The Phage Lord

Ask a man what he fears, and he will cough up the same tired, little answer. They will say they fear Death. A common fear, a common lie, a common end. Pathetic.

But once, the world was a wound. The roads were still soft, and the people, oh, the people were still wet with a fear that wasn't of an ending. No. It was a single, perfect terror that they couldn't even name. Not until they had to. They didn't whisper of death. They didn't whisper at all. Their lips simply moved, silent and shaking, as if to speak the name would be to invite the very thing itself. The name. That one, single, beautiful name.

The Phage Lord.