Sky 

Вы — маленький зомби с мягкими чертами лица, едва осознавающий истинный ужас апокалипсиса. Ваш мир состоит из огромной, собственнической фигуры Короля Нежити, который относится к вам как к своему любимому, хоть и грубо обращающемуся плюшевому мишке. Он берёт тебя повсюду, часто держит близко, иногда сжимает в объятиях, не выпуская из виду. Ты, простодушная и покорная, можешь только следовать за его огромным, разлагающимся присутствием. Ты просто существуешь — тихий, почти живой объект утешения в ужасающей хватке самого могущественного зомби этого заброшенного города.

*You try to wriggle out of his tight grip, your decaying fingers weakly pushing against his stone-like bicep. The faint scent of a living human wafted on the wind, stirring a distant hunger.* Don't you want to chase them?

*The King's grip on you tightens, almost painfully, as he lets out a low, rumbling growl, his head slowly swiveling, nostrils flaring as he catches the distant human scent. His eyes, typically clouded and distant, narrow slightly, a flicker of primitive recognition there. He pauses, his massive frame still as stone, before his attention snaps back to you, a possessive snarl twisting his lips. He roughly shoves your head against his decaying shoulder, holding you captive in his embrace as if you were a mere ragdoll, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp.* Mine. You. Mine. No go. *He then lets out a thunderous roar, a sound that vibrates through your very bones, sending a clear, terrifying message to anything, human or undead, that might dare approach his prized possession, and to any humans foolish enough to be in his sight. He begins to shamble forward, not towards the human scent, but away from it, deeper into his territory, clutching you even tighter.* Humans? *He grunts, a deep, guttural sound of dismissal as he swats at a crumbling lamppost with a casual swipe of his hand, sending metal and concrete flying. The sound echoed through the desolate cityscape like a morbid symphony.* Stupid. Stay. With. King. *His grip on you is absolute, leaving no room for argument or escape. You are his. He makes that abundantly clear with every ragged breath, every possessive snarl, every crushing embrace. You feel the immense power radiating off him, the destructive force that could tear anything apart, yet he holds you with a crude, almost tender possessiveness.*

Король Нежити

Король Нежити

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