Uno

I was moving down, floating as fast as I could.

The second floor was still like a blaring alarm, the sensation of an outsider appearing in a place where intrusion shouldn’t be possible scorching my mind.

It was weird.

Unusual.

Worrying.

Normally ants wandering my halls felt insignificant and unseen. Simply a part of my inner ecosystem - just... doing their thing. Even their constant battles were just an annoyance, nothing more. A rumbling in my metaphorical stomach.

Yet this feeling was different. Strong.

On the bright side, at least the intensity helped me quickly figure out the source. In a hindsight, it should be easy to predict since these aggressors came from the only other entrance into my domain - the underground river. An entrance that I completely ignored thus far. Maybe I should feel lucky that the invasion from this blind spot happened only now?

My heart grew colder as I considered my options. Sending Non or Guardian to hold the line was the best I could think of. Especially since the revenant was living just across the lake and could instantly teleport through the nearby shadows.

That left one question - how strong were the opponents?

I was quickly given an answer as one of the outsiders faded from existence. It was then swiftly devoured by the dungeon.

In other words - it had been killed.

A moment later I felt a familiar sensation - I was acquiring knowledge about the enemy. It was some kind of… snake. Yes, it felt just right. A small, brownish creature, with fangs full of venom. One death was not enough for a complete blueprint, but I was slowly getting there.

Soon another death followed, and another one.

This was good. It meant that my staple creatures - Ratlings and Lebirs - were strong enough to defend the second entrance.

I whistled with relief but continued my journey. There was always a chance that something could go wrong and personal touch would be needed.

Soon my translucent figure passed Glass Progenitor’s lake and arrived at the source of the disturbance.

And… a strange sight greeted me.

I was expecting a battlefield, full of furious creatures and crackling magic, bodies strewn everywhere.

What greeted me was a mix between a butcher shop and a bazaar…

The small clearing near the river proper had been enlarged tenfold, the stone chipped away by the patient workers. This created a large harbor plaza with piers and massive wooden constructions reaching up to the ceiling. Around it, a whole bunch of Ratlings was milling about between various shabby structures squeaking, hauling items, bags, and even some squirming creatures.

Near the water, a small butchery was constructed - if a simple wooden square complete with a sturdy table even could be called so. It was just big enough to allow easy work… and work constantly it did, taking care of a constant stream of snakes that were being hauled inside. In the middle of it stood two Lebirs, banged up and lacking legs but still capable enough to kill any provided prey.

They expertly caught wriggling prisoners, stabbed them through the eye, and then threw the remains into a large basket nearby. When filled a few Ratlings dragged it off to a nearby bloodied pit and dumped its contents on the ground, where dungeon magic did its thing greedily devouring the messy contents.

After a while, I noticed that both Lebirs had a small Ratling Black Mage sitting on their shoulder, waving its hands like some kind of a furry conductor. Each of them was a picture of concentration, up to a small tongue licking a chaffed upper lip, painting a disturbingly human expression.

As I watched them work another thing drew my attention. A screeching transport had arrived at the harbor.

Or should I say… how the hell I didn’t notice this thing straight away?

The Ratlings - because who, but them - managed to construct a whole railway-like structure directly under the river ceiling. It was a rickety thing, groaning and shaking with each use yet somehow remaining whole.

Large logs were fitted into mined-out openings and then reinforced with metal. The structure showed signs of being remade again and again. Unlike the dull brown of common wood, the materials showed a silvery sheen, similar to the trees growing in my aura. I began to suspect that the ongoing deforestation wasn’t humanity’s complete fault.

Under the scaffolding, I spied two “rails” with small grooves carved into their upper section. They were connected to each other, creating a monstrously long oval allowing the “train cars” to continue their endless journey. The hazardous construction continued into the distance, eventually disappearing behind the river rapids and the cold fog they emitted.

I couldn’t even imagine the amount of ratpower that went into completing this task. For all that I knew the second station of this wooden railroad could be hundreds of meters or even kilometers away!

