Marlos

More Of The Future

The tranquility of the morning was shattered by a sharp gasp that tore through the quiet room. Carlos bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes wide with terror, the remnants of a horrifying vision clinging to him like a shroud.

Mal, startled awake by his sudden movement, reached for him, her voice filled with concern. "Carlos? What's wrong? Another vision?"

He could only nod, his voice caught in his throat, the gruesome images flashing behind his eyelids. He saw Mal, older, her vibrant purple hair streaked with grey, lying lifeless on the cold stone floor of a dungeon. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, usually sparkling with mischief and love.

Carlos's vision spiraled deeper into the abyss of despair. He saw his children, their faces streaked with tears, their cries echoing through the desolate landscape. His daughter, her purple hair tangled and matted with grime, knelt beside Mal's lifeless body, her small hands clutching at her mother's cold hand.

"Mommy, wake up!" she sobbed, her voice raw with anguish. "Please, Mommy, don't leave me!"

But Mal remained still, her eyes closed forever, her vibrant spirit extinguished.

Carlos's son, his young face contorted with grief, stumbled towards his sister, his arms outstretched. "Mommy?" he whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. "Is Mommy sleeping?"

His daughter, her own heart shattered, could only shake her head, tears streaming down her face. "No, she's not sleeping," she choked out, her voice thick with despair. "She's... she's gone."

The boy's eyes widened in horror, his small body wracked with sobs. He collapsed beside his mother, his cries mingling with his sister's, their shared grief echoing through the desolate chamber.

He couldn't lose her. He couldn't lose his children. The thought of them facing a future without him, without their mother, was unbearable.

He reached for her, his hand trembling as he gently caressed her cheek. "Mal," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Wake up."

Mal stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "Carlos?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

He hesitated, unsure how to convey the depth of his fear, the sheer terror that gripped his heart. "I had a nightmare," he finally choked out, his voice cracking. "A terrible vision."

Mal's eyes widened with concern, her hand reaching up to cup his face. "What did you see?" she asked, her voice soft and soothing.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to recount the horrifying images that haunted him. "I saw... I saw us," he began, his voice trembling, "dead. You, me, our children..."

Mal's breath hitched, her eyes filling with fear. "Carlos..."

---------MARLOS--------------------MARLOS------------------MARLOS----------------MARLOS-------------

Deep within the shadowy depths of an ancient forest, where gnarled branches clawed at the sky and sunlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy, an evil entity held court. Its throne, a grotesque monument of twisted bone and obsidian, sat atop a craggy outcropping, overlooking a desolate clearing.

The entity itself was a swirling vortex of darkness, its form constantly shifting and morphing, its presence radiating an aura of menace and despair. Its eyes, if they could be called such, were twin points of malevolent light, burning with an insatiable hunger.

Around the throne, grotesque creatures, spawned from the darkest corners of the Underworld, writhed and snarled, their forms a grotesque mockery of life. They were the entity's loyal servants, eager to carry out its every whim, their existence fueled by the darkness that emanated from their master.

The air crackled with an oppressive energy, heavy with the weight of malice and despair. The very ground seemed to recoil from the entity's presence. The trees were withered and lifeless, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers.

A figure emerged, its form slowly taking shape. With a hiss and a crackle of dark energy, the figure rose to its full height, revealing the unmistakable silhouette of Cruella de Vil. Her once vibrant hair, now a tangled mess of white and black, framed a face twisted with malevolent glee. Her eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the desolate landscape, a sinister smile playing on her lips.

"It's time," she hissed, her voice a chilling whisper. "Time to unleash a new era of chaos and destruction."