An Eminence? No, I am just a reaper (OC story)

Are bandits fungi...?

The sound of flesh being torn apart and teeth munching through things that a human mandible should not ever have continued for a while longer. The two new risen taking their time and leisure in their voracious, primal instincts to enjoy their spoils.

Their eyes flashing no longer pure anger and rage, but satisfaction as the blood of their meal slipped down their fingers and chins, staining the rest of their pale bodies.

All while he watched with a bemused expression...

He knew that undead had a natural disposition against the living, that it pushed them to attack and tear them apart as the difference between both sides were too great and always tried to clash.

For them to attack anything on sight was natural, but this had been something else.

He had not commanded them to attack, and yet they did, brazenly...nor did they stop until he was barely a carcass on the ground.

But he could guess why as he looked at the barely recognisable form of the man that had been the leader of this band of crooks...

For dead as they may be and lacking of any soul at the moment they could not hide the truth of their actions. It was, even now...hanging over their heads.

The fear, the pain, the shame, the hatred that had run through their minds had left a very strong imprint in their subconscious. Every little thing they felt during those brutal hours of abuse until the hour of their death had refused to evaporate as their bodies drew their last.

In fact, they had cling to their brains even harder. As if they had attempted to mark by fire the faces of all who had done this to them no matter what.

Something that had awaken as their prime directive when their bodies were strung up from deaths embrace. And so, before any command had been given their bodies had fulfilled the deepest desire their previous owners had before their untimed ends.

Revenge....

It had also informed him that the warping nature of his own self was still at work....

In the abyss everyone was forced to rebirth, so their bodies never awoke as the living dead, but here it seemed that with the negativity he carried with him anything that was bury six feet deep underground would stir up again as a puppet under his thrall.

He would have to control it a bit before he strode through a cemetery and woke half a city in the process...

To not do so would be more of a hazel than anything else.

Not for the incoming casualties of the populace, but because he would have to clean the infestation later. When one undead spawned, more would follow, their negativity affecting the area around them, especially any sort of necrotic flesh. In a short spam of time they would multiply like rats. Only bigger and with a fouler smell....

He took a step forward...

Finally drawing the attention of those two. They sluggishly rose their heads and stare at him...

He merely scowled at them. Not hiding his loathing at the poor mimicry this meat-bags were attempting to pull off. There was nothing left of their old selfs. No memories, no heart..., empty little things.

They were just that, echoes.

Echoes of what once was..., what could have been.

He clenched his fist, sighing loudly...

''Such curse....., should be mine alone to bear''

The cocked their heads, perhaps not understanding what he had just muttered, or had it been an involuntary tick as their heads weighed on their necks. It did not matter. The next second their heads had disappeared in a puff of dried blood and brain, demolished as he bashed them with his right arm.