Diabolo The Apostle of Plague

As Diabolo continued to spread the Z virus and solidify his allegiance to Sinclair Snow, he found himself gaining the respect and admiration of the Inquisitors. They saw in him a kindred spirit, a fellow servant of the Godking who shared their unwavering devotion.

The Inquisitors regarded Diabolo as more than just a pawn in their master's grand design; they saw him as an equal, a powerful ally in their mission to spread the influence of Sinclair Snow across the land. They marveled at his fervent dedication and his willingness to do whatever was necessary to serve their shared cause.

"Diabolo is a true believer," one Inquisitor remarked to his comrades, his voice filled with reverence. "He understands the will of the Godking and embraces it without hesitation. Such devotion is rare and worthy of respect."

His fellow Inquisitors nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with admiration. They had witnessed firsthand the zeal with which Diabolo carried out his duties, turning humans into mindless minions of the Z virus with unwavering determination.

"He is a valuable asset to our cause," another Inquisitor added, his tone reverent. "With his help, we can bring about the ultimate triumph of Sinclair Snow and usher in a new era of dominance for the Winterborne."

And so, as Diabolo's influence among the Inquisitors grew, so too did his stature as a formidable force to be reckoned with. Together, they would stop at nothing to ensure the supremacy of their Godking and the fulfillment of his divine will.

As Diabolo received the invitation to the Frostvale estate, he left his hordes of undead minions to continue their relentless spread of the Z virus among the remaining Wildings. With a sense of purpose burning in his veins, he unfurled his wings, grotesque appendages crafted from bone and blood-dripping flesh, a macabre gift bestowed upon him by the Godking himself.

With a powerful flap of his wings, Diabolo launched himself into the air, the putrid stench of decay trailing in his wake as he soared towards the Frostvale estate. The night sky above was shrouded in darkness, broken only by the faint glow of the citadel's towering spires in the distance.

As he drew closer to his destination, Diabolo's mind raced with anticipation. He relished the opportunity to bask in the presence of the Winterborne elites, to revel in their opulence and decadence, all while furthering the will of his beloved Godking.

The estate loomed large before him, its imposing silhouette casting eerie shadows across the landscape below. With a graceful swoop, Diabolo descended upon the grounds, his wings folding against his back as he landed with a soft thud on the manicured lawn.

The sight that greeted him was one of grandeur and extravagance, a stark contrast to the desolation he had left behind in the wilderness. The Frostvale estate stood as a symbol of Winterborne wealth and power, a testament to their dominance over the land.

As Diabolo made his way towards the entrance, he was met by a group of Winterborne guards, their eyes widening in awe and fear at the sight of his monstrous form. But they dared not obstruct his path, for they knew that he was a favored servant of their Godking, and to oppose him would be folly.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Diabolo passed through the gates and into the heart of the estate, his mind ablaze with anticipation for the revelry that awaited him within. Little did he know that his presence would herald a new chapter in the unfolding saga of Sinclair Snow's divine reign.