Chapter 1
I limped toward the door, my fingers curling around the hilt of the knife. They got the old man, I thought, jaw clenched against the ache in my leg. They won't get me...
Another creak echoed from the hall, followed by a guttural cough that sounded grating like sandpaper.
It was one of those things again. Was it truly one of the undead?
Why do they keep chasing me?
My grip tightened on the knife, knuckles whitening. The agony in my body was a glaring reminder:
Fighting is out of the question.
Flashes rose from that place, answering questions I never asked. They aren't mine, and I don't think they ever were. I gave that voice, those dead instincts, with a name. Every gravestone needs a name for the lost.
Oh, so you think it's a bad idea too?
I eased the door open just a crack, holding my breath, the wood groaning softly under my palm. A rush of chilled air blew in, mixed with the scent of decay.
It rasped in surprise, a wet, startled hiss escaping its decayed throat as the door swung inward of its own accord. It stumbled forward, shambling into the room with uneven steps. Each one accompanied by a soft grating sound as if it was dragging something.
The door, my shield, was pushed into me as it bumped against it. As I hid from its sight, I caught a glimpse of its foot: rotted flesh peeling away to reveal skeletal bone in patches, mottled and foul. I closed my eyes and took a deep silent breath.
As it entered, the atmosphere curdled around it, heavy and suffocating. Shadows seemed to drip upward from its form like ashes rising from an invisible flame, coiling and twisting against the natural light.
The room itself felt like it was decaying in its presence. The walls sagging imperceptibly, dust thickening into a haze, the air growing thick with the smell of rot. Outside, rain hammered through the roof hole like black tar, drumming a dark requiem.
It slowly scraped its way past the end table and the wardrobe. Whatever it was dragging clanked as it went over part of the jutting flooring. It croaked a questioning sound, and stopped, resumed seconds later.
I dared a quick peek around the door's edge, but the movement betrayed me. Its head snapped up, and a raspy war cry tore from its maw, echoing off the walls like tearing fabric.
My heart slammed against my ribs. A primal terror riveted me to the spot, my limbs locked in its icy grip.
I need to run, I have to move!
My thoughts shifted gears and a feeling, not a voice washed over me.
I regained control of myself and decided to peek once again.
It stared into the fractured mirror at its own reflection, its body a desiccated husk, tall and gaunt, skin hanging in tatters over bones that poked through like jagged rocks. What had once been ceremonial garb was now frayed, filthy rags. They clung to its frame like burial shrouds long defiled.
Behind it trailed a weapon, ancient and blackened by time. The shaft was wrapped in ruined leather and tarnished metals, extended to nearly half of the weapon. The other half was dominated by a single edged blade, curved and covered in ancient corrosion. Etched into it were faint patterns and symbols lost to time.
Blue lights flickered in its empty eye sockets, glowing like distant stars in a rotted sky, but as it gazed at the mirror, black tears oozed from those hollows, streaking down its skull-like face in viscous trails.
I felt a small pang of empathy for this lost soul. The mirror has shown me a harsh reality too…
I looked at my knife. Those instincts dredged up from the black once again.
Heart pounding, I began my escape. Aiming to slip away while it was distracted, my foot caught on a loose floorboard, the wood splintering with a sharp crack as I tripped.
Slamming into the end table next to the door, the impact sent it toppling with a crash that echoed like thunder in the confined space.
A guttural screech exploded from the macabre giant like escaping steam. It moved with reluctant jerks, dragging its anchor to a life long gone with it.
Fear choked me, raw and desperate, my body feeling powerless against this towering horror locked up again. It raised its weapon to attack and the gears inside my mind began to click once more.
An instinctual command rippled through me and I obeyed, tumbling aside just as the blade pierced the floor where I had just lain. Gathering myself, I clutched my knife in my hand.
Rolling backwards over myself I nearly slammed into the wall.
Another thrust came, swift and lethal. I sprang upward, arms propelling me as I kicked my injured leg high, leaping back on my good one and landing with a wince, the pain shooting like fire.
The chill of the plaster seeped through my shirt as my back hugged the wall. The undead lunged again, blade point first; I twisted my head just enough, and it thudded into the wood beside my ear, splinters grazing my cheek.
Black tears continued to ooze from its sockets, streaking its skeletal face.
It groaned.
"Run…"
There was no mercy in its glowing eyes, only the relentless hunger for bloodshed.
It yanked its blade free in a smooth twisting flow, sweeping low with the shaft. The strike connected and my injured leg twisted under me, and I heard a sickening crack as it swept me off my feet. Slamming into the ground, stars bursting in my vision.
It loomed over me, and brought its blade up with both hands on the shaft. It looked down, face parted by the blade, ready to strike. It raised its arm up and panic surged through me, desperate and raw.
Defiance coursed through my being, a support lattice from that dim echo of a presence.
I won't let it end here… I can't give up. I refuse!
I scanned wildly for any escape, any out, my mind screaming for a way to survive.
A wardrobe loomed nearby, teetering one leg crooked and ready to collapse.
A cry of relief escaped my lips.
"That's it!"
I rolled and spun on the floor, lashing out with my good leg in a frantic kick that connected with the weak spot. The wardrobe groaned and toppled, crashing down onto us both in an avalanche of wood and dust.
