I was just a kid then. I saw the forest, with the beautiful trees I could climb and the gorgeous ponds in which I could swim. I played for hours, but I got tired eventually. I was hungry and thirsty, but I didn’t know where I was. I was starving for days, maybe even weeks.

I don’t know exactly how long it took, but I found someone. They had horns, black with red glowing cracks. They were willing to help, but for a price. The price of my soul. I was just a kid, what did I know? I knew I was hungry and that I needed food, and soon. So I did it. I was a dumb kid, and I sold my soul for some berries.

An eternity later, and I’m still paying the price. I am hungry still. I am starving once more. My hair is thinning and my bones are showing, and yet it will not stop. It will never stop. But that’s okay. Because I found someone. Many someone’s. I may not know if they are real or if they are nothing more than a hallucination, and I do not wish to. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

And one day, the hunger became too much. I summoned the demon who tricked me, and begged for food. I begged and begged and begged. I offered everything I had, from the little weapons I had to my very bones. They refused, as they could get bones whenever they like and mine are brittle anyway.

So, I took my dagger made of iron and i clawed and scratched and bit until they were no more. I feasted that day, though it burned like hellfire. I was not weak, not feeble, not meek any longer. I wanted the demon and everything they held dear to suffer. So I planned. I raised an army of billions. Billions and billions of undead soldiers, marching into the depths of hell. Some burned, some cowards, but billions we stayed.

The weak have become the strong, and they are angry for what has been done to them. They bit, they clawed, they scratched and they won, just as I did. The dead do more than just speak, they scream. They scream about their crimes, about their past victories and losses. About their past lovers and enemies. About their past miracles and wars. Even the dead tell stories, if you just care to listen.