The slow collapse of a gigantic tree was not a peaceful sight.

The behemoth was almost a hundred feet tall, towering over everything else in the forest. Its dark bark moaned and screamed as it titled, the tree’s own weight ripping part of its torn trunk apart, and then it fell.

The entire forest shook. The tree’s crown, long entangled with the wide foliage, made a series of cracking sounds as it was forcefully dislodged. The nearby trees protested, their topmost branches and leaves crumbling, entwined as they were. As the massive tree made its way down, the sky rained wood, and the swirling leaves came soon after.

The battle had come to a complete halt. On the ground, everyone ran for their lives. On the treehouses, survival had become difficult as everything shook much more than it had any right to. Several bandits fell, screaming before going silent, and even Reymond himself almost lost his balance before dropping on all fours and hugging the bridge for dear life.

The remaining five Billies, thanks to their balance, all made it.

“NO!” A desperate, unwilling scream cut through the noise, flooding everyone’s ears and reaching towards the sky. The sound was so strong that a few bandits, disoriented, lost their balance and fell to the far-off ground.

In front of everyone’s eyes, Jericho struggled to hold up the tree—an impossible task, however herculean he might be. One man fought against the odds and did his best, making for almost a heartbreaking sight before the large tree slammed on top of said man and obliterated him.

Wow, thought Jerry, mouth gaping. I don’t care how strong he is, he’s not surviving that.

The massive tree had been toppled, landing on and squashing a few smaller trees on its way. An earthquake occured, as well as a monumental amount of terrified animal sounds from everywhere, before everything suddenly regained their peace. The ground stopped shaking, the sounds stopped their assault. Everything was as it used to be, save for the massive fallen tree and the death of Jericho.

Reymond gazed at his opponent, the bald, towering bandit.

“Will you keep fighting?” he asked. The bandit pointed his greatsword at Reymond. He laughed. “So you will.”

Standing up on the hanging bridge, Captain Reymond swung with force, meeting the bandit’s greatsword head-on. His reflexes may have waned with age, but his strength had not, and his battle experience had only gotten richer. At this moment, standing on top of a swinging, hanging bridge, Captain Reymond was at his peak.

He roared as he fought, unleashing attack after attack, but his opponent held on. This bandit was shaping up, actually; Reymond’s expertise was met in kind, and any deficiencies were made up with by the bandit’s superior strength.

Captain Reymond had served in the Wall and in the army’s elite forces for many years. He had endured grueling training by the best, over and over again, fought in a number of life-and-death battles, and rose through the ranks until last year, when he retired to enjoy the peaceful life of an in-Kingdom guard.

He was incredibly deadly. For this bandit to match him was an absolute miracle!

“Who are you?” Reymond asked in wonder, their blades entwined in a complex dance of death and metal.

“None of your goddamn business,” spat out the bandit in a deep, rough voice, speaking for the first time.

“Hmph!” the Captain snorted.

One strike followed the other as they fought, equally matched. Their battle dragged on, but a single mistake would determine the victor.

Around them, the Billies fought on as well. Most of the bandits had retreated after Jericho’s fall, panickedly stomping towards the ladders, sending many of their brethren tumbling to the ground in their blind rush.

The Billies chased them down.

Arrows were still raining from every direction, but the Billies did not care, for they were zombies.

Only Reymond was troubled by the arrows, but the bandits didn’t pay him much mind. They trusted in the bald leader of theirs.

Suddenly, Reymond struck a hit against the bald man, pushing him backward and earning himself a respite. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth and let out a tremendous roar.

“You’ll all die!” he declared loudly. “Just surrender already!”

Each time a Billy fell was like a nail driven into his heart. He knew that once an undead was destroyed, they could no longer be reanimated.

***

A particular bandit made his way down a far-off ladder, made to mesh with the bark. Plopping his feet on the earth, he allowed himself a deep, long sigh before breaking into a run.

