Ghost of Dalmos

m the cruel hands of the night, a fiendish owl on a gravestone called my name with a kindl

then looking back at intervals to make sure that no one was on my trail. I was scare

d day. I was alone in their company. I saw shadows lurking

t. The bug had bitten me, no doubt. It was winning while I was losing ground on my desire to reach my ho

re things a man must ignore. Nobody conquers while he set his sight on things that do not exist. I threw the confusion b

aking my leg off another twig. The more I tried to shake off the twig, the mor

ly of the grave. As I battled to free my poor soul from the evil grip, I lost my balance and found myself struggling to stay aliv

hand. The bones cracked and my freedom came like a rushing wind. I jumped to m

me and I was few poles away from the exit when it slammed shut and a grievous whirlwind emerged from the ground and began to ruin the yard. The boisterous wind blew as if the world would pe

I expected would happen. I was shocked how I still found myself in one piece. There were no frac

thical creatures began to pour out of the ground. Zombies formed out of the ground, carrying swords, long spears and short-handled battle-axes with heads as big as the head of a four-fisted wr

nees knocked ferociously together. As they approached me, I began to back step. I stumbled on a mango tree. Large hands emerged from the tree and grabbed hold