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90.24% A Boy in the great game(dropped) / Chapter 74: The Undead Scourge

Chapter 74: The Undead Scourge

In the dimly lit chambers of the Frostvale estate, Victor Frostvale, flanked by Inquisitors and Winterborne officers, presided over a tense meeting. The air was thick with anticipation as they discussed their plans to subjugate the barbaric human tribes that lurked beyond the borders of Sinclair Snow's domain.

Victor, his demeanor stern and commanding, wasted no time in outlining their strategy. "The time has come to assert our dominance over the wretched tribes that dare to defy the will of the Godking," he declared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We shall strike swiftly and without mercy, crushing any who dare to oppose us."

The Inquisitors, their faces hidden behind ominous masks, nodded in agreement, their loyalty to Sinclair Snow unwavering. "Indeed, Lord Frostvale," one of them spoke, his voice a low rumble. "But what of the humans' resistance? They are known to be fierce and cunning adversaries."

Victor's lips curled into a cold smile. "Fear not, my loyal Inquisitors. The Godking has bestowed upon us a weapon of unparalleled power." With a dramatic flourish, he produced a vial filled with a mysterious substance. "Behold, the Z virus," he announced, his eyes alight with fervor. "A plague that will consume our enemies from within, rendering them powerless to resist our might."

The Winterborne officers exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions betraying a mixture of awe and apprehension. "Is it safe to unleash such a weapon?" one of them ventured, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Victor's gaze hardened. "The will of the Godking is absolute," he declared, his tone brooking no dissent. "We shall use the Z virus to crush our enemies beneath our heel, and none shall stand in our way."

As the meeting drew to a close, Victor issued his final command. "Prepare the troops," he ordered, his voice echoing through the chamber. "We march at dawn, and the human tribes shall tremble before the might of Sinclair Snow." And with that, the assembled group dispersed, their minds filled with visions of conquest and domination.

In the dead of night, under the cloak of darkness, a detachment of Inquisitors descended upon a remote Wilding village, their mission clear: to quell any resistance and unleash the wrath of the Z virus upon its unsuspecting inhabitants. With ruthless efficiency, they swept through the village, their black-clad figures cutting through the shadows like wraiths of death.

As the villagers slept, unaware of the impending doom that lurked outside their doors, the Inquisitors moved with deadly precision. Homes were ransacked, families torn apart, and screams of terror echoed through the night as the merciless soldiers carried out their grim task.

In the center of the village, a group of terrified villagers huddled together, their faces contorted with fear as they watched the Inquisitors approach. Among them stood a teenage boy, his eyes wide with terror as he realized the fate that awaited him.

With a swift motion, one of the Inquisitors seized the boy, pinning him to the ground as his comrades looked on. The boy struggled against his captor, his cries for mercy falling on deaf ears as the soldiers prepared to administer the deadly Z virus.

With a cruel smile, the lead Inquisitor produced a vial containing the sinister substance, his eyes gleaming with malice as he prepared to unleash its deadly payload. Without hesitation, he plunged the needle into the boy's arm, injecting him with the potent virus that would soon ravage his body and mind.

As the Inquisitors released their captive, the boy stumbled to his feet, his body wracked with pain as the virus took hold. With a final, agonized scream, he was released into the night, destined to become patient zero in a deadly epidemic that would soon engulf the land.

As the Inquisitors withdrew from the village, leaving behind a scene of devastation and despair, they knew that their mission was far from over. With the Z virus unleashed upon the world, there would be no escape from the Godking's wrath, and none would be spared from its terrible embrace.

Far away Sinclair Snow stood before the gathering of the Nine Eyes, his expression dark and foreboding. The loss of one of their own weighed heavily upon them, casting a pall of grief over the once-proud assembly.

"My beloved children," Sinclair began, his voice resonating with a steely resolve. "We stand on the precipice of war, a war unlike any other. The forces of R'hllor have dared to strike at us, to challenge our dominion over this world."

His words hung heavy in the air, the silence that followed pregnant with tension and anticipation. Finally, he continued, his tone laced with venomous fury.

