5 Months after the plague started in Promised Land
Regulus slammed his fist against the table, the sound echoing violently through the grand hall.
Half the cardinals flinched instinctively—the other half couldn't, for they were already dead. Victims of the Red Slumber.
Their desperate attempts to contain the plague had proven futile. The protocols were flawed, the response chaotic, and the death toll unthinkable.
The most common fate was grotesque: blood gushing from the eyes, mouth, and ears until the body gave out in a gruesome display of suffering.
Even the medical staff, hardened by years of battlefield wounds and illness, had started to break. Some had gone mad. Others had taken their own lives.
And yet, their God remained silent.
Despite fervent daily prayers and desperate rituals, not even the holiest of them could stop the spread. No miracles came. No divine healing as their faith, once unshakable, had begun to crack.
