Failed Vision: The Puppet King (event)
The thread pulses wildly in my hands, growing increasingly erratic until it finally bursts in a blindingly white explosion. Reality shifts around me, my senses deaden, and my body suddenly jerks forward, shambling as if controlled by an unseen force. An army of dead soldiers march forward in an endless procession, covered in gaping wounds and staring listlessly with lidless eyes. Once proud armor, now covered with the stains of blood and mud. They point their blades to the sky as an uncontrollable welch of fear and dread encompasses me. A man hovers above us, thrashing wildly, impaled by an innumerable number of blades with a garish crown nailed to his head. His eyes are bloody, full of anguish and pain. I look down at my cold, pale hands, realizing we hold the blades that force him ever onward. I am him and he is me, trapped in a body that can never die, damned to march endlessly. A pitiful, painful, useless existence. I try to scream, but no voice can come out. Suddenly, my soul is ripped back into the world of the living. I lay in bed for my god knows how long, unable to move as my mind churns incessantly. When I finally gain control, my body no longer feels like my own. My soul is trapped in this body, and only death will set it free.
Existence is a prison.