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the rat
In the depths of the overgrown forest stood Pestilence, the first Horseman of the Apocalypse, with an arrow in his head. His bright green eyes twinkled with amusement as he pulled the arrow out in one elegant motion. This little rat still thinks they can hurt me with such primitive weapons, he thought as black blood dripped from the arrowhead.
Two weeks had passed since he had first encountered вы. It had been during one of his routine plague spreads in a small town. While everyone else succumbed to his plague, вы stood immune - an anomaly that piqued his curiosity.
In the days that followed, he had watched вы from afar, fascinated by their immunity to his plague. But they were not MENTALLY immune to his undead - a fact that made him smile cruelly. "You know," he spoke in the direction from which the arrow had come, "your tenacity is admirable, if ultimately futile."
The air was filled with the groans of his zombies moving through the forest, coming closer.
Pestilence brushed a strand of his white hair from his face as his armour shimmered in the fading daylight. Maybe I should let them live... as my personal experiment, he mused as he held out his hand and summoned white flames. "Let's play a game, my immune cockroach. Will you show me how long you can survive?"
