stretched himself before getting back at the infamous Dullahan. That’s when he saw him exit the room with his faithful winged steed:
“Wait!”, he called him out, still filled with questions. “What is this place? Where are you going?”
“I have fulfilled my duty.”, Fright coldly responded without looking back at Mord the Ambitious.
“But I have no fucking idea what you just did?!” Mord darted. “Answer me!”
But the door closed on him, leaving Mord all alone, in this liminal, modern white dome with the framed white disc. He wondered what could be in this place: Nothing but white walls and small,5-row stairs leading to one, singular rectangle table looking like a roman curule seat. That’s when he looked at the massive white glass ground: The glass frame has seven square branches and all were ornate by seven unknown sigils on each. The green-skinned could swear he saw these somewhere despite their futuristic writing aesthetic. He got closer to one of the sigils, somehow still within the black ground:
“Looking at my latest satellite’s window?”, a kind and happy voice joined in the liminal space’s terrain. “It took me a few days to redesign it and it’s nice to see people appreciate it.”
From the curule seat, winds of void and glittering turquoise clouds wrapped into a medium-sized tornado until it resembles a humanoid body. The howling winds eventually faded out of existence, revealing a five-branched, white cape linked to spiked, long shoulder pads. Covered by a thick, black collar, the figure’s blue-tinted, white hair flows with an unseen blow, ending it with a puffy, long ponytail larger than half of an arm. His long, pointed ears twitched twice before standing up from his seat. That’s when where it clicked: Black shards of ice gathered around a circle held by mint-green smokes going down floated above the figure’s head.
The tall pale ghost who, until this point had his back turned finally glanced at his aggressor: The King from beyond the Stars is said to be covered by green nebulae moving along the pitch-black, nylon fabric on his clothing, only stopped by the greenish-white parts to show his benevolent side. This time, only a flat black covers his body and his face confirmed it: A white skin, pale as death itself gazed with disappointment and anger with his void black eyes and green iris. The most striking feature is a small, lightning scar around the left creeks made of light grey veins reaching up to the eye. An all-too-familiar scar...
Mord finally understood what is happening now: Phantom survived the assassination and he personally came here for him . Mord the Ambitious is getting more anxious: He tried to reach all of his pockets to get his favorite dagger. His pants, the endless bags around his belts but he found none. Mord remembered he stuffed the blood blossom dagger in the Infinite Bag, still lost in the lush forest he once lives in. The ghost’s legs are shaking: Despite his mastery over poison, he never used poisonous ectoplasms because he doesn’t have a poison core. Without his venomous arsenal, he’s defenseless. And there he is, against a being much stronger he dared to defy: One with the power over Space itself, ruling over the Zone...and Phantom saw it:
“Still, you’re not here for stargazing.” The tall king spoke, still keeping his chill despite his true feelings leaking out with a deeper voice. “You got the just of it, do you? Think I haven’t seen you reaching your pockets? You’re all alone, just like the latest dreams you had.”
“What dreams?”, Mord the no-longer ambitious assassin stuttered, still fearing for what’s to come. King Phantom is usually described as a lawful ruler with a golden heart, making sure everyone gets the respect they deserve, even his enemies whom he spares after a strong beating to teach them a lesson. What’s in front of him doesn’t fit what he had in mind: One with unseen wrath, covered by the coat of a cold mindset:
“Haven’t you noticed?” Phantom asked, trying to be helpful even with the very man who tried to kill him. “The black counselor from your dreams...the one you began running away from the moment you saw him, only to be pinned again and again.”
Mord stood up and took a step back. The king saw it and smiled sideways to the right: The assassin got the last piece and he’s shaking to the very core:
“Yup: that was me.” The white king admitted, eyes closed and arms crossed. “Even I was impressed with how I pulled this off while I was sleeping to recover from the Blood Blossoms you stabbed me with: I guess Dream possession from afar is a thing.”
King Phantom gets closer to the scared ghost, ready to give a proper beating. Mord turned his back and sprinted to the door, only to headbutt into an invisible wall, falling to the glassy ground. The impact showed a green wave of icy winds before dissipating to the unseen. The green-skinned ghost looked back at Phantom, his left hand opened with a sphere of mint-green plasma:
“Already leaving? I haven’t said anything yet.”, The space king of the dead wondered, still keeping his invisible force up.
“What do you want?”, The green-skinned ghost asked.
“Trying to know why you did it and find a compromise so to speak”, The taller ghost king genuinely replied.
Is this a joke? Phantom wanting to negotiate with him despite everything that happened? Him sparing the very man who not only backstabbed him but also killed his crew...Mord doesn’t see the point of forgiving him after such actions. Under Pariah’s reign, he would have been sentenced to be brutally executed. Something’s definitely off to him:
“You want to speak after your “dream projection” ruined my afterlife?” Mord inquired, skeptical of Phantom’s attempt at sparing him. “What do you have to say about that?”
“While this was meant as a lesson, I won’t deny that I...carried myself with how I marked you.” The ghost king replied, clearly shamed by his acts with a saddened face. “I’m sorry...”
“You’d better off killing me than sending me somewhere to rot for Eternity.” The assassin refused, darting his eyes at what he believes to be a false king.
