Bab 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.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone