[ Fᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴏɴ @WᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅAsɪᴀɴFᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ, @Fᴀɴᴛᴀsʏ, @Aᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ @ᴍʏᴛʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇɢᴇɴᴅ ]
Wᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ Iɴᴅɪᴀ Aᴡᴀʀᴅs 2021 Wɪɴɴᴇʀ (Tʜᴀᴛ Sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ Qᴜᴇsᴛ)
ONC 2021 Lᴏɴɢʟɪsᴛᴇʀ
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As mysterious flash-floods rising from a dam reservoir begin drowning the town of K...
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The dead saw their first ray of sunlight in a thousand years. They slipped out of their cold catacombs and drifted towards the water surface.
Although heavily dimmed by the layer of clouds blocking its path, the dawn sunlight warmed and dried the layer of papery skin clothing their deteriorating bones. The dead bobbed across the water surface, groaning as the water whispered sweet words into their ears. It sang of a city it would build ground up over the catacombs that had once imprisoned them, where they would never be denied of the sun ever again. All it needed were citizens to run the city, and that could be provided by the dead. The dead, unsure of the water's intentions, hummed an approval and floated along like leaves in autumn. The water had resurrected them after all, pouring life into their decomposing bodies and letting them come back as nishacharas, zombies. They climbed onto the buildings yet to be submerged by the water and basked in the bright sunlight.
Hurry along, urged the water, awaken your kind trapped within those buildings. We require more citizens.
The nishacharas obliged and scoured the buildings in droves, the atrophy in their muscles and bones compensated for by the magic the water had used to bring them back to life. They broke through windows and scavenged floors, hungry as a flock of parrots descending on a paddy field before harvest. Survivors screamed and scrambled for cover, but they were dragged out by their legs and drafted into their horde. The dead awakened their kind, held their hands and raised them from their graves. Droves of nishacharas clustered on rooftops, singing praises to the water that had given them life. The water gurgled merrily underneath them, joyous to see the univocal approval of its design.
Their heads whipped around in unison towards the south when the wind howled a wrong note to their ears. They growled and moved to face the tallest building in their vicinity, which had sunk deep into the mud. When its front wall rippled like a puddle in the rain, the nishacharas had straightened and leaned forward to get a better look.
The burst of air lashing out from within the centre of the ripple robbed their ears of their hearing. The vacuum it left behind in its wake dismantled the nishacharas caught in its path at their joints. It ripped their muscles from their bones, and vessels from their muscles as it passed through them, shattering and scattering the decaying matter layer by layer across the rooftops and the water. Those who were saved by the virtue of their position and luck were thrown back into the water from the shock waves of the impact.
The fabric of space parted as Daminey breached its membrane, breaking her fall on a low-lying rooftop with a nimble tuck and roll. She coughed and wiped the layer of blood coating her glistening black armor. Her Samudra's organ let her golden tattoos pulse to the rhythm of her fluttering heart. Steam spiralled from her heels as she skidded to a halt. She retracted her facial armor to catch her breath.