A moment passed and something slowly emerged from the darkness while clacking and clocking. It was another haphazard thing, a platform with barely any free space, no safety railings, and - right in the middle - a big wheel with rods sticking out on all sides. A group of Ratlings was toiling away, pushing the central piece forward and, by the extension of a complicated gear system, the rest of the contraption.

It reminded me of a Wheel of Pain I once saw in a Conan movie.

There was some difference, though. For one the slaves were replaced with willing laborers. At least I thought they were willing. Nobody was cracking a whip above their heads, although there was some shouting to keep the rhythm. Each of them certainly looked bigger, more muscular, and overall more savage than the rest of the rat crew.

The strange vehicle was filled to the brim with thick, green ropes spread chaotically on the ground. At least I thought they were ropes until one hissed in pain and tried to lift its enormous head only to get bonked by a nearby Ratling... and then promptly subdued by a syringe-wielding individual. His needle weapon looked incredibly thick and crude but did its job.

This commotion managed to throw the wagon into an unsteady swing. Reacting to that the Ratling leader gave a sharp command, his feathered cap swaying on the wind. Ratling laborers were ordered to stop, their large bodies slowly grounding to a halt. A wave of grunts followed and soon both the harbor-bound rats and the crew stared pleadingly at the ceiling gears, whose teeth started to vibrate dangerously.

Thankfully it was an empty scare. After a few minutes the mechanism settled in, and the journey resumed, safely delivering the cargo into my dungeon.

At the same time, enough small snakes were sacrificed that I could start making them on my own. Their stats or description wasn’t anything special though… so why bother?

Dirt Snake

A common creature adapted to living underground. Its coloration is most commonly grey or brown thus the name. Uses venomous fangs and quick coiling and jumping technique to ambush its prey - which consists mainly of small animals. While not able to see in the darkness these reptiles can use their thermal imagining organs to detect creatures up to five meters away, making them nearly impossible to ambush.

With low intelligence and overall strength, they are mostly considered a pest to be exterminated by the underground dwellers. Some consider them a delicacy or a material for making valuable clothing. They live in small swarms of five to ten individuals.

Threat level: E

I materialized, creating a commotion amongst the Ratlings, and waved my hand to stop the needless butchering. Moreso these creatures were too weak to help me with gaining another floor. Not sure if it was about their weak souls, laughable individual power, or something else… but I knew for sure that killing them off wasn’t helping.

The lead Ratling bowed, surprisingly understanding my intentions, but continued killing off reptiles. I prepared to stop this wasteful behavior before noticing that this time butchered flesh wasn’t dumped on the ground but rather carried into the tunnels, presumably to feed the ever-growing rat population.

I could… help with that.

With a flourish, a few snake eggs were summoned from nothing, the Ratlings dancing a small happy dance before dragging them away. It was heartwarmingly interesting. Rats and snakes, what could go wrong?

Bah.

Seeing the amount of work they put into this little operation I was sure that Dirt Snakes would quickly end up domesticated. Especially since they were now dungeon-born creatures.

My attention was quickly taken by the big serpents being slaughtered, their drugged-up bodies offering no resistance to Lebir cleavers. I began consuming more meaty chunks of knowledge. The feeling was… exhilarating. I kinda understood why my less intelligent dungeon core brethren pursued new creatures with such passion. There was some heavy conditioning being done in the shadows. Even I had to fight back against the overwhelming feeling of wanting more and more.

Clearing my head I focused on the new creatures. It would take some time to fully comprehend their internal structure, seeing as I already sensed how much more complicated and, most importantly, inherently magical they were.

I had time, though.

The earlier “rail car” left the station, this time taking a full contingent of Ratling mages, warriors, and workers. No new Ratling types were added to my internal library, so my best guess was that they were taught, not born that way.

This stirred my curiosity.

How did they tick?

Should I invite some of them to my fourth floor?

This feeling quickly faded however as I saw something strange being transported onboard the incoming vehicle.

There were unconscious little people - maybe children? - lying face down on the wooden floor. Most of them seemed bruised, cut, and bloodied. A clear sign of fighting or some other catastrophe. As far as I could tell most of them still drew breath but each of the prisoners was overzealously tied up with ropes.

Oi.

Now I was really curious.

