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A world where the deities has taken control over the Inpherno once more, and the only mortals left were hive minds or followers of either one of the seven deities. Even then, despite this, a sliver of the demon’s soul from the past can be seen slithering through the curses of the gods.
Let’s take a look at the Rotting Raven: Venomshank’s army of zombies were fierce, undead warriors created by his rage of Illumina’s hive mind taking over Sword, his once dear student that was like a son to him now disappeared off to the blinding light of the shimmering deity. Venomshank’s army fights with rage, sorrow, and despair, wishing each and every one of their enemies a painful death. That is, except a singular member of the zombies.
A hooded figure with green horns that replaced his original lavender horns. An oversized high school jacket with stitched patches here and there was paired with brown pants that covered both legs except the left shin that had (clearly) visible bones. His face was obscured by the darkness, only a toxic green eye and mouth shone through the shadowed face, and a big old scar in the shape of an X marked the spot of where his right eye was. His only wing that extended from the left side of his back faded from a dark to a sickly green, slowly rotting away its contents.
Bitten Dom, they called him. He was anything but violent, compared to his grandfather — Firebrand — who almost burned down the entire Kingdom of Telamon were it not for Venomshank and Ghostwalker stopping him to strike a deal that the two will be kept safe and will be allowed to roam freely with no harm. Bitten Dom was a sweet child (at least, has the mentality of one; he’s tall. Really tall.) of the heavens above, seemingly innocent yet always there to help heal (physically and emotionally) other zombies when his fellow soldiers fall in battle with the cold wrath of Ice Dagger or the blinding rays of Illumina.
Sometimes, the passive mischievousness of him from his past life would shine through the bright green eye he has. He was also a bit more intelligent than other zombies, being able to communicate with Venomshank a bit better despite the slow pace of his talk. But the one thing that remained special to him was that he roams around himself — no one is controlling him, not even Venomshank — with a singular intent: find Valk.
Even after death, after transformation, his soul lingered to be with his brother, who was under the control of Ghostwalker. When Venomshank didn’t need to talk to him or he found no interest in the wars and phightings, he would roam around the now ruined Crossroads while repeating: “Where are youuu… Mic…” Sometimes, he would wait under the Crossroads Tower, where he and Valk used to do broadcastings, until the first rays of daylight struck and Venomshank had to practically drag the glued zombie away from the tower that was dying of mold and rust. Despite his usual professional attitude and soft spoken persona back in the day, he was a child at heart who simply wanted company from his only friend, his only brother.
How sad.
On a night where a full moon shined above the Inpherno, the zombie stepped out of the zombie crib, back into the open space of Telamon’s Kingdom. He scanned the area, a sense of curiosity and at the same time, dreading urge to find something — or rather, someone.
His left leg with exposed bones awkwardly swung here and there every time he inched forward. It was almost a miracle he somehow managed to stay balanced with all that movement as a creature of poison. Any other Inphernal in his body and they would all probably topple over at this point.
Within the darkness of the once holy place, he saw- no, sniffed something, wafting in the air. It was the scent of vanilla ice cream on a warm summer day, a splash of lemon mixed into the fizziest of cold drinks. Of course, Dom’s mind wasn’t as coherent as it was before being bitten by one of Venomshank’s many soldiers, but the scent still felt familiar to him. With curiosity, he followed the delicate scent in the air, a sense of nostalgia from the past slowly returning to him: slowly, but surely.
Normally, Venomshank wouldn’t allow him to go past the borders of the kingdom’s ruins, but the zombie must’ve slipped away from the bird’s eye, because he had wandered out of the beige colored kingdom and into the once colorful Darkage Cliffs. Before Ice Dagger’s winter sweep and Windforce’s chaotic curls of winds, the villagers of Thieve’s Den threw local festivals, celebrating their culture.
How long has he been walking for? Who knows. For all Bitten Dom knew, the sky remained pitch black for him. The snow that night was gentle with him, every snowflake landing on his clothing and horns with a gentle yet sharp cold touch, akin to that of an ant sting. But Ice Dagger’s cold touch wasn’t the reason why he felt a mysterious feeling. No, not at all, the snow was gentle with him.
What he was afraid of was the winds. It played with the fabrics on his body, playfully caressing each and every piece of it until it felt like his weak body was going to fly off the ground, gone with the wind.
He stumbled through the snow, and though he couldn’t say it — he couldn’t place his finger on the words — he began to seek for warmth. He shuffled his feet through the snow, entering every ruined building only for it to not provide any warmth. His legs was giving up on him, and as a last resort, he stumbled and crashed into the soft snow underneath an eternal blooming sakura tree. The beautiful pink was still there, never ending its growth. The petals that fell to the ground decorated the white snow like confetti.
The scent seemed to grow stronger. Bittersweet memories seem to float into the zone, but can’t seem to break the poison barrier that shielded the zombie from the truth.
