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Day of the Worm

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Creepypasta - day of the worm09:30

Creepypasta - day of the worm

"Day of the Worm" by Killahawke - Creepypasta13:01

"Day of the Worm" by Killahawke - Creepypasta

Narrated by Creeparoni

''The Day of the Worm'' by Killahawke1 Creepypasta14:31

''The Day of the Worm'' by Killahawke1 Creepypasta

Narrated by DrCreepenVanPasta

"Day of the Worm" by Killahawke115:22

"Day of the Worm" by Killahawke1

Sid's Super Sidious Creepypastas

What are dreams?

What are they really? Are they bits and pieces of memories thrown together without design or purpose? Might they whisper secrets of future days to come or be recollections from days long passed? Perhaps our soul is expelled from our bodies each night, thrust out into the void, traveling to wondrous lands and beyond the limits of our physical form? Consider this, what if our dreams are more than mere nonsense, but premonitions of adventures not yet had? What if your dreams spoke to you as if it were a mentor? A mentor whose only purpose is to prepare you for something great? Honestly, I don’t have any answers. I wish I did. However, do you have the courage and imagination to allow yourself to simply ask, "what if"?

Tell me, have you ever had a dream you felt was so real, your waking life felt distant and unfulfilled? Have you ever dreamt a dream that reveals glimpses of your true full potential? Do you know of any dream that fills you with such sorrow upon awakening, each morning, to desire with all your might that your eyes will open to a brand new life, yet never does it come? With every rising sun, that is the burden I bare. However, such sadness does not consume me, for I know my dreams are so much more than simple desires and wishful thinking. They are so much more than you could possibly imagine. For you see, my dreams are preparing me for great things to come, I know that to be the truth!

No, I am not offended when you roll your eyes; you are not the first I’ve tried to tell. You are not first to have mocked my words. Most simply laugh out of amusement and others feign looks of pity towards me. Truly, in their view of the world, only a child would entertain such nonsense in their heads. They are the ones to pity, for they are blinded and only see a land of make believe, a fairy tale fabricated from the mind of a child! In their world view, a child orphaned as an infant, who never knew the embrace of a mother’s love or guidance of a father still possessed a birthright of greatness. Nor would they consider such a waif could excel above all others with only the determination of his heart and by the strength in his hands. Yet, I hold no malice, for their conclusions are not without logic, albeit sadly shortsighted. That is all about to change for tomorrow is the day when all will be revealed! For tomorrow is my birthday and when I am gone, they will have no other choice but to admit they were wrong!

Tomorrow that day I have longed for its coming for as long as I can remember, for it is the day my dreams foretold: “Before the sun sets on your five and tenth year of life, you shall return with hope and salvation on your back and light in your hands. By your blade, you will rid the land of the Worm.”

That is what I see every night when I surrender to sleep, my friends. So close your eyes and let me take you on this journey. Who knows, perhaps you too will find a path to your true potential. For one brief moment, let go of all your doubts. Listen to my voice and let me tell you about my dreams.

In my dreams, there’s a realm so close to our own that only the width of a hair separates the two. Existing side by side, unaware of one another, yet they are so far apart that traveling the distance would take a thousand years. It is a medieval realm where science and magic live next to each other as beloved friends. Machines and technology, sorcery and magic, here they are one. No difference can be seen in matters of wizarding and engineering, sorcerers and teachers, or even between magic and medicine. This realm is ruled by six great nations, each under a king and queen of virtuous heart and noble blood. Castles and villages, farms and towns pepper the land. All live simplistic lives with a hint of technologies both natural and mystical.


The Weapons of the Seventh Altar

In my dreams, I see a beautiful domed temple made from ivory white stone. The temple is home to six sacred weapons made from enchanted steel, a gift from a goddess. She offered these weapons in preparation for the day foretold, the day of the Worm. The weapons are wielded by a warrior from each nation; personally chosen by the goddess herself. Revered are those blades, but in the center of the temple, is the seventh altar; the most revered spot to be found. Upon this altar rests the armor and weapons of the seventh son of a seventh son. The son who was conceived under the darkness of the eclipse of three moons and produced a bloodline from the joining of a mortal and a god. This child’s spirit will unite the realms in their darkest hour.

These will be my weapons, enchanted steel of silver and blue. My armor is impenetrable, yet impossibly light. On my right hand, I wear my gauntlet which serves as my shield. It houses a disk that three blades emerge from with a deadly snap. When flung, it obeys my will and with lethal precision and lays waste to all of my foes. It then faithfully returns to my hand without fail every time. My sword was forged from the last remnants from Creation and cooled with the very essence of life. It is the mortal enemy of rot and decay. It can never be broken, nothing can shatter its blade, and it is impervious to impact; never will its edge be dulled. The jewel in the hilt is my symbol and banner. It is the eye that shines a light in defiance of the abomination of desolation.


Day of the Worm

In my dreams, I see a day in which black rain falls from the sky. A downpour of ropy strands of greenish-black tar pours from the clouds. Its touch brings corrosion and decay upon all it falls upon. The arrival of the Worm is heralded by a clap of thunder as his fortress bursts through the clouds. It pierces the ground like a dagger stabbed into flesh! It is a jagged and pointed, crystalline citadel with bulbous blister-like domes upon its walls. This is the throne from where the Worm will conquer and reign. Waterfalls of black water pour from the dark fortress. It is the source of the decay that spreads from the mountain's base. A black mold of writhing masses of tentacles and tendrils overcome the land, rotting everything into nothingness; except for one thing: the dead. For what is warlord without an army of pawns?

The Citadel

The Citadel of the Worm

The dead are absorbed and used as vessels for the Worm's decay to take form. They are the eyes, the foot, and the iron fist of the Worm. They are incredibly fast and primal in their attack with fingers like daggers and with limbs sharp as spears. The Worm fills its ranks with the deceased and slain flesh of the surrounding villages with a gluttonous appetite. The blisters from the walls of its fortress are then released and its army of decayed and mindless drones carry the smelly, rotting mass into the heart of all six nations. It will plant itself into the ground and become extensions of the mind and will of the Worm. From here it will wage war against every man, woman, and child with a battle cry of a death rattle screamed from the lips of their neighbors and loved ones.

Army of the Worm

The Army of the Worm

In my dreams, I see the goddess blessing the six warriors from each of the nations before spiriting away the seventh set of armor and weapons from the walls of the vulnerable temple. She hides the items in a place far from the Worm’s reach where they will wait until claimed by the child foretold to come. In a final act of sacrifice, I see the goddess exhausting the last of her immortality in order to open a door of light. She places a tiny infant within the entrance and before closing the door she says with tears in her eyes, “Goodbye, my beloved. Goodbye, my son.”

It is twenty minutes to midnight, the day of my fifteenth birthday. I sit on the wooden floor and I am trembling next to a heated stove. I tremble not from the cold but from a heart-gripping fear. However, make no mistake, I do not tremble out of fear of what's to come! Hardship and evading the designs of wicked men are not unfamiliar roads to me! I am not afraid of my future or the many battles I will fight. I do not fear the day when I march against an army of a thousand rotting corpses. I am not afraid! No, none of that scares me! I want that life so much! Do you want to know what really scares me, what truly has me filled with such terror and dread? What scares me the most is this:

“I am so afraid that when tomorrow finally arrives, it will come and go like any other ordinary day.”

Written by KillaHawke1
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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