The towering hulk of undeath shambled rigidly onwards, to where the song of death was begging for release. His long-rotten limbs stretched forwards, sapping the life and summoning decay upon whatever loomed in his blank sight. The growth of decay filled his un-coursing veins with defilement, hastening the steps.

He was the Undying. He existed to bring forth the Almighty Dirge, so that the living may join his Dead God’s choir. And before him, he saw life - life, fighting spastically for survival. They near called upon him and the ones brought close together by the common goal. He aimed to answer.

Death’s orchestra was already sounding the triumphant pipes, aiming for the high crescendo. The Dezun berserker, adorned with more wounds and scars than the Undying himself, was roaring furiously as his spear went into a ghastly figure on top of a steed that defiled the notes of death, skinless and torn, yet alive in concept. Rabid wolves, smelling death as well as he heard it, circled and swiped at an all-too-hard to perceive shape, stray pieces of grass, soil and debris circling round as it aimed to crush back - their master, a rough human in a noble’s worn clothes, unleashed two creeping daemons from a rotting-green tome on his belt, rushing past the commotion and into a toughened tower at the edge of sight. A large fiery shape stomped round, clawing furiously at a serpentine one, blurry behind a prismatic barrier, blinking desperately under the spell of the tall Oglodi from afar.

“The dead hunger,” his rotten vocal chords erupted into an unwilling growl of focus, as a bone and stone sculpture rose from the ground. Restless dead poured from under every last inch of soil, gnawing at those whom the Undying pointed them towards. Before the opposers could recover, a rust-red link cruised between them, heralding the fiery explosion that brought forward yet another fiery shape. Somewhere afar, the sound of falling rubble signaled the end of the tower. The fighters persevered - the rider had engulfed himself in mist, the serpentine archer’s barrier stayed active, and the gravity-mending shape had grown large, fortified with swirling yellow light.

The Undying aimed to rip their souls and decay their bodies, so as to grow his own bulk and tear the living to shreds, but before he or the other conductors of death could react, a roaring red body emerged among their ranks.

When the Dead God’s chosen bearer of the Almighty Dirge could see again, he was pointlessly clawing at thick, red skin, which resisted spears, magic, fangs and bullets, and towards him charged a ghastly apparition of a galleon, its crew crying out cheers of death.

He would not even be slain by that which had a resemblance of Death’s perfect note.

He and the others were pulled off balance, and drawn into a hopelessly dark void, darker than even the gaze of Death.

“If light cannot escape me, what hope have you?”

The void submerged Undying, and all light was lost.