750: Story 750: The Hollow Coronation 750: Story 750: The Hollow Coronation The Rotting Cathedral lood over Black Hollow like a decayed monunt to death itself.
Its once-majestic spires were now draped in sinew and rot, adorned with the writhing remains of the Laughing Dead.
Their endless, hysterical cackles echoed through the desecrated halls, a choir of insanity that sang praises to their plagueborne queen.
Selene Nocturna stood before the great altar, her figure bathed in the sickly glow of necrotic lanterns.
Her smirk was cruel, her golden eyes burning like embers in the dark, a contrast to the withered corpses bowing before her.
Tonight, she would cent her reign over the forsaken city.
A twisted procession moved through the cathedral.
The Revenant Knight, clad in rusted armor, carried the severed head of Black Hollow’s last bishop—its face frozen in a grotesque grin, lips split from the Laughing Plague’s final gift.
Behind him, the Pale Acolytes dragged captured survivors, their hands bound in chains of bone.
Each one trembled, their minds shattered by the horrors they had witnessed.
Selene took a slow step forward, her blackened robes trailing like shadows behind her.
With a single wave of her hand, the Acolytes forced the prisoners to kneel.
“You should feel honored,” she mused, her voice dripping with venomous amusent.
“Most are given the blessing of my plague without choice.
But you… you will be my witnesses.”
One of the prisoners, a young priest with hollowed eyes, dared to speak.
“You—this is not a kingdom.
It’s a tomb.”
Selene laughed—a low, rich sound that carried a mocking delight.
She stepped closer, tilting the man’s chin up with a clawed finger.
“A tomb?
No, my dear.
A kingdom that will never die.”
She withdrew a vial from the collection hanging around her corset of bone and leather.
Inside, a thick, writhing liquid pulsed like sothing alive.
She uncorked it, and the stench of decay, honey, and poison filled the air.
Selene leaned in, her plague-ravaged lips inches from the priest’s ear.
“Drink, and you will see.”
The priest clenched his jaw.
Selene sighed, then forced his mouth open, pouring the vial’s contents down his throat.
He gagged, coughed, convulsed—then fell silent.
His body trembled as veins darkened, his pupils dilating into twin pools of abyss.
Then, slowly… a smile crept across his lips.
Laughter.
Low, then louder, more twisted, more broken.
Selene turned to the crowd of undead, her arms outstretched as if embracing them all.
“Rejoice!” she proclaid.
“For tonight, Black Hollow is mine.
And soon… the world shall follow.”
The Laughing Dead howled with joy, their voices echoing through the cathedral as Selene stepped onto the altar.
The Pale Widow’s coronation had begun.
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