“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Phantom added. “You can choose to end up in one of Walker’s prisons...or you can help me on my little space researches. Even if you will be watched by guards in case of hiccups, consider this offer as a way to be forgiven.”
Mord is baffled: the ghost king himself wants to hire him into his quest to find the Infinite Mortal realms in order to repent himself. To the ambitious assassin, Phantom is this innocent kid, unworthy to bear the crown and the ring to rule over the Dead. He only got both out of pure coincidence and the Ancients happened to praise him for that and how he used to protect the living. This inexperienced ghost thinking he can solve problems with diplomacy and kindness? Utterly pathetic:
“Stop being such a pussy and kill me!”, roared the assassin, tired of his target’s empathy and this situation. “I don’t want to join your stupid “space exploration” nor live behind bars! You’re still that pathetic halfa filth who doesn’t deserve the Crown of fire and the Ring of rage because you had the luck of beating Pariah Dark because of some desperate former enemy of yours . Kill me so that the Ancients will get rid of you and destroy your core for wasting your reign on stupid explorations into the Mortal realms you call planets without having the balls on conquering them, YOU FUCKING ABERRATION OF A COWARDLY BRAT!”
……
……
……
……
……
Silence dominates the white dome a solid five minutes: Mord stayed in his place, still shaking but more serene: Knowing that while dying, might as well choose his True Death. However, Phantom took one deep breath: One with a cone of absolute zero, black breath, with a few echoes coming from his angered tone. Something clicked and this smoke was the red flag:
“And here I was, trying to be nice and sort things out.” Phantom nodded before staring back at Mord’s soul will full black eyes with no lights reflecting them and his arcane changing from a vibrant green to the darkest shade of black highlighted by a subtle, indigo outer glow. “You see, I was first infuriated by what you’ve done to me and my obsession, hence my...latest powers leaking out on you thanks to your marked veins. Then, once I’ve realized this, I felt...tarnished because I’d done unnecessary harm led by ghost instinct to protect his obsession. That’s why I brought you here.”
Phantom came closer to Mord to the point of getting inches from his murderer. The other tried to take paths to get away but the invisible force field was still up and the scared spirit couldn’t get away from the white disc...from him:
“But you...showed me something: I am too kind to people like you.” He hissed his part of the monologue with a deep echoing voice getting...duplicated as if several versions of him spoke through this one body, tracking Mord in the black disc. “I should be more unforgiving to those ruining others’ obsessions...harsher towards those who hurt for no reason.”
The ghost king managed to bring the ghost assassin to a halt. His right hand pinned Mord’s chest with his absolute zero, clawed hand phased until it firmly gripped its core. He inserted his left hand with the void ectoplasm into the head until they reach the brain. Mord could feel the cold hatred of Phantom and wanted to remove them but he couldn’t. The sheer fear and maddening wrath coming from the hands was strong to the point the assassin did nothing but shake more violently, forced to face the void eyes of a king.
Without warning, the King injected uncontained, raw bolts of darkness into both the brain and the core accompanied by the most enraged screech an undead can produce. Although it took thirty seconds to pass, Mord felt the suffering passed for too long...until Phantom removed his hands and flew away from the disc, leaving Mord stunned by the eldritch blast of Hatred.
Once the ambitious ghost got back to himself, he saw the King charging a greater amount of Space powers mixed with the very darkness he was struck by:
“I first organized our little venting rendez-vous in the INS-Columbia to sort things out” The dark lord questioned to a lost Mord the Ambitious, fully transparent on his true emotions. “But your true nature gave me… a better idea.”
When his powers cracked with full power, Phantom sent beams of the blackest powers to the disc’s frame, imbuing it with cackled bolts and dark green fumes coming out of it.
“The truth is, Columbia is the redesign of a much older realm...One with an ancient portal.” He slowly informed, still sending void blasts and igniting the seven sigils one by one.
