Fallen Monarch

The armor began to rattle. Each step the armored figure took left deep imprints in the ground, illustrating the suit’s immense weight. Its tail, shaped like a serpent’s head, crawled along the barren earth behind him.

Ca-CAW!

A colossal murder of crows swarmed in the sky above while the dead followed behind the armored figure, shuffling along silently. Not one uttered as much as a single word, as if the shock of their very existence had turned them mute. The ground this lifeless army tread on was steeped in death, which had caused the once bountiful land to dry up and rot.

‘…’

Had he ever reached the end of his ropes and fallen into true despair? Was he ready to take the plunge as he continued to wade through this endless swamp of hell? Was he ready for his soul to be polluted and sullied until it wilted away?

These questions arose in his mind over and over again and, no matter how many times he mulled them over, the answer remained the same. His fate was sealed. It was too late to have regrets. After all, he had fallen into depravity for the sake of a single, small ‘hope’.

Through the slit of his helm, his eyes gleamed with a golden glow as he gazed at the large city before him. He slammed the butt of his spear on the ground. The dead horde roared and wrapped around the city, forming a blockade that was simultaneously living and lifeless.

‘I… have already forsaken my humanity.’

He was the incarnation of wrath, hatred, and loathing. The Hero that had crawled forth from the endless despair of this world. The leader of the corrupted undead…

He was the Fallen Monarch.