“Has nobody noticed our infection?” The Sponsor asked, leafing through the various printed reports, while the executor of the plan was watching the monitors and monitoring the prediction models in comparison to the confirmed spread of their rather unique disease.
“You mean our slow but willing genocide of those considered Gods? No. The Muzerkers were wiped from the records, so no one but the Courts are aware of the capabilities their music has in the wrong hands.” The Executer smiled darkly, its barely humanoid form hidden beneath a frayed cloak. The sponsor was also wearing a full body disguise, so neither would know what each other looked like, nor each other’s idenities.
Unfortunately for the Sponsor, who was human and therefore had a definitive form, his Exectuor was actually one of the beings he was trying to wipe out. Luckily for it though, it was one of the forgotten and bound ones, and so was not associated with the Ideas they were infecting and depowering.
The Executer was almost impressed at the tenacity of the human, if not for the fact he had stumbled so blindly into the Executer’s own trap.
“The beauty of music, especially in sentient predatory species, is how willing they are to share it. Since a musical malaise has not been recorded in hundreds of years, most of the populace will be willing transmitters of our disease. And with the introduction of Earth-13’s technology, it has become even easier.
With music, the masses can be swayed to believe anything, to do anything. From something as simple as finding beauty in the darkness of the world, to something as fundamental to reality as stripping the Gods of their power.”
What the Executer didn’t say, was that Earth-13’s technology, while a hotbed of infectivity for this unique pathogen, made it quite clear something was wrong with the melodic malady playing. The pathogen would wholly infect the owner, but it often burnt out the technology used to infect, leaving a very noticeable trail.
The Sponsor put the files back in their place, and proceeded to get up and head towards the exit of the Executer’s hideout.
“I’ll be back next week to check on the progress.”
The Executer’s nodded its garbed head, and waited until its monitors showed the Sponsor had left the building, before heading to the rooftops.
It went right to the edge, the wind billowing the cape eerily around its grotesquely emaciated form.
Humanity has been doomed since its inception, doomed to its own willing suicide.
A green sickly orb of energy was now held in each of it’s hands.
“And as we watch it spread.” A hand released an orb of the plagued energy, watching as it spiralled around the city, finding those afflicted by the musical malaise and activating the Executer’s trap.
“The living become dead.” The other hand crushed the orb it held, connecting the now awakened Horde of Hunger to their new Prince.
“Spread, my Contagion. Our lords have long since passed, and it is time their legacy was taken back by the rightful heir.” The Ravenous Prince stood, sickly green energy glowing through its cloak.