The bandits lay dead. The two hellish monsters awaited while their master calmly inspected the devastation.

Holly, already with her ass on the ground, backpedaled furiously. It dirtied her beautiful blue dress, but she didn’t have the presence of mind to deal with that too. A far more pressing question loomed in her mind.

What the hell had just happened?

“Y- You…” she said, raising a trembling finger. “You’re a necromancer!”

“I am,” replied the man, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His face was the picture of tranquility.

If he stood by himself, he might have seemed good-natured, naive, even. But now, he was surrounded by corpses, blood, and gore, with two skeletal monsters by his side. Their empty eyes stared through her soul, ready to devour her, or whatever it was that skeletons did to humans.

Her eyes darted to the dead bandits. That’s what skeletons did to humans. She was going to die, that much was certain. Things had just gone from bad to worse. What was a necromancer doing here? And why did he seem so damn cheerful?!

Holly was no hero. She was just a terrified village girl. She didn’t want to die. Her hands clasped the stalk of wood nettle hanging from her chest, hoping it would protect her, as the priests said.

“P- Please don’t kill me,” she muttered, trembling to her soul.

“Sure,” replied the humanoid incarnation of evil. “Why would I?”

“Why?” Holly gawked. Was he making fun of her? This was so ridiculous that her tongue moved by itself. “Because you’re evil!”

“Evil?” He blinked innocently. He smiled. “No, I’m not.”

“But you’re a necromancer!” She groaned. He was obviously mocking her, but what could she do? She was scared. She didn’t want to die. She desperately had to delay as much as possible. Perhaps Murdock or her father would arrive in time.

“Not all necromancers are evil.” The devil smiled again, pointing at himself. “Like me.”

“But—but—what about them?” She pointed at the two skeletal monsters. “These boney abominations!”

The boar-looking thing snorted, cold air escaping its nostrils, and Holly shrieked as she moved backward again. Her back hit another tree and she cursed; did this forest need to have so many damn trees?

“Hey now, that’s not very polite,” replied the necromancer, sounding… concerned? He bent down, patting the skull of the dreadful boar-like-thing. “These are no abominations, they just seem unusual. This is Boboar, and the smaller one is Foxy. Guys, say hi.”

The fox-thing let out a soft cry, while the boar-thing oinked and charged at her. Holly screamed, shutting her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid.” The evil wizard laughed, as if her imminent demise was funny. “He just wants to play!”

Holly was expecting agony and death, but neither came. “Ah?” Eventually, she opened her eyes just a bit; the boar-thing’s terrifying form was very close, leaning forward as if to smell her dress. It then ran a circle around her—and the tree she was backed against—before letting out a joyful oink.

“What?” muttered Holly. Her entire body was numb and her mind felt hazy, completely unable to follow this chain of events. “This is impossible…” she muttered out loud. “I must have died already. Is this a dream?”

“No.” The man laughed again. “I told you, it’s okay. I’m a good guy, and these two are my friends. We aren’t going to harm you. What’s your name?”

“Holly…” she whispered, eyes glazed over. Today was simply too much.

“It’s nice to meet you, Holly. I’m Jerry.”

“Are you… Are you really not going to kill me?”

Her heart still beat like a racing carriage, but she wasn’t dead yet. Was it possible?

“Of course I’m not going to kill you,” Jerry replied, stretching a hand to help her up. She looked at it, shivered, then stood up by herself. The necromancer shrugged.

“But you’re a necromancer,” she said, dusting herself off. By the side, the two skeletal animals awaited, but now she could function. Somewhat. “Aren’t necromancers supposed to kill people?”

“Some do, but not me—at least not without a reason. I’m a good necromancer.”

“But then you can’t use their bodies.”

“That’s okay. And besides—” he gestured at the dead bandits— “look at how conveniently these three showed up.”

She gave him the side-eye. “You’re weird.”

“I get that a lot.” He smiled, tapping his temple. “Something in here is not right, but that’s okay. Not everyone has to be normal. I like me.”

Holly blinked. “Are you crazy?” she asked.

“I don’t think so, but maybe I am. It’s hard to tell.”

