Filth.
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It is a known fact that the 6 Virtuous Gods created everything in existence in just six days.
On the first day, The God of Beauty crafted the heavens, the world, and the underworld. He shaped and sculpted the Heavens and the World to be beautiful and wondrous— to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye, yet also soft and calming to the senses.
On the second, The Goddess of Primevals added the elements and animals to the world, crafting the seasons, making unsteadiness and natural chaos. She then crafted the living beings to coexist on the world, naming them to match to each deity.
On the third day, The God of Value created talent, skills, strengths and weaknesses for each of the races. He made jewels, minerals, metals, crystals and gave everything worth. He made the world worthy by weaving mana into it, gifting the beings with magic.
On the fourth, The Goddess of Work gifted [classes], [levels], and [titles] to the living beings of the world. She ensured that hard work and effort was constantly rewarded.
On the fifth day however, something weird occured. Inexplicably, magic condensed and bled into the world unexpectedly— before the Gods could do anything, [dungeons] created themselves, and [monsters] popped up.
The God of Energy gifted the world [aura] and [qi], to go along with the preexisting [magic], and obliged the living beings to turn their strengths and weapons to the [monsters].
And so, believing it was alright for a solution, the Gods continued with the last gift.
On the sixth day, The Goddess of Arts granted the knowledge of culture, art— she imparted music, performance, martial arts, and celebration to the 6 Great Races. A gift for pest disposal.
And so they rested on the seventh day.
But as they rested woefully and peacefully,
while the monsters who were born inexplicably were slain,
Another God awoke.
An unknown, unnamed God awoke and looked upon the pitiful monsters in their infancy, slaughtered and killed by those born earlier than they.
She said unto them:
"I cannot give what has already been given. I cannot even give you the motivation to live. But, I am a gambler. You, creatures who rose on your own volition, created by the world itself, you shall be my token. Struggle and survive, struggle and survive."
And so, on the seventh day, she gifted the monsters [evolution].
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Such is how the story goes, how the tale goes.
In reality, for monsters, no such God exists— for the Goblins, Trolls, Ogres— the undead, the intelligent beasts and the like, there was no God. Only an instinct. The desire to live.
And that desire was in full affect for one certain young man. Rather, his skin was too blue and decrepit for a human— the marks of scarring and stitching that covered his forearms, neck and face were unlike that for a human to have.
He was undoubtedly an undead. And right now, he was running away from a bear that stood around 4m tall. "AAAAAAAAAA SHIT SHIT SHIT-" The male hurriedly screamed, put of breath as his now-lively body vigorously ushered himself to move on and move along. "Go to the damn Silent Forest they said! Grab a couple mushrooms they said! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU NEED MUSHROOMS FOR, FUCK FUCK FUCK"
The undead named Ochtu screamed in terror, afterall it wasn't difficult to kill an undead the second time around. What's died once foretells its future fate, so they say. And seemingly, it would run true for Ochtu, as the bear, using a spurt of energy, burst forth, severing head from body, and arms from torso. Instead of blood, mana in liquidated form spilled from the orifices, but only very briefly.
Was this the end?
Not really. Ochtu groaned and huffed. Perhaps for an ordinary zombie or undead, this amount of damage would lead to death, as most speaking, intelligent undead had their mana stored predominantly in the head area.
But Ochtu's a dullahan.
So while the body busily continued running even after getting hit— a light string of mana connected it to the head and... swish! Right from the jaws of the bear, his head was saved, though his arms were very much not.
"Ugh—" He groaned and strained as he ran- he wasn't physically tired by any stretch of imagination, but his body was on lower stock of mana then usual, and also he was attacked by a bear. "Fuck's sake.." Was all he could say as he continued to run.
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Ochtu arrived at a camp lush with thick miasmic energy. It was a result of the undead that stayed there, monsters usually gave off a traceable essence, but because undead also had the smell of rotting flesh, this essence was compounded.
On the plus side, it was a deterrent, and it often helped monsters determine their collective and respective territories. The camp before Ochtu was nothing impressive however, had there been a few less undead, the miasma would fail to show entirely.
