The Darkest Day

Plague / Epidemic

What will people say about this morning?
I don't know, but I know that it will make history, probaly be in a book somewhere.
Probably. It'll be marked as the worst day in History.

The air stilled, thick and oppressive, like the very world is holding its breath. Then, a wave of unseen force rippled across the land—a pressure that coiled around the lungs, sinking into the skin like invisible fingers digging deep into the bone.

All at once, cries of agony erupted around the area, first scattered voices and then a chorus of suffering. People staggered, clutching their chests, collapsing as a black, viscous bile forced itself up from their throats, spilling onto the ground in sickening splatters. Their veins darkened, bulging against their skin like writhing roots. Some trembled violently, others went rigid, eyes rolling back as something unseen sapped the life from them.

And then it happened.

The black tendrils of infection lashed out like living shadows, leaping from one body to another, seeping through skin, clothing, even armor. Within moments, people once untouched convulsd, their breath catching in their throats as the disease carved its mark into them. It moved unnaturally fast—too fast—spreading through the streets like fire racing through dry brush. Those who fell near an infected body gasped in shock as the sickness clawed into them, claiming them as its own.

The world unraveled. The disease had reached beyond the grave, pulling everything into the cold grip of death itself.