731: Story 731: The Smiling Plague 731: Story 731: The Smiling Plague Selene Nocturna sat upon the decaying throne of the Rotting Cathedral, her fingers idly toying with a writhing insect—a pale, necrotic locust, its exoskeleton pulsating as if filled with so plague-born fluid.
The corpse at her feet twitched.
Not quite dead, not quite alive.
The forr inquisitor, Father Lucien, trembled in the remnants of his robes, his skin an unnatural shade of sickly green.
His veins bulged like black roots, pulsing with the disease Selene had graciously gifted him.
He should have been dead days ago.
Instead, he knelt before her, teeth chattering in a mixture of pain, devotion, and fear.
“Your god has forsaken you,” Selene purred, her lips curling into sothing resembling a smile, but not quite human.
She let the locust crawl onto Lucien’s face, watching with amusent as he shuddered.
He tried to speak, but his tongue was swollen—blackened, split, and oozing.
Selene leaned forward, pressing a gloved finger under his chin, tilting his face toward her.
“And yet, you still cling to the light.”
Lucien’s pupils dilated, the last embers of resistance flickering within him.
He clutched a rusted dagger, its handle carved with old blessings.
His faith still had fangs, even if his god no longer listened.
Selene sighed, disappointed.
“You’ll die screaming, then.”
Lucien lunged.
The dagger t flesh—but not hers.
With unnatural speed, Selene turned his own arm against him, guiding the weapon deep into his gut.
The pain forced a wet, strangled cry from his lips as his body convulsed.
Selene exhaled, a mocking whisper of sympathy.
“You poor, poor thing.”
Her gloved hand slid down to his wound, her fingers pressing into the gaping cavity, feeling the warmth of his dying body.
Her nails dug in.
Lucien’s screams beca shrill.
“Shhh,” she cooed, voice like a mother’s lullaby.
From her touch, a new disease blood—one that did not kill, but prolonged.
His body refused to die, refused to succumb, refused to let go.
His own flesh betrayed him.
Lucien collapsed, still breathing, still conscious.
His eyes rolled back, mouth agape in silent horror as his body writhed against itself.
Selene wiped the blood from her gloves, tilting her head as she admired her work.
Then, she smiled.
A real smile.
“Now, let’s see how long you last.”
The plague had found its first apostle.
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