The Dead King

Chapter 1 - Awaken

The first thing he could he remember was the pain coursing through his body. It shot throughout him in waves, bringing his muscles back to life. His fingers tingled, his toes tingled. His mind raced with thoughts once again.

Once he realized he was conscious, he tried his arms a bit. They wiggled. He immediately knew he was face down on the ground, limbs spread out. He tried to gain the power to draw his legs in. It was quite difficult at first.

When he finally managed that feat, he flipped himself onto his back, and slowly opened his eyelids.

Who was he? Where was he? What was he?

He didn't feel human, that was for sure. He didn't feel his muscles aching. He did not feel his stomach turning, and finally, he realized he was not breathing.

As sure as he knew he was a human, he knew that breathing was essential. He drew a breath, but his lungs did not expand. He gasped, but it was useless.

Yet somehow, he did not feel like he was asphyxiating. He felt as though oxygen was unnecessary.

His vision was back. Eyes wide open, he stared at the brick ceiling above him. Being unable to breathe certainly made him feel as if he was in a dream, maybe in some state, but as detailed and lucid as his sight made him feel, he knew this was not the case.

He was alive, he was somewhere, he was existing. Where, and why, he knew not.

He shifted his shoulders. Muscles were working. As the seconds passed, he was regaining strength. Within the minute, he was sitting up from the floor.

His spine felt as if it was barely holding himself together. His bones felt rigid, his muscles partially decayed. He looked down and saw he was clothed in dark blue robes, a golden cross necklace hung down to his chest.

Thoughts were coming together. Coherent ones. He knew where he was. Nocturne Castle.

This is the potion room, he finally thought to himself. My lab. His eyes gazed upon his surroundings.

It did indeed look like a laboratory of sorts. Tables up against the walls, beakers and flasks sat on them. However, they were all empty. And almost all of them broken. Dust scattered on top of all of it.

He just now realized his elbow was being supported on broken glass. He jerked, and whisked the glass away with a movement of his arm.

The muscles were working well now, almost back to a normal person's. He finally found the strength to get off the ground. As he stood up, his knees creaked. They wobbled side to side, as if ready to buckle at any moment. Something felt very, very wrong.

He took one step and instantly fell over. His bones moved as if they were an old water wheel being turned in the first time since a river ran dry years ago. He shifted some more, and stumbled back upon his feet.

He tried walking some more. His feet were in the same condition as the rest of his body. They did not like the new weight they were receiving. His determination, however, was stronger than that of his feet and legs, and they obeyed him.

Alright, he was mobile again. That's been squared away. The next thing that he wanted to check was if his heart was still performing its normal bodily function. Two fingers sunk into his neck right below his jaw, checking for a pulse.

Nothing. Not a movement even after ten seconds. And then that's when he knew something very, very bad had happened.

When he pulled his two fingers away, he looked down at them. They were completely pale, decayed, flesh missing from areas, partial bone in sight around the joints. He was staring at a dead man's hand.