Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition
Chapter 776 - 776: Story 776: The Rotting Hymn

The throne of Vareth no longer bore the weight of a king. Selene Nocturna sat in its place, her presence a cancerous dominion that spread through the once-proud halls like an incurable plague. The air was thick with the scent of rot and the echoes of laughter that still clung to the stones—phantom remnants of the nobles she had reduced to grotesque, grinning husks.

The torches flickered green, burning with necrotic fire as her alchemical concoctions seeped into the very foundation of the keep. The servants who had fled now stood frozen in the corridors, their skin marbled with disease, veins blackened, their lips stretched into lifeless grins. Puppets of The Laughing Death, their laughter long since stolen, leaving only silent, empty husks.

Selene traced her fingers along the golden edges of the armrest, watching the metal corrode into filth at her touch.

"A kingdom is only as strong as its ruler," she mused, her voice echoing with layered whispers. She turned her gaze toward the shattered stained glass above—where once celestial light bathed the chamber in color, now only a sickly green glow filtered through.

A tremor shook the castle walls.

Selene narrowed her eyes.

Something had stepped into her domain.

The heavy iron doors creaked open, their hinges screeching as a lone figure stepped forward. Cloaked in ashen robes, his face hidden beneath a cracked mask of ivory, the intruder walked past the frozen, grinning corpses without fear.

A Severed Priest.

Selene's lips curled. Fools who still whisper prayers to dead gods.

"You trespass," she said, rising slowly from the throne. Decay trailed in her wake, the marble beneath her feet cracking as she descended the steps. "I hope your faith is stronger than your flesh."

The Severed Priest lifted his hand, revealing an etched sigil, pulsating with flickering light—an ancient rune, one she had not seen in centuries.

"You have strayed too far, Pale Widow," his voice was hollow, as if a thousand voices spoke at once. "Your plague threatens the veil itself."

Selene laughed softly, the sound dripping with venom.

"The veil was torn long before me."

The priest stepped forward, pressing his palm to the ground. The rune flared—a violent burst of silver flame erupted beneath her feet. The frozen corpses around them snapped to life, twisting and shrieking, their bodies ignited in holy fire.

Selene staggered—pain, true pain, crawled up her limbs, peeling at her flesh like parchment. Her eyes flickered with fury.

Light.

Fire.

A cure.

Her fingers twitched. Alchemy was adaptation.

If the world wished to burn her plague away, then she would forge a newer, deadlier sickness.

Selene smiled through the agony, already crafting her next horror.

The Severed Priest had no idea he had only begun to suffer.