The Conduit of Darkness

The Conduit of Darkness

I never asked for this life. This existence plagued by throbbing pain and constant torment. From the moment I wake until the second I close my eyes, I am trapped in an unending cycle of agony. The doctors call it chronic migraines, but I know better.

It started a year ago, after a bizarre accident at a secret government laboratory. I was working as a lowly janitor when an explosion occurred, releasing some unknown substance into the air. I was knocked unconscious, and when I awoke, my head felt like it had been split open with a sledgehammer.

The headaches were unbearable at first, but eventually, they became a part of me. They shaped my reality, altering my perception of the world around me. Colors seemed more vivid, sounds more intense. And the visions… oh, the visions that plagued my nightmares and waking hours.

I realized early on that my headaches were not ordinary migraines. They were something far more sinister, an affliction that connected me to a realm beyond our own. A realm teeming with darkness and horror. It was as if my pain had become a conduit, allowing me to witness the unimaginable.

One night, during a particularly brutal headache episode, I saw them for the first time. Risen dead, walking corpses with vacant eyes and rotting flesh. They shuffled aimlessly through deserted streets, their moans filling the air like a symphony of despair. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie, but this was no fiction. This was my reality.

As the days turned into weeks, the horde of risen dead grew in number. Their presence became impossible to ignore. They swarmed through the city like ants on a sugar trail, devouring anything that crossed their path. Panic consumed the population, but they were powerless against this undead onslaught.

My headaches intensified as the risen dead closed in on my small apartment building. I could hear their guttural moans drifting through the air, getting closer with each passing day. The other residents fled, leaving me alone with my torment. Perhaps they sensed the connection between my pain and the horrors that awaited us all.

I had no choice but to face them. Armed with nothing but a rusty pipe, I ventured into the streets, my head throbbing with every step. The risen dead were everywhere, their decaying forms illuminated by the flickering streetlights. Their eyes, once dull and lifeless, now glowed with an otherworldly light.

With every swing of my makeshift weapon, I fought through the swarm, sending chunks of rotting flesh flying in all directions. But they kept coming, relentless in their pursuit. Their presence only fueled my headaches, intensifying the pain to a level I never thought possible.

As I fought, a realization struck me. These risen dead were not mindless creatures. They were puppets, controlled by an unseen force. And that force was using my headaches to manipulate them. The pain I felt was not just a burden but a weapon, a key to unlocking the gates of this unholy realm.

In a moment of intuitive desperation, I let go. I embraced the pain, allowing it to envelope me completely. The throbbing in my head reached a crescendo, and suddenly, everything changed. The world around me transformed into a twisted reflection of reality. Shadows danced and twisted, revealing the true nature of this nightmare.

The risen dead froze in their tracks, their vacant eyes fixed upon me. The unseen force controlling them faltered, unable to withstand the power of my connection. I was no longer just an observer; I had become something more.

With a burst of energy, I unleashed my newfound abilities upon the risen dead. They crumbled to ash, dissolving into nothingness before my eyes. The pain in my head subsided, replaced by a strange sense of satisfaction. I had become a warrior in this battle against the darkness.

But as the last of the risen dead disintegrated, a new wave emerged from the shadows. The force controlling them had regrouped, more determined than ever to conquer our world. I knew then that my battle was far from over.

I continue to fight, not just against the risen dead but against the pain that both torments and empowers me. Every day is a struggle, every headache a reminder of the horrors that await. But I am no longer a victim; I am a warrior, ready to face whatever comes next.

So, here I stand, battered and broken, yet unyielding in my determination. The risen dead may have risen, but I have also risen above my own limitations. And as long as I draw breath, I will fight to protect the fragile remnants of humanity from the unspeakable horrors that lie in wait.

Author: Opney. Illustrator: Stab. Publisher: Cyber.

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