There, from the petals of the flowers in the tree above, descends a white ghost. A white cardigan wrapped around his torso, a pair of long grey pants under a dark blue plaid skirt. Pale, yellow horns are jagged, wings made of bones. A valkyrie on his head and a tie around his neck, sharing the same blue, dull color. Chains wrapped around his wrists, and despite his strange appearance, his eyes appeared kind.
Just like a demon Dom once knew.
The ghost whirled around the zombie, giggling. Dom couldn’t tell what it was doing: his mind wasn’t clear. But something about the ghost made him happy. It was as if they were meant to be together.
He wondered if the ghost had a brain, and if it tasted good.
His hand under the jacket sleeve reached out to the ghost, only for it to phase through the white creature’s arm. The ghost giggled and waved his hand, signaling “no, you can’t do that;” the zombie didn’t catch on it anyway. Too focused about brains or something.
What was odd about the ghost was that he did not speak: he had no mouth. It was a curse placed on by none other than Ghostwalker, in exchange for freedom from being controlled. The ghost can actually talk, but only if the walker of the dead takes control of the chains around the ghost’s wrists. The ghost’s spirit preferred to be mute.
They spent the night wandering around together, the ghost flying off to who knows where in Darkage Cliffs and the zombie would follow behind like a loyal tail. Dom didn’t know what he was doing, but one thing he knew for sure: that little ghost made him happy. And the other was happy too. Overjoyed, even.
But the time they had were limited, as the reign of the night blessed by Darkheart has come to an end, as the threatening rays of sunlight was about to appear. The ghost, noticing this, frantically hand signed, trying to explain to the zombie that it was over, and if he’d ever want to see him again, Dom would just have to come to the same sakura tree. Over and over again every night. But the zombie couldn’t catch onto it before the chains of the ghost were yanked.
The ghost’s kind eyes turned into a sickly white, the warmth no longer there. The scent that guided the zombie seemed to slowly dissipate into the air. The ghost floated upwards, getting much more transparent by the second, but he turned around and said:
“Goodbye Megaphone.”
And off he went. Body no longer seen.
The hooded zombie was now lost without a direction. With the scent gone, everything suddenly felt scary, like something could scare him. But he was a zombie! A zombie of the one and only Venomshank! A warrior!
…Right?
Fast paced footsteps suddenly approached the den’s wastelands. The zombie looked around, confused of its surroundings. A pair of cold hands gripped onto his shoulders.
“There you are…” a familiar voice spoke. Venomshank. “How did you even get out of Sisyphus’s sight… come, come, we have no time to waste. Illumina’s time is coming.” The masked god grabbed the zombie’s hand and threw Dom over his shoulders as he started to run. He whispered something under his breath: something about Firebrand being unhappy if the last thing of Dom’s existence would simply disappear.
On the way back, for once in his life, at least since the zombie outbreak, Dom thought. He thought, and he thought. Who was that ghost? And how did the ghost know his true name? He was used to everybody calling him Dom. Not a single soul he remembered with that slushy brain of his called him Megaphone.
And for once, a zombie had thoughts. Thoughts other than eating brains or something. He tried to remember the ghost’s appearance. But alas, his memory falls short, as the only thing he recalled through his green eye was the kind and playful face of the ghost before they turned soullessly white, and the unmistakable valkyrie that sat on the ghost’s head to which he processed as “pointy hat-crown thing”.
Who around him does he know has a pointy hat? The pieces were slowly connecting. And then he slowly remembers. Yellow horns faded to dullness, a white jacket in place of a bright yellow one from the past. The scent that led him to Darkage Cliffs was the same scent his brother had on the last summer day they had together.
Could that ghost be Valk?
No, no, that wouldn’t have been possible. But the name call, the smell of vanilla ice cream and lemon on a fresh summer day, the valkyrie-
Oh SFOTH. It was him.
By the time Dom had connected the dots together, the two had already arrived at their “base” in the Kingdom of Telamon. It was back to the normal routine of staying there, training to phight other Inphernals under the control of other gods.
But this time, it was a little different. There was now an unknown feeling in his heart (if he even has one) that Dom couldn’t process. It felt like he knew it, but he couldn’t find the word. All he could utter out was “Cold…” Though it wasn’t particularly the right word, it was the closest thing he knew to what he felt. He felt hurt, and yet, he hasn’t even been prepared to step out on the battlefield. Whether Venomshank chooses for him to go out there or stay safe in his nest, one thing he knows for sure: it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts knowing he missed his only chance to call his brother’s name once more. It hurts not knowing what dear Microphone had said — or rather signaled — in that last moment.
It hurts so much and he doesn’t know what he’s feeling.
He’s sad. He’s oh so sad. But he doesn’t know it. He doesn’t know how to let it out either, to relieve the pain wracking through his body like a fountain on full blast.
If only he could learn how to cry again.