"But fear not, for their actions shall not go unpunished. R'hllor will pay for his transgressions with the extinction of the human race. The undead shall rise, a scourge upon the land, laying waste to all who oppose us."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembly, the Nine Eyes nodding in grim solidarity. Sinclair's eyes blazed with righteous anger as he spoke, his words a rallying cry to his loyal followers.

"And when the last human breathes their final breath," he declared, his voice echoing with conviction, "we shall turn our attention to R'hllor himself. We shall drag him from his celestial throne and subject him to torment unimaginable, for all eternity."

A chorus of sinister laughter filled the chamber, the Nine Eyes emboldened by their leader's words. In that moment, they were united in their thirst for vengeance, their resolve unshakeable.

"And when the dust settles," Sinclair proclaimed, his voice ringing with certainty, "the Winterborne shall reign supreme. We shall build a world-size citadel, a bastion of strength and security, shielding us from the horrors of outer space."

With that final pronouncement, Sinclair Snow turned to leave, his retinue of loyal followers falling into step behind him. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but with their leader at the helm, the Nine Eyes were ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.


Chapter 75: Zombies

As the Wildings fled through the dense forests, their ragged breaths mingling with the eerie silence of their surroundings, whispers of fear and desperation filled the air.

"Diabolo has brought this curse upon us," one of the elders rasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "He was once one of our own, but now he serves the Godking, spreading his plague like a scourge upon our lands."

"Aye, he's become a monster, no better than the Winterborne who seek to crush us," another Wilding agreed, his eyes filled with a fierce determination to survive against all odds.

Amidst the murmurs of despair, a sense of grim resignation settled over the group. They knew that their chances of escape were slim, that the relentless pursuit of the zombie hordes would eventually claim them all.

As they trudged onward, their footsteps muffled by the thick undergrowth, the voices of the fallen echoed in their minds, a haunting reminder of the price of defiance.

"We cannot outrun the tide of death forever," one of the younger Wildings whispered, his voice tinged with resignation. "Our only hope now is to find a way to break free from the grip of the Z virus before it consumes us completely."

But even as they spoke, the distant moans of the undead grew louder, drawing closer with each passing moment. With a heavy heart, the group pressed on, their fate sealed by the twisted machinations of Diabolo and his master, the Godking Sinclair Snow.

In the end, as the zombie hordes closed in around them, the Wildings stood united in defiance, their voices raised in a final, defiant cry against the darkness that threatened to engulf them. But their words were lost in the chaos, their spirits consumed by the relentless hunger of the Z virus.

And as the last echoes of their cries faded into the abyss, the Wildings were absorbed into the distorting hive mind of the Z virus, their individuality erased, their souls consigned to oblivion for eternity.

As Diabolo the new fanatical servant of the Godking spread the Z virus through the Wilding tribes turning them into undead minions the Inquisitors flew high above and guided the zombies into cages and dragged a box when it was packed to the Frostvale estate so that it can be sent to the citadel in a later date

As the human slaves gathered in hushed whispers, they exchanged tales of the horrors they had witnessed. The sight of humans turned into mindless zombies sent shivers down their spines, filling them with a sense of dread unlike anything they had ever known.

Their voices trembled as they spoke of Liam's descent into fear and desperation, seeking solace in the arms of the powerful Inquisitors. They knew that such actions were not uncommon among the Winterborne elite, but to see Liam, once a beacon of kindness, succumb to such fear was a sobering reminder of the darkness that now pervaded their world.

Some among them whispered of their own fears, wondering if they too would fall victim to the Z virus, if they too would become mindless drones enslaved to the will of the Godking. But others spoke words of defiance, vowing to resist the darkness that threatened to consume them, to hold onto their humanity no matter the cost.

As they shared their fears and hopes in the dimly lit corridors of the Frostvale estate, they found strength in each other, a glimmer of light in the encroaching darkness. For even in the face of such horrors, they knew that as long as they stood together, they would never truly be alone.


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