From then, each sigil light itself up in a brimstone red coupled with neon purple fumes. Once they are all on, a translucent veil covers the disc in a smaller dome, trapping Mord in while the King from beyond the Stars reduced the beams of pure void powers until they were no more. The assassin levitates towards the veil and tried to punch the veil, only to be met with small waves dissipating from the dome:
“Unredeemable, miserable fucks like you don’t deserve to be killed...” Phantom announced with that deep, harsh, and cold tone, still echoing with the evergrowing numbers of voice duplicates, ready to boom his voice. “You all deserve a one-way ticket to a͠ fa̷ţe̶ ҉w̶o̡r̛se t͠ha̛n ̡true̕ d͏e̕a͡th”
Then, something cracked...once
...twice
...thrice
Each crack gets louder and Mord made the mistake of looking down: The white disc he’s been walking shows signs of giving up: Each dark brimstone crack that appears reveals a world engulfed in shadows he can’t see beyond the frame. That’s what made the assassin panic: He vividly remembered how each time he would die to the Abyss: the pain of his decaying sanity, the damned souls, and the eldritch aberrations hellbent on preying upon him. This is too familiar to him…
“Don’t do this to me!”, Mord cried as he frantically punches the veil as a desperate hope to free himself from this grim fate, glaring Phantom with his red eyes, bubbling with warm tears. “I don’t want to join them! I’m begging you: Let me out! Let me-”
“So that you come back mouth later to finish me off with t͟h̨at sa͜me̴ blo͜o͠d̨ b͝lo̶s̷s͏om͢ dagger̢?” The king interrupted, his voice or even voices if you will booming with the wrath of thousand, howling winds no one was ever witnessed. “Everything from your dreams to your daily afterlife and even what you told me all points to this: You murdered and sabotaged Exploration 208-Hermes with the clear intent of D͏̕͠E̶͟N̕͢Y̷͢͜I̶̢Ņ̶͝G M̡̨Y̛ ͢͟͝Ơ͘B͏̛S͝E̸S̸͘S͏IO͜͝͡N̵ ͏̸͝ĄN̴̕D ͡͏D̡͟ES͠͠T̨͘R͘̕O̵̶̢Y̶͟I͜N͏̕G҉̴ ͝EV͜͟E̢̢͟R̵̕Y̶̕T̡H͘IN͞G I̵̕҉’̕V͜Ȩ ̴͝D̨Ơ̷N̶͢Ę ̵B̶Ę͟C̴A̸̴̵U̴S͜͟E ͢͡I̵ ̨͟R̡O̡̢B͘͝B͏͞ED ̡͝Y͡O͏͟U͟ O̵̷F̸̧ ̸͘Y̛͝O͏U͞R ̢WIS҉H T̶O̵̷ ̢B͜͝E̸͘͠ ͡A̴ ͘PE̸̡͏T̷T̨Y̵͟ ͡KĮ̴̶N̵G҉ ̸O̵͞N̴LY̛͟ ҉IŅ͏T͞Ȩ̸R͜͝͡E̛S̕TE̸̕D͡͏ ͞͠I͢͞N ̧͘P̛͞L̶E͜͝A̕͟S͜͠U͘͟͟RES̨̕ ĄND̛ ͟G͏҉R̴̕E̵͟E͟D̡͢!͟”
Winds from below Mord’s feet grew more violent and colder. Screams, roars, and otherworldly sounds pick up in strength as they get closer to the white dome. The king gave a quick glimpse to the black portal, unphased by what it holds beneath the shattered disc before coming back at the green ghost, still breathing this dark fume from his mouth.
“You are no longer welcomed in the Ghost Zone
Your soul and obsessions are so͏ ̶f̧̡o̕͠u̸l ̸͡an̷͘d ͠ḑep̸͟r͠a̸v͠͠e̷̡̛d̛͝
Not even True Death is a worthy punishment for you
As it would give you the pleasure of Honor
For that, there is onl͘͘y̸ ̨͘o̸͝n̷̸̡e̛ ̡p̵̢͢l̶̕a͏c͠e̶̸̸ ̸w̕i̡͢͝ll̛i͘͢n͝g ̴͢t̡o̢ ̶̸t̶a̴͜ke͢ ̸̶y̕͝ou
T̶h̷e҉y̶ ̕͠a͢r̢e̷ ̷̢̨c̷͞a̶ll̷̛in̷̶g̢͡ ̛̛͠y͘o̸ur̡̨ ͟n̨a̢͏me̶͟
T̕͘͜h̕͢͠e͢͡ ͝v̴̴ȩr̸y̴̕ ̢̧no̕ţ̛͞i̢on̷͝s ͜͠yoų͝ ͠e͏͜m̸͢͞b̡r̶̢̛a̴ce̴̡d̴̡
̵͝͡M͜a͢͏k͟҉e ̨yơur͝s͟e҉lf a҉̛t͝ ̢͝h̢͏o͟m͘e̶͢ ̕͜͏t͢he̶͠r͏̴ę̢͞
̕B̷e̵̸̢c̶̨a̷̢u҉̸se ̸th̨͜͝i͜s̶͝͡ ͟͟is͘ ̡y̵̧o̸ur ҉̕n҉ew̧͘ A̕͘f͜t̡e̕r̢̛life͢҉”
Steaming and oozing darkness with waves emulating faces of humanoid, animals and even unknown beings covered Mord’s legs. They crawl up until they reach the shoulders of the condemned assassin, petrified by sheer fright. The darkest substance whispers him to join them in the activities they indulge in, to abandon his higher self, and most of all, let go of his sanity in favor of appreciating the joy of eternal, unbridled, perverted desires. This corrupted liquid fills the magic veil held by the portal akin to a geyser, leaving a loud splash of damned souls before sinking back into the broken disc.
Before the leftovers of the psychotic slime or even Mord did any attempts at leaving the disc, Phantom channeled his powers once again: This time, blinding mint-green, arcane flames enveloped the dome. Rampaging plasma depleted each of the sigils’ energy, lowering them to the ground. Any drop of the darkest ooze screeched when reaching contact with the embers and either fled to the bottom or disintegrated into nothingness. The veil that kept the aberration captive followed the sigils, lowering until it became a flat ground, absorbing the very flames until it changed into a stainless and solid, white glassy ground with no cracks to be seen.
Mord’s name was never heard again in the Infinite Realms…