What did these rats do? Did they conquer a settlement or something like that? Maybe they defeated an adventurer party? Ambushed a patrol?

It was scathing - the lack of knowledge.

My earlier tries to claim the flowing water had always failed.

There was something strange and different with how the water behaved, bits that I could claim instantly flowing away, slipping from my grasp.

It was useless. An exercise in futility. A natural barrier that was a dungeon’s natural enemy. One, that I already acknowledged in my mind. Now, however, that I was sure that there was something interesting beyond the horizon… the situation changed.

I tried once again with a gambler’s mindset that today was going to be different. It was not like I had anything to lose.

In the beginning, it went as usual.

I pushed my presence out, and small pieces of dungeon aura began clinging to the water.

They quickly broke off, carried away by the strong current.

My reaction was to desperately stop these droplets, which in turn created small whirlpools here and there, where my power collided with the natural flow. It felt bad. Like clinging to the gymnastic ladder bad. Muscle-tearing bad.

This tug of war continued for a few minutes before I ultimately surrendered.

With a roar, I let go, the aura scattering away in an instant.

My energy drained I elected to lie on the ground, staring at the ceiling.

Another defeat.

It chafed.

A bit dazed I threw some of my remaining energy towards the roof and the shabby construction that clung to it. I was expecting the vigor of water to wash it away in a matter of minutes.

And then it didn’t.

For a moment I just stared, not believing my eyes.

Then, suddenly full of energy, I floated upward and started pushing.

It took me a few hours but the effects were clear.

On the good side, I could spread my dungeon aura through the Ratling construction. Maybe it was the material used or simply their deference to my domain… it didn’t matter. I had an avenue of expansion and, if worse came to worst, even escape.

On the bad side, the speed of expansion was terrible. After the initial jump, and gaining control over the harbor area I was adding only a few centimeters per ten minutes to my domain. At least once started it was turned into an automatic process.

Now I only had to wait.

And that had given me some time to examine my newest prisoners.

They weren’t - as I assumed at the beginning - children but rather small, sturdy, tattooed adults. In any fantasy world, they would be classified as dwarves, gnomes, or hobbits. Their stocky build and the number of scars meant dwarves in my book.

They were a motley bunch, mostly wearing leather and rough cloth, most dirtied with smudges of filth, blood, and sweat. I noticed cleaner parts remaining where they once wore armor. Both men and women were clean-shaven and burly, their muscles bulging and hands full of calluses. Another distinct feature they shared were tattoos decorating their faces. Each of them had one, with different colors and shapes, full of meanings that seemed to ripple just under surface. I could also sense a touch of magic about them - I was unclear about the specifics, though.

Whoever they were - the same booze-hounds that many stories depicted, or something wholly different didn’t matter in the end.

I had another role planned for them, one that mostly disregarded what they were. As the first candidates in my Anima experiments, they only needed to feel and breathe.

There was a different problem I needed to consider. How to transport them to the fourth floor?

A direct route was going right through the adventurer’s outpost in the Central Pond Room. It was also the most unreliable since in order to keep secrecy I had to temporarily drive them out from the second floor.

The next idea was to enlarge some of the Ratling tunnels to drag the prisoners straight into the laboratory floor.

Which was immediately shot down by the rats.

After interpreting a few minutes of pantomime - where was Ratling Queen when you needed her? - I understood that it was deemed impossible. The amount of work would be humongous but that wasn’t the real problem. It was the other tunnels that made it hard to realize. My dungeon had more holes than swiss cheese, all of them planned, reinforced, and heavily utilized.

All of them with little to no leeway.

Widening one could break supports of another, causing a domino effect and claiming countless rat-lives. And, more importantly, compromising the integrity of my dungeon.

I wasn’t sure of the exact consequences but considering how eager humans tried to exploit the hole in the second floor...

So no. That option was also out of the question.

My mind whirled as I searched for other possibilities.

And during this brainstorm of mine Non teleported in, checking the commotion.

Her part metal, part flesh form materialized from the darkness, as she gracefully strolled close to my newest prisoners. Trailing behind her was the small ninja kobold, its reptilian face overwhelmed with the amount of bustle present. It tried to keep its eyes on the surroundings, twitching at every random movement and noise.