“How can it be hard?” she asked curiously. Despair gave way to a rush of adrenaline, easily mistaken for excitement, even by herself. “Do you see things that don’t exist? Do you hear voices?”

The boar thing bumped on her leg and she yelped.

“None of those.” Jerry shook his head. “It’s just, you know… I spent six months in solitude, and before that I’d gone fifteen years straight with a massive headache. Maybe some part of my brain got fried? The way my mind works now feels odd, as if something in there is wrong, but I don’t mind. If it’s weird, it’s weird.”

“Oh,” said Holly, her brain jittery. She felt confused. Was this what necromancers were supposed to be like? She looked by her feet, where Boboar lay on the ground, unperturbed by the blood and gore on its tusks.

Wait, why am I not affected by the blood? Is it the shock? Am I in shock?

She looked over, at the dead bodies. One had been stomped through the chest, blood, skin, and entrails spreading out of the man’s body like tree roots. Deep down, some part of her screamed and retched at the sight—but it felt strangely distant, as if there was a different Holly trapped inside her, struggling to escape, and this Holly, the one outside, was so, so cold.

In fact, her entire body suddenly felt cold.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, then fainted on the spot.

***

Jerry regarded the unmoving corpses sprawled against the forest floor. He was honestly excited; it was the first time he’d had human bodies to experiment with.

Idly, he wondered whether these young men were simply joking with Holly before an oversized skeletal boar decided to maul them. Jerry really hoped that wasn’t the case. He had heard screams, and there were wicked shortswords on the ground.

Perhaps the girl could explain. She looked to be about sixteen, with blond hair and an oval, freckled face, while a now-dirty, frilly blue dress covered her body. She also wore rough wooden shoes, called clogs, quite to Jerry’s glee; perhaps her village lacked a proper shoemaker.

She also wore a string around her neck, from which hung a piece of wood nettle. This plant supposedly repelled undead, though Jerry had discovered no such inclination of them—it was mere superstition, apparently, one that practically everyone believed in. Some people even carried these itchy plants around at all times, just in case the Damn Wall fell, as if they wouldn’t have time to grab a handful from the forest then. It was kinda stupid, really, but understandable, as it gave people the illusion of protection, an imaginary shield against the terror.

The wood nettle did mark the girl as someone prejudiced against necromancers.

Next to her, a herb-filled basket lay on the ground, its contents spilling out by the soiled ends of her dress. There was no reason to wear such a garment in the forest, of course, but it wasn’t Jerry’s business to comment.

However, just as he was done answering her questions and about to ask his own, the girl in front of him simply slumped over, falling on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Of course, he thought. Resist the shock when it’s your turn, but give in when it’s mine.

Scoffing, he looked around. Trees everywhere. No village to be seen. Jerry scratched his head, wondering what he was supposed to do with an unconscious girl. He couldn’t just guess where her village was, so he’d just have to wait until she woke up—and patiently enjoy his lunch in the meantime. After all, if she was in a hurry, she shouldn’t have fainted.

Mhm, alright then, he concluded, nodding to himself.

He grabbed Holly and placed her on Boboar’s back, careful not to injure her. “Let’s go, guys. That squirrel won’t eat itself.”

It was then that the bushes behind Jerry shook.

“NOOO!” came a voice, and Jerry looked over warily. The next moment, a middle-aged man leaped out with surprising agility. He was skinny and tall, wearing fine blue leather boots, while he had loose purple robes covering his body. Strict lines framed his eyes, and his face was a sharp kind of aged. But most notably, the man had a wicked mustache, thin and stretching from cheek to cheek, which Jerry thought was pretty cool.

He was also unarmed, vaporizing Jerry’s wariness.

“Get away from her, you squander of gifts!” shouted the middle-aged man, taking in Jerry’s form. A judgemental frown was immediately plastered on his face. The necromancer, on the other hand, found the older man’s reaction pretty cute; what would he do, scold him? That is, until blue sparks appeared on the man’s fingers.

“Wait!” Jerry raised his hands. “This isn’t what it look—”

Lightning zapped him and all went black.