Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Vision turned blurry, shapes multiplied, as if caught in a powerful blast, disoriented, equilibrium compromised, a simple moment of weightlessness, a ripple that simply brought everything else to a halt.

The First Death Hunter's face lost its expression as the cause of it all revealed itself, translucid and wretched, not a simple projection was uncovered as it became visible, Loimos had played a dangerous game, using the particular skills of both the spectre and ghost lord, detaching his non-physical self from his body, and sending it forth entirely for a single strike aimed directly at Ynigós's soul, and only his soul, quaking it to its very core.

A cheap shot that could only work once, and whose effects would quickly disperse, Loimos was a stranger to wasting time however, feet already turned into abominably distorted talons, digging into the dazed living's shoulders, the typical humanoid form of Loimos, the mantled knight, was twisted into kaleidoscope of limbs, gore and materials, changing and shifting constantly, to most, it was like a storm had been caught within him and was constantly tearing him apart as he regenerated.

All was purposeful however, the small golems watching over the battle were almost thrown out of balance as the undead did not hesitate to commit to a full-on assault, shaking air and earth, limbs pounding, blades slashing and stabbing, flailing the skin, biting and tearing, burning and freezing, strikes upon the body, strikes upon the soul, strikes upon the mind, strikes upon the mana, strikes upon the life force, strikes upon all.

Everything that Loimos could do at the moment was done in a hurricane of putrid gore, so many things happen all at once, no one had any clue what they were even looking at, all that they knew was that things were not looking good for the pure living, one moment of inattention and he had been slammed straight to the ground and struck with enough force to render a primordial mountain to dust, the soundwaves and empowered words of death tongue nearly reached them even as they stood well away, making way through the golems.

Thankfully, the affected golems were destroyed before they could relay such things in full.

'That is not sufficient'

A blast pushed the twirling mass of rot away, Thanatok Ynigós rising to his feet as life force surged, mending the goo his upper body had been turned into, mixed with rocks and dust against the ground, the clearly more than lethal wounds vanished in just a few seconds, which included all of his organs and entire head having been crushed, even with all that physical and other damages, he seemed energetic and still just as willing to fight.

Putting his hand on his head, he cracked his fingers and knuckles, stomping the ground and taking a very particular pose, which you would generally expect from an athlete about to dispute a running competition.

Returning to his usual appearance Loimos, instantly attacked with Verpertillo's signature roaring attack, but it hit nothing, the enemy moved with great swiftness, avoiding it all and reappearing by the undead's side, slamming his open hand into the helm, crumpling it, maintaining momentum, taking the fight out of the initial zone of destruction and back into an area of still standing buildings, taking the skeleton through multiple churches, sparks flying in the air as Thanatok dragged Loimos against the ground, until finally, he let go, head detaching and exploding with bone spikes right after.

Rather than regenerating, Loimos aimed his neck stump at Ynigós, firing forth a stream of burning black blood, another miss, the undead stepped back, a new helmed head forming, a punch from the living deflected by a phantom hand, dispersed quickly through contact with life.

Loimos created some distance, manifesting a tidal wave of rot and blood, creations of rot emerging only to be instantly destroyed as Thanatok Ynigós charged right through, uncaring that the undead was trying to hide his position again.

Spikes of blood and bone emerged from the ground, slowing the living ever so slightly as he manifested one weapon in both hands, Ynigós rose his eyebrows and paused his assault, just for a moment, getting what he would call a good vibe, the saner people would have qualified it as a gravely bad vibe.

Harbinger's Harvest, the very thing that encompassed all of Loimos's ability and knowledge into a singular battle style, titled by the enthusiastic undead king in person, was evidently not just that, lest it would just be a patchwork of what he had learned and known, still a supreme style in of itself, being able of using so many techniques, to pull from one's entire skill set and that of others and manage to put this into a comprehensive mesh that could be chained together on top of being adapted precisely to Loimos himself, the basic, grafted style was dreadful.

It certainly was, but it could, and was more than this.

Most of the finer details were not worked out yet, even at this point, manifesting the greater level of harbinger's harvest was still not yet possible for Loimos, only the core weapons of this style had been implemented, the first step toward making this grand creation the finest tool in his arsenal.

In his hand dextral, he held the war scythe- The graven scythe, adorned with a banner holding the symbols of the undead empire, the leading sun of darkness guiding moons, constellations and a star.

In his hand sinistral, he held the typical scythe- The harvest scythe, also adorned with the very same banner, the agricultural tool and its variation transformed for war each seemed to hold something special, wielded by the pure undead, both had a distinct feeling to them.

The living prepared to move again, visualising the various ways the undead could attack right this instant with those two weapons, taking into account that this abominable sack of rot could extend, explode and just about do whatever he wanted, Thanatok Ynigós aimed to once again outspeed him, but stood his ground for an instant, expecting something special to happen with those two scythes.

But instead, Loimos just swung his arms and threw both right at him, using the intense amount of rot and power used to forge them into existence as fuel for potent twin blasts.

Enduring it, shielding his eyes and ears as he sensed that Loimos had charged Vespertillo's and Vwoldtnir's specialties into them, resulting in bursts of light and sound coming from both sides, the undead landed a spiked kick to his abdomen, counter attacking with life force alone, but there was a little problem, that foot had not been attached to a leg from the beginning.

Just another layer of trickery as Loimos took time to charge up for his next attack, considering the potency of what he had already thrown before at will just a minute before, the living spectators had good reasons to worry, but their champion had already shown that he was not going down easily.

Timing the release of his attack with the end of the blasts, propelling some sort of laser, which the living took head-on, focusing his life to defend even as he only saw the attack just before impact, pumping his chest, he dispelled the continuous stream, noticing that Loimos had called back the graven scythe, thrusting repeatedly at the human's face.

"How long are you planning on just running around?" expanding the width of the life coating his body, catching Loimos, restricting his death force and thus, all of his tricks as well before raining down punches at the skeleton.

At last, what the undead had been patiently waiting for happened, this was certain to boost his winning chances, or send him right to the grave, where corpses typically ended in.