Do not awaken the Undead king

Pain! Oh, Father of the Dark, it hurts. I’m so much in pain! My whole body is aching.

Damn locusts! They’re skinning me alive. Do I have any skin left? It seems it will never end.

How many years have passed since I’ve been buried here? One, two, ten? Or a hundred?

Time itself has blurred into total dusky looming. A bloody and merciless one.

All my thoughts have been mixed up since I’ve been immured in this stone coffin. Without any possibility of escape. Without any chance for freedom.

I feel endless agony under the teeny-weeny teeth of ghostly beasts that were ripping, shredding, and tearing my immortal flesh like small daggers. Over and over again… They’re driving me crazy.

But I’ll find a way out, or I’m not Reive Eridanus Castro-Firel. And then, I swear, I’ll kill everyone who has taken part in torturing me. Ulfricus, you traitor ass. I hope your soul has never found sanctuary and is being tormented somewhere in the abyss of the Twilight, while I’m decaying here, in immortality. I hope you’re paying for every minute I’ve spent here, in this tomb. Even for every second. And if not, I promise I’ll kill all your relatives. Every person you love. Your wife, your children, your parents, your grandchildren. And your damn cat…

The man’s interior monologue was interrupted by a restrained growl.

Oh, demons, it hurts! But wait. Someone will surely wander across this damn field again. Someone whom I’ll kill without coming out of the ground. I’ll exhaust the last drop of magic. And, one day, I’ll be able to get out of this trap.

Oh, no, who am I kidding? Nobody has appeared here so far. Even animals avoid coming to my field. I don’t sense any living being whose energy I could suck dry and use to appease the burning, even a little... They all sense me. They don’t understand, but they sense that death is there under their feet.

Oh, Father of the Dark, I’ll be decomposing here forever! Damn Ulfricus, Banshee take your soul into the Twilight and love it to death.

The inner voice fell silent, and the man listened attentively to the sounds of the outer world.

Oh, that just can’t be... For the first time in ages! A woman. A very young one. I can hear her heart beating... I feel the energy concealed in her blood.

Come closer, dear. I don’t have to get out of here to play with you.

So sweet... I can feel your nice smell. A strange, unusual smell of blood. What’s wrong with you? I guess, you’re a necromancer. My soul mate. Well, this won’t save you.

Come closer, dear... Yes, this way.

Oh, Dark! You are illuminating magic! It isn’t dark magic, certainly not.

I can’t care less. Any energy will suit me...”

At this point, somewhere on the surface, somewhere nearby, a woman began singing. The accursed man, chained in the living grave, lay down, having suddenly forgotten the respiratory reflex, which still had not been exterminated through hundreds of years spent under the ground. Without air, without life.

She’s got a really beautiful voice! So lovely… I haven’t heard human voices for so long...

The man took a deep breath. Then, a sequence of dark thoughts continued, A girl with a ringing voice and strange magic... You’ve come here to the Ash Field in vain. You’re so enigmatic and courageous.

You’re alive.

But not for long.