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Victus Mortuus

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I felt a rush, then everything was black and I was surrounded by darkness. I felt myself rushing towards a small light off in the distance. It got brighter and brighter, and closer and closer. Then something unearthly suddenly pulled me backwards, the light got dimer and smaller. I was thrown back into something...something familiar. Something shaking; as surges of pain hit me like constant waves. I felt something inside me, pounding like a rock being thrown at me from within me rhythmically. Then I heard screaming. The voice of the screamer was familiar, but the scream itself wasn't. Then I realized the scream was coming from me. The hard pounding within, quickened and grew stronger. The pain became agony. The screams grew to a high-pitched sound drenched in horror and desperation. The agony became pure torment. The hard pounding inside me suddenly stopped and everything went silent.


I opened my eyes. At first, everything was blurry and colorless. I squinted, I was just barely able to make out the outlines of faces surrounding me. Then my eyes adjusted and my vision became more clear. Still colorless, but clear nonetheless. Faces were staring at me while gasping. Then finally one of the witches spoke, “Victus Mortuus.”




My hooded black cloak hid my face, and I was very careful to avoid roads. Roads meant people, and people mean death. The truth was, I was scared of myself, scared at what I was capable of doing to a human being. And even scarier, I desire human flesh, and every day the desire and Death's grip on me grows. Every day, I feel myself fading slowly, as my humanity slips away. That is why, despite my slowness, I am traveling as quickly as I can.

The forest was very difficult to travel through, it was very thick, and like most forests untamed. There were rocks, fallen branches, fallen trees, tall grass, thick bushes all in my way. I kept ducking, and crawling over things, and the bugs. Oh they were terrible! They ate away at my already deteriorating skin. Speaking of which...I looked down and observed my skin. There were many patches of discoloration and sores. And slowly patches of skin disappeared. Most of my senses kept worsening day by day as well. My hearing kept slowly fading, and my vision...I am completely color-blind, and my sight becomes less clear and more blurred. Although, contrary to all this, one sense has actually been enhanced. My sense of smell. Based on all of this I came to the conclusion, that I was most likely still in stage 1 of the transformation.

Oh, Vida, you just couldn't let me go, and now these are the consequences. I was dying. And my dear fiance Vida Millicent, just couldn't bear the thought of living life without me. So, she somehow managed to convince the warlock's and witches of Merekmore to try to prevent the inevitable. The experimental healing spells, used by the witches and warlocks, were only half successful. For I am only half alive....or maybe I'm not alive at all. I stand on the line; I suppose, that separates 'living' from 'dead'. So I guess that means, I am either both or neither. In any case time is running out and I need to find a solution and fast. I need to find a cure or a way to die so that I can go to the afterlife and rest in peace. And the only person who may be able to help me: a necromancer. A necromancer rumored to be deep within the forest called Forthwind outside of Berwick. This necromancer is rumored to be very evil, but I have limited options and limited time, so I don't have much of a choice.

I suddenly stopped. Human...I could smell it like a perfume filling my nostrils. A sickly but sweet temptation took over me. I wanted it....no I needed it! And I needed to find the human now! Maybe the necromancer is nearby. I walked forward, limping as quickly as I could, in desperation.

As I got closer, the possessive smell got stronger. Until, suddenly I saw it....a small cottage....and the human!

“ Control yourself,” I heard a voice in my head....a familiar voice.

“Vida?”

“Yes?”

“I must be crazy. Now I'm hearing her voice in my head.”

“ How is that crazy? I'm your soul mate. Our souls are one. I think I'm what's keeping your humanity alive...because I'm still human.”

“Maybe, I have a chance...”

“He might be able to help you.”


I looked up. He was wearing a black robe. He had white hair, and I could just barely make out some sort of medallion around his neck. He was watering a garden and didn't seem to take any notice of me. I walked towards him, trying to appear as nonthreatening as I could.

He must have heard me because he immediately stopped what he was doing and looked up.

“Well, well...what do we have here?”

I threw the hood of my cloak off of me. He didn't seem horrified, actually he seemed more amused.

“Victus Mortuus,” he calmly said, with a disturbing smile.

“ I assume you are the necromancer rumored to live in this forest?”

“Yes, what do you want with me?”

“ You're a warlock of black magic, and can wake the dead. Surely you must know how an undead creature such as myself, can be cured or killed.”

He burst out in laughter, “ You are amusing. I can help you if you guess what I am.”

He started speaking before I could object, “ To bathe in me is to be proven saintly.”

“What?” I yelled in frustration.

“To bathe in me is to be proven saintly.”

“ Enough of your sick little game! Help me!”

“To bathe in me is to be proven saintly.”

“Stop i-”

“To bathe in me is to be proven saintly.”

Suddenly, the voice of Death began to speak to me, but not through words. Through the intense desire to feast on his flesh. The feeling grew stronger as my frustration turned to anger.

“To bathe in me is to be proven saintly. To bathe in me is to be proven saintly...”

Death used my anger to open a gateway to uncontrollable desire. Human flesh...

“No!” screamed Vida.

I lunged towards him. He dodged me and held up his hands, a blast of fire shot out of them. It hit my arm, which burned off, but I didn't feel any pain. I threw myself towards him. He jumped to the side, and next thing I knew a bolt of lightening just flew past my cheek...missing me by an inch or two. My burned arm on the ground was next to where he was standing. It grabbed his ankle, and pulled him down. Right as he broke free of it, I jumped onto him.

What have I done? I was staring at the ground. Staring at what was left of the necromancer. There was blood on my mouth and hands. I'm a monster.

“ You may have lost this battle but not the war.”

“How can you be so sure? Don't you see what I am?”

“Holy water.”

“What?”

“To bathe in me proves you saintly......holy water.”

“The White Temple...”

“Yes, In Sherrod.”

The temple in Sherrod wasn't white. It was actually named; The Temple of White Tara after the goddess White Tara; but it was most commonly known as: The Temple of Healing or The White Temple for short. The temple was prominent because within it there's a pool of holy water. The holy water judges whether you are worthy of healing or not. If it deems you unworthy it kills you.

Although, right as I walked in I wasn't thinking about the holy water. Humans! Death's voice took hold of me again, and I was instantly possessed. I threw off my cloak and groaned like zombies do. The people instantly stopped what they were doing. Their faces reflected pure horror. Some ran for their lives, others were frozen in their fear. For a moment I was actually enjoying myself, as I limped towards a young child.

“Your better than this.” Her voice was hard to hear over Death's, but I somehow managed to hear her.

“Stop what your doing and focus on me. Think of us. Warwick?...”

Warwick...that name brought back memories. Memories I had almost forgotten. As I became more inhumane and more monstrous they became more and more blurred. But, I suddenly remembered. Remembered who I was before...before I became this. I looked down. My one and only eye was almost blind, but I could still make out, the missing limbs, and the deteriorating skin stained with blood. This is not who I am. I am Warwick of Merekmore.

I turned around and limped back to the pool of holy water. I stared into it. I am undead I am an unholy being...it will probably kill me. But I guess death is better than being this. But then again...I don't want to die. I am too young. I had plans and goals in life. There is so much to do, so much to see. If I die I will miss out on all the wonder life has to offer. Does your soul remain when you become victus mortuus, or are you just the rotting shell left behind? How will the holy water judge me? Will it cure or kill me? Right after I asked the question I realized I knew the answer. I gazed into the holy water then jumped.



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