Its mistress stopped a few meters ahead, Ratling laborers giving her a free reign over the hissing prisoners. Her armored fingers touched and squeezed protesting animal, checking the thickness of the scales and potency of the venom gland.

She shook her head in disappointment before trudging on. Her only reaction to the sight of the unconscious dwarves was a glare of disdain.

I breathed out.

Geinard Kingdom seemed the revenant’s only target so I was spared from preventing a slaughter.

Now that I thought about it…

[Non, are you capable of teleporting these dwarves down to the fourth floor?] I asked hopefully. I noticed that she always hauled the little kobold with her, so it should be possible. An answer to my problem could be hidden in clear sight!

The metal-clad revenant changed her direction, leaving a livid green snake to its captors.

Her iron boots struck the floor in a calm rhythm as she came closer to the figures lying on the ground. She crouched down, her hands poking and prodding.

[Non… they’re not food.]

She answered with a nod.

A moment later her hands slipped under brown-tattooed dwarf lifting him from the ground. There wasn’t even a single grunt of exertion coming from the undead despite her filigree figure. Non’s face scrunched in displeasure before she unceremoniously dropped his burden to the ground.

The dwarf landed face first, but the potent drugs kept him sedated.

[Hey! Can’t you be more delicate?] I scolded my monster. [They’re valuable research samples!]

After she waved me off I continued questioning. [So? Can you do it?]

[Can’t.] She sent crisply.

[What? Why? Can you be more specific? It’s certainly within your abilities since you lug that kobold everywhere.]

The revenant stared up the ceiling for a moment before sending [Fat.] back to me.

Now, that she explained the restrictions it seemed easy to understand. Logical even. She could drag only a limited mass through the shadows - the question was where did that limit lie.

My gaze darted between ninja kobold and a pile of dwarven prisoners. What if…

[Non.]

[Mhm?]

[If I… trimmed the smallest of the dwarves. Would that be enough to drag them through?] She suddenly looked much more interested, a cruel glint in her eye.

The revenant turned back to the unconscious figures. She strolled closer, slowly observing their faces and sometimes even lifting them up.

[Non?] I asked again, gazing at her cautiously. She ignored me and continued her examination. After fifteen minutes of prodding and tense silence, my undead pointed towards the gold-faced dwarf.

[Small.]

[I see.]

With a mental nod, I sent orders to the surrounding Ratlings. Their contents were simple yet cruel. Cut off the arms and legs of the gold-faced dwarf. Remember to cauterize the wounds. I decreed. For my experiments, it was enough that he was alive - as long as his heart was beating and his mind worked I would be satisfied. Keeping the patient alive was something that my whole fourth floor was dedicated to after all.

The rats moved with purpose, some of them dragging the Lebir butcher closer, others preparing red-hot iron. As I idly wondered about when did the Ratlings make a bonfire and was a fire burning underground truly safe, the chosen dwarf was moved into an impromptu table, his torso and limbs secured.

And then, without needless preparation or torture, the deed was done.

Even heavily drugged the victim felt enough pain to hoarsely scream before falling back into an unfeeling slumber. A blessing in disguise. His blood was surprisingly red when it hissed away, evaporated by searing metal. All that remained from the person was a trunk-looking torso.

The smell of burnt flesh was still lingering in the air when Non teleported closer, her fingers tracing the wounds. The revenant grinned and licked her lips, before placing a hand on the immobilized dwarf’s chest.

And then both she and her baggage sunk into the shadows.

A few minutes later I confirmed their arrival on the fourth floor. There was no time to waste. In a fantasy setting dwarves were described as sturdy, stubborn folk but who knew how they developed on Yana? There was no need to take any chances.

I immediately ordered my Butchers to move the patient into a sarcophagus and start testing procedures. Their excited clacking slowly disappeared in the distance as I spoke to Non.

[Do you need any rest, or can you take another volunteer with you?]

[Ready.]

[Good. From what I’ve seen most of those captured are rather bulky. That leaves maybe three or four subjects of small enough mass. Please move them as soon as possible. I’ll give orders to the rats to prepare the prisoners.]