I wriggled free clutching my knife, scrambling backward on elbows and heels, heart thundering as debris splintered around me. The creature was already breaking out, shards flying as it thrashed, its screech piercing the air.
Adrenaline surged and I tackled the living corpse. I pinned its arms with my knees and it began snapping at me, teeth clacking together in brittle snaps, fetid breath washing over my face.
Plunging the knife into its chest, swift and deep, a rasping exhale escaped.
It's over, I've won.
Its arms burst free, fingers like iron vises closing around my throat. They squeezed and stars exploded in my vision in a burning choke. I pushed harder, twisting the blade with a desperate grind. Its grip tightened, the world blurring, until a final raspy gasp escaped it, and its arms fell limp.
I fell back, clutching my throat. The knife, its mission complete, clattered to the floor. My heart pounded as I looked down at my legs. A shard of white bone jutted through my shin, and blood was pouring out. Pain buzzed and bloomed around the wound.
This can't be real… When did it even happen? I didn't even feel it!
A black shadow seeped from my enemy, coiling into a fuzzy orb of darkness that hovered before me. It spoke, the voice ancient and far away, laced with gratitude.
"Thank you. Freedom, a gracious gift. Accept my glaive as payment. A Reaper's tool. Befitting it falls into the care of one such as yourself..." A small echoing laugh permeated the area.
The shadow coalesced into a singularity that shot into my chest, slamming me to the floor. An unnatural heat spread from my core, a searing fire that rushed down my injured leg. The pain didn't lessen; it intensified into a white-hot agony. I gritted my teeth against a scream as I felt a sickening, grinding sensation, and the shard of bone retracting under my skin. It was followed by a loud, jarring POP that shook my whole frame.
Looking down through a blur of tears, I saw the gaping wound pulling itself shut, the edges of the flesh knitting together in a grotesque, rapid seam, leaving a puckered, waxy scar in its place. The smell of cooked meat filled my nostrils. I turned over and dry heaved, my body trembling uncontrollably.
What the hell was that? I wondered, pushing myself up. Tentatively, I put weight on the injured leg. It held, but a deep, grinding ache radiated from the bone. The fight had left me battered, aches blooming everywhere, my body trembling from the strain.
The world settled. The rain stopped. The oppressive weight lifted and a dull beam of light shot through the hole above me. The room lit up. The smell of earth and distant pine drifted in.
I looked over at the weapon, still clutched in the corpse's hand. I crawled over its disgusting remains and wrapped my fingers around the glaive's leather grip.
A violent jolt, hot and electric, shot up my arm. My mind flooded with a hungry, vicious thrum that vibrated in my bones. It wasn't him. It was the glaive. It wanted more. An image, unbidden, tore through my thoughts: the weapon's heavy blade cleaving through another undead, the crack of bone, the spray of black ichor.
A will to fight, dominate and slaughter, slowly began to consume me.
A short, sharp laugh burst from my lips, a sound so cruel it startled me.
<
I fought the murderous feeling back, my own horror rising to meet it. Hefting the weapon with effort, I used it to stand, my leg screaming in protest at the pressure.
I leaned my weight heavily against the glaive, the weapon now doubling as a necessary crutch. The ancient leather was smooth and worn under my fingers. My battle instincts hummed.
"I don't know if I can actually use this," I said aloud, my voice shaky, fighting back those cruel impulses. "It's much better than a rusty knife, at least."
I gazed at the remains and murmured, "Thank you. Rest, and dream a long, sleepless dream."
I gathered my few belongings. I draped the green woolen cloak over my shoulders, checking that my white shirt was still tucked into my black trousers. Over that went a coat for warmth. I pulled on my boots; they had seen better days, but they still held.
I started for the door, but a nagging tug pulled at the back of my mind. The need to bury it, to honor it. So I bundled the grotesque remains and dragged them out, scanning for more threats as I went. The hall stretched dark and dusty, walls of aged wood whispering forgotten histories.
The living room lay in ruins, nature reclaiming it with vines snaking through cracked floors and trees sprouting where planks had rotted away. Past the hearth, a massive hole gaped in the wall, leading outside to what had once been a well-kept farm, now overgrown and dilapidated, weeds choking the paths.
I hauled the bundle to the old stables, snatching a rusted shovel with a splintering shaft and began to dig. As I worked, my eyes caught on a set of deep tracks pressed into the soft earth nearby. They were massive, punctuated by the clear impression of heavy claws, but something about their pattern felt wrong, unnatural. I pushed the thought away, focusing on my grim task.
"I feel sorry for you," I muttered aloud, shoveling dirt back in until the grave was sealed. I patted the mound flat and jammed the shovel into the soil as a crude marker.
Cool air whispered through the clearing, rustling the trees that encircled the farm like sentinels ready to swallow it whole. Cicadas chirped in a relentless chorus, the world alive yet indifferent. I took a deep breath, thoughts swirling: Him. This place. Even me. All echoes of what once was.
Sinking to the ground, tears carved tracks through the grime on my face. I had no direction, no purpose. The only thing that was clear was survival in this shattered world.
As my sobs quieted, a small voice piped up behind me.
"So, was that a family member?" she asked.