Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead
Moulded from rot and souls, Loimos is born as an undead, as a skeleton. An undead linked to the weakest category of its kind, yet, he has something no other of the dead have. He is pure. Follow the journey of Loimos as he fulfils his duty and hunts down the living with extreme prejudice and faces off with the hypocrisy of those who live in death. In a world thriving with life, magic and heroes, he stands as the solution and its end.
Like A Needle...
'Dammit!' nearly tripping over something laying on the ground, Isilt stepped back, a small cut left on his cheek.
Ignoring the blood flowing from the negligible wound, the knight-in-training eyed his options, but he might as well have been blind for there was nothing to consider, Frenand was the undead who had faced his king in combat, and just the fact that he had fought Cleavster and was still here was proof that Isilt could do nothing.
'If I somehow manage to run away, the other undeads and beasts will just come after me… I can't possibly outrun any of those creatures…' not only were they much faster than himself, but they would never run out of stamina too.
'If I try to fight this guy, I'll just get pounded into red sludge…' he didn't even have a weapon right now, unable to even find solace in the lie that he had the reach advantage, this was unarmed combat for the both of them, and Frenand was stronger, taller, an undead, and a champion of Loimos.