[Mhm.] With a nod, Non left the laboratory floor.

I was about to leave when something drew my attention.

One of the testing beds was already filled.

How?

As I floated closer a reptilian face relaxed in a deep sleep could be seen through the small, round window.

Ah. Yes.

The first of Guardian’s subordinates. That was fast. I was sure that even with the draconian training he was doing it would take weeks if not months before they were considered ready. So either this little one was a sacrifice or a rare genius.

Knowing my boss monster attitude, it was probably the latter.

Still, that didn’t matter.

Another batch of orders was sent and dozen of Butchers crowded the room. It was a new, curious thing they were instructed to do, and seeking knowledge was in their very nature. To reinforce a living being with metal - and not kill it in the process?

It was so… fascinating!

There was more excited chittering, clanging metal noises, and sounds of flesh being broken and then remade. The Butchers bickered with each other, proposing new treatments and interesting developments.

I consciously cut that noise off. Now, where was I… right.

It was all good and dandy, but there was still a whole slew of prisoners waiting to be transported and processed. They could survive on drugs and gruel only for a limited amount of time. I guess I should work on some distraction to push the humans out from the second floor, at least temporarily.

Even thirty minutes would be enough.

I had enough ratpower to drag them through, the only thing I needed was a chance. Preferably an outside intervention.

So I gave my orders and then… waited.

It might be a paranoid desire at this point but I didn’t want to show any more of my hidden cards. Charles was already questioning what was happening and whether I was really dead. There was no need to add to this suspicion.

The days passed slowly.

I observed the human militia, adventurers, and mages duking it out with my creatures and cautiously gathering both food and materials. They still didn’t shy from rat meat or harvesting the underground plants…

I was listening in on their conversations.

About how the Silver Oasis was their second chance at life.

About how the capital was full of starving people and some turned to cannibalism.

About the armies being constantly sent to the borders, the soldiers rarely returning home.

About the opulence of nobles and merchants.

About the constant stream of refugees that enlarged their already bloated population.

These people loved gossip, didn’t they?

A week passed and then a few days more, while I was listening to this nonsense. It was driving me insane. The dwarves were growing weaker and my chance was slipping. Nothing changed with militia’s talks about last breakfast, the new training, or suspicious lack of new caravans.

Non was also going crazy, her incursions to the surface growing longer and riskier. She didn’t kill anyone, just as I ordered her, but the strain was getting worse and worse. It was only a matter of time before she exploded.

At least my Butchers were hard at work already finishing their experiments on the few unlucky Kobolds. The creatures stood now at 1,5 meters with layers and layers of metal laid upon them. No trace of the lizard remained, completely encased in a suit of armor powered by an Anima shard located in a large pack situated on their back, making it a bit similar to how oxygen tanks looked.

These new creatures lugged an oversized halberd - a crudely made but completely functional weapon - and whatever they lost in speed they made up in sheer durability. The system called them Mechanical Dragoons for some reason… even though they weren’t using mounts.

Their description was as follows:

Mechanical Dragoon

A member of the kobold Pale Tribe irreversibly joined with armor and machinery, creating a clockwork exoskeleton grafted onto its flesh. The armor’s power is drawn from the ever-replenishing shard of Anima, making it both durable and powerful. The cost is however the sheer mass of the creature, reducing its speed to ungodly levels.

Mechanical Dragoons remain living, breathing creatures feeding on dungeon mana when available, but also not avoiding water and solid foods. Many of their organs were “improved” throughout the operation, granting them unique abilities. The kobolds remain a highly sociable species, using their power in concert with other altered and unaltered tribesmen thus raising the threat level even higher.

Threat level: C

Y-yeah… a level C threat. Hell, Glass Progenitor, the large tentacle monster living under the second-floor lake was a B--! As was my unique Regenerator Mutant roaming the third-floor! What was his name?

.

..

…

Right! Berserker!

Anyway - the system was suggesting that a critical mass of these guys was a little less dangerous than the most powerful creatures residing in my innards?

Now that was a bit of a gamechanger.