The bandit’s usually handsome face was now riddled with worry, while his bare, marble-chiseled chest was matted in dirt.

I made it! thought Brad as he ran. Hah, let those suckers kill themselves. I’m out of here!

His leg suddenly went cold. He tumbled to the ground, and when he looked behind him in confusion, he saw an arrow sticking out of his calf.

“...What?” he muttered, unable to believe it.

“You must be Brad.”

A large, menacing figure walked out of the woods. A bronze-skinned man it was, machete in one hand and bow in the other, while his eyes bore a storm.

“I—Ah—Yes!” cried out Brad. The cold receded from his leg, letting in a burning itch that quickly turned into searing pain. “Ah!” he screamed. “My leg! Fuck, fuck, my leg!”

“You’re lucky it was your leg,” the man above him rumbled. “I could have aimed for your balls.”

Cold sweat poured out of Brad’s face.

“Who,” he muttered, “who are you?”

The man’s eyes were suddenly filled with darkness.

“I am Holly’s father, you son of a bitch. And I’m here for revenge.”

“Holly?!”

Brad’s mind exploded with fear. “It was a joke!” he yelled. “A joke! I love her!”

The man put away his bow, grabbing the machete with both hands. His grip tightened.

“I’ve caught many animals, boy,” he spat out, “but you’re the dirtiest of them all.”

He took a step, raising his weapon high.

“No!” screamed Brad, crawling backward. He was already so blinded by fear that he couldn’t feel his pierced leg, couldn’t think. But as fast as he crawled, the looming man was faster.

“No!” Brad screamed again. “Spare me! I will give you anything, I swear! I won’t do it again! Men, help me! Help!”

But how could anybody come to his assistance? After all, it was Brad himself who had run away from his men. The machete began to fall.

“Burn in hell, you son of a bitch.”

“NO!” screamed Brad, and his scream continued even after his head had been severed. Eventually, his body slumped, and to the side, his head stilled, eyes forever frozen in fear.

Derek stood over the corpse for a moment, taking in the grim spectacle. He shook his head. Then, wordlessly, he placed the bloodied machete on his shoulder and walked away, leaving Brad’s body as food for the forest critters.

Revenge had been had.

***

On the ground battle, however, the situation had been growing more and more hectic. There had only been ten guards at the start, half of them dead already, but a steady stream of fleeing bandits rushed down from the ladders. Some of them chose to keep fleeing, but a few others joined their brethren and fought against the undead.

Headless was being overwhelmed, what with his head tossed aside, and Boboar was struggling to make it. In the end, he was just a strong boar, and many bandits were experienced enough to simply jump aside when he charged.

Jerry was assisting them from the side, hidden in the bushes, and Boney intercepted whoever approached said bushes, but it was a downhill battle.

That all changed when Axehand felled the tree and turned on the bandits, his bark-sprinkled axe-hands shining in the moonlight. They’d frozen, then roared and charged him; with their superiority over Headless and Boboar, their confidence had resurged.

Axehand let out a mocking grunt. His thick white bulk exploded with strength, chopping them apart as one would vegetables. The bandits were powerless to resist; more were felled with each swing, like saplings before a lumberjack, until the roars turned into screams and confidence turned into panic.

The battle’s tide had flipped.

“You’ll die!” A bellow was suddenly heard from above. “Just surrender already!”

The bandits reacted as if they’d seen the light; they dropped their weapons at once, some still running and others falling flat on the ground. Axehand’s blade paused in front of one man’s throat—on Jerry’s orders, of course.

On the treehouses and bridges above, the panicking bandits dropped their weapons and screamed surrender. Even the black bandanas faltered, and the bald man facing Reymond hesitated.

“Stop.” He raised a palm. “We surrender.”

His voice was low, yet echoed over the entire battle.

“Give me your blade,” said Reymond.

“Over my dead body.”

“Hmph. Suit yourself. Don’t try anything funny.”

“I won’t if you don’t.”

