Story 976: The Rotting King’s Call

The wind carried the scent of death. Thick, cloying—something ancient stirring beneath the earth.

Mira clenched her jaw. The memory of the train still lingered, a cold echo in her bones. Something had been taken from her. She just didn’t know what.

Draven scanned the horizon. Beyond the ruined city, a fortress of bone loomed in the distance. Skulls impaled on rusted spikes. The sigil of The Rotting King burned into the stone.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Elias muttered.

Zara adjusted her grip on her machete. “Yeah? Where else do we go?”

No answer. Because there was nowhere else.

The earth trembled. A guttural voice rumbled from beneath.

"You tread on cursed ground."

The survivors froze.

From the cracked pavement, they rose.

Corpses—but not just zombies. These were knights of a forgotten age, their armor rusted, their flesh blackened. Eyes burning with green fire.

Draven took a step back. “This isn’t normal.”