Huddled around in a circle were a couple of beings. Ochtu didn't look to check them, but if he did, he would've realized that they were staring quite ominously at him— of course, the Dullahan's focus was on the most important person to him. "Master Lich, I've returned—" Ochtu kneeled before the Lich, a being whose existence currently sustained and maintained him, a being who managed to create Ochtu from mana alone.
"Oh, it's you. Okkgo, right?" The Lich was clearly uninterested.
"Er, it's-"
"So, Okkgo, I've been thinking, and you really haven't been contributing. Because of that whole Royal Decree thing, I've been really stressed, you know, it hasn't really been great for my mental,"
"Oh, yes Lord I-"
"So, long story short, please stay behind and die while the rest of us keep moving, kay? Great, thanks. Dismissed Okijer."
"..."
Ochtu didn't quite know how to react. He felt conflicted with the sudden events and uneasiness surprisingly built up within the undead— of course he would follow his creator's wishes however possible, but it was a wish that requested his death.
All Ochtu could really do was spite the fact that the "Royal Decree", ever came to be— maybe if it weren't for that, he'd be better. If it weren't for that, he'd be alright. Living peacefully with Lord Lich. But he was having doubts even in himself, resinous thoughts incepted his brain, making him conceive the belief that for the Lich, a simple excuse needed to show itself to get rid of his undead. Ochtu was simply one of the disposables.
"Serve or die," so the Decree says. A decree unlike any other, enforcing monsters to make their choice between servitude and freedom- life or death. It was a hassle, but Ochtu was ready to give up his life for the Lich, sitting down and staying put as he did so.
Next morning came— but he did not move.
They up and left, moving whatever they needed.
Still, the Dullahan was faithful.
Undead needn't eat, needn't sleep, needn't rest or drink. Ochtu stayed put.
He did not know how long it was, until something stirred and came about next, but he felt that it was his time as he heard rustling and fussing about in the bushes.
"A— alright, let's get it over wi-" As his head turned to get a good look at what it was, presuming it was a knight ready to strike the undead down. Instead— "RAWR" It was the bear from however long ago, making charging motions towards Ochtu.
"AAAAAAA FUCK FUCK FUCK!" Ochtu couldn't move, paralyzed by his order, instead just closing his eyes, rolling into a ball and hoping his body just didn't completely fall apart from the events. But instead of being mauled to death and eaten— the bear jumped over Ochtu, it's thick heavy paws bounding forth and showering the undead in a must of dust and soil.
"I-" before Ochtu could speak more, he shut himself up, the voices of others encroaching interrupting him.
"Oops~ looks like it was just a bear nyehe~" A playful, higher pitched voice spouted. It was.. androgynous, but felt female.
"Focus, we're monster hunting. Apparently miasma was seen nearby. Keep on guard." A gruff, manly voice intercepted, scolding the first voice.
A third voice was heard, but it was muffled, almost unintelligible to the crouching undead.
He could feel his core throbbing and pumping. If they were looking for monsters, he certainly applied— and for him, it would've been clear what their goal was. They sounded like adventuring types, which meant that he and they were most likely leagues apart.
Ochtu stayed still, he didn't need to breath, he just needed to stay still and make as little as noise as possible, he could hear small noises and bantering, and he wondered slightly if he was just coincidentally placed in a blindspot.
But before any more thoughts similar could invade him, a fourth voice, directly behind him, was heard.
"Found one."
He gulped. His senses enhanced slightly, just for that moment— he could hear soil crushed under metal, the slow methodical unsheathing of a long, sharp blade, a sharp intake of breath and...
Shwing.
A quick sound accompanied by a gust of wind pushing out against the blade— as he raised his head, he saw it.
The tip of a blade wrapped in red aura, mere nanometers from his face. Holding the blade was a cold faced man with pure white hair and piercingly blue eyes.
"Monster. Submit or die."
Ochtu couldn't see anything other than the man before him, but he felt the gazes of the others affixed to him. It's a good day to die, he supposed.
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