“Good.”

Reymond organized the descent from above, forming the captive bandits into lines in front of the ladders. Jerry, meanwhile, had rounded up the ground-level guards under Axehand’s watchful eyes. As it was, that interesting woman, Loretta, had survived the battle and was currently glaring at Boney.

“Good job, everyone.” The necromancer smiled. “You did great.”

The undead cheered; the battle had indeed gone perfectly, everything according to plan. Of their numbers, only three Billies had fallen, and Jerry hadn’t even had a chance to use his back-up skeletons. It was a resounding, near-perfect victory.

“I must say—” Derek approached with a chuckle—“I did not expect things to go this smoothly.”

“Haha, I feel the same, my friend.” Reymond showed a big smile. “This plan sounded far too ludicrous to work.”

“Why?” asked Jerry. “Details aside, we just had the world’s greatest lumberjack cut down a tree. Seems fine to me.”

“Details aside, he says.” Reymond laughed. “You’re a piece of art, my boy, a piece of art. And I have to admit… you fought well. I never expected a necromancer to be so caring.”

“Same to you, Captain.” Jerry returned the smile. “You totally kicked their asses up there. I am thoroughly impressed by you and the Billies, and also by Derek, who managed to land that shot.”

“A simple matter.” The hunter laughed. “In fact, I did so little that I’m ashamed. It’s the two of you, along with all of our undead friends, who deserve credit.”

Jerry turned towards his undead, giving them a warm, proud smile. “Yeah…”

“I hate to interrupt,” Boney stepped in, motioning towards the waiting bandits, “but what should we do with them?”

“We should also look for Jericho’s body.” Derek cupped his chin. “There was a hefty bounty on his head, if I remember correctly.”

Reymond winked. “Oh, you do.”

“Good, then let’s—”

“Wait a moment,” the Captain spoke up, turning to the leader of the black bandanas. His gaze hardened. “Show me your wrist.”

The bandit stared, and Reymond stared back. A moment later, the black-bandana man raised his left hand and drew down the sleeve, revealing the tattoo of a simple, small feather.

Reymond gasped. So did Derek.

“Sworn…” said the Captain, drawing in his breath. “What—What the hell are you doing in this place? What do your wizard overlords want with this small forest?”

“As I said—” the Sworn lowered his sleeve again— “none of your goddamn business.”

Reymond frowned. “No, you will tell me, or—”

As if on cue, the earth rumbled. The undead, relaxing thus far, suddenly tightened up. Jerry, Derek, and Reymond started looking around, while the bandits were all terrified and huddled closer together. The black bandanas instantly formed a defensive formation. They weren’t tied—there had been no time.

The earth shook again and the air trembled, as if the entire world was about to explode. A sense of tremendous, horrifying power assaulted everyone, making their ears ring and their eyes waver. The earth moaned and howled, the wind picked up, the entire world seemed to shake.

“This can’t be good,” said Jerry.

The crown of the massive, fallen tree exploded. Wood and leaves flew everywhere as a hole was created in the debris, allowing a single figure to step forth. The second he appeared, the air seemed to turn dense, the forest seemed to turn greener. Terror gripped everyone’s hearts like a cold, iron hand.

Jericho stood there in all his glory. His wild dark hair fluttered in the wind, his seven-foot-tall body pulsing with power. He was practically steeped in green blood, but even as they watched, tendrils of golden energy crawled up his body from the ground below, repairing him, closing his more than deadly wounds, reforming his organs.

His body was filled with golden crevices that slowly began to grow thinner. As he stood there, his mere presence exuding undeniable, utterly dominating power, gone was the refined man, gone was the razor-sharp grace. He was a beast of rage, a man pushed to the brink, a natural disaster waiting to happen, an absolute monster. In front of this force of nature, it didn’t matter how many they were; there was nothing they could do. Death felt certain.

His eyes shone green as he turned them at Jerry and roared, “I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU!”