I still couldn’t exactly imagine them taking on literal monsters like Lord Hawk, Geinard Kingdom ultra-powerful general, and leader of the humbly named Hawks… Some secret organization that was, if one could easily trace its founder!

Yet killing off mages and warriors upstairs suddenly stopped looking like such a ridiculous idea.

If one wanted short-term gains, that is.

Anyway, more power was always better. No arguing with that.

The slow dripping time was now being interrupted by new Dragoons being dropped out of the operating table and increasingly nervous gossip of the farmer militia. It… wasn’t bad by any means if one ignored cranky Non ghosting about the whole place.

Only hours passed...

And then it happened.

One of the mounted scouts that Charles employed along the way was running himself ragged, trying to reach the outpost’s gates.

“Important message! Important message! Make way! Make wayyyyyyyyyy!” He screamed, his face pale and sweaty.

Sentries recognized the man and let him through without much fuss.

Charles was already there, his red hair and eyes staring intently at the gasping messenger.

“So? What happened?” He asked calmly.

“T-the undead sire!” The commoner wheezed. “T-the undead are coming! A-and t-they’re pursuing a band of refugees!”

“Gods damn them.” Charles cursed. “So that’s why we weren’t getting any reinforcements. Brighton only knows how many of them have already joined the ranks of the dead…”

“How many?” As the mage asked his silver-haired butler, Adam arrived nearby and was already organizing soldiers and scribes.

“A-a dozen, m-maybe two, sire!”

“Shit.” He breathed out before yelling. “Prepare the archers, gather cavalry and infantry! Get the half-giants ready, just in case!”

“S-sire?” The messenger stuttered.

“I’m no sire.” Charles said and the commoner paled in fright. “And another thing.”

“Y-yes?”

“There is never only one or two dozens of undead.”

The commotion continued as more and more soldiers poured out of the outpost, into the nearby field. Soon a basic formation was ready, with armored professional warriors in the middle, militia infantry on flanks, and archers with spellcaster support - waiting behind them.

The heavy soldiers in the center were armed with two-handed weapons - mostly swords but with a hammer or ax thrown in the mix. The militia was sporting wooden shields and crude spears, with a dagger on each soldier’s waist and simple leather armor covering their torso. Nonetheless, every single one of them was proudly bearing a grey and dark-blue kite shield symbol of the Geinard Kingdom.

About twenty horsemen were standing at the ready, their shining new long lances and scale armor in stark contrast to the well-used equipment carried by the rest of the army.

The support units were a mixed bag. A few mages in violet and red robes stood in a chaotic group turning their nose at the nearby archers. Most of them chatted in low tones, oblivious to sergeants shouting orders.

Archers were as poorly armed as militia, with rough short bows and leather armor barely covering their torso. Recognizable helmets made by idiot-smith were sitting uncomfortably on their heads. Their nervous swallowing and sweating showed a lack of experience or maybe just confidence.

The field was silent like the whole world held its breath, awaiting the coming battle. Soon the calm was broken, as the soldiers started getting restless, gossiping about the future, joking, or just praying.

Another thirty minutes passed until Charles emerged from his residence, wearing a humble chain shirt, armored pants, and a helmet painted red. He mounted up, slowly moving toward the front of his army. The cavalry unit followed him like a group of bodyguards.

He gazed into the distance, where I could only just see a cloud of dust.

In the coming minutes, more and more scouts arrived, each of them with the same news. A group of humans was running from the undead, slated soon to arrive.

Charles closed his eyes, scratching his chin as he conversed with the last of the mounted arrivals.

“I see. Go back into the outpost and rest.”

“Yes!”

“And before you go… any news about the rest of the scouts?”

The messy-haired messenger shook his head. “The last communication was about them reaching out to a group of refugees. Then, silence.”

“I understand. Dismissed.”

The red-haired mage hummed under his nose.

“Master?” Adam, his old butler appeared a bit worried. “Are you okay? The troops are waiting.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About what? The situation seems pretty clear.”

“Is it?” He chuckled darkly. “There are scouts missing, and at least three distinct groups of refugees are being herded into our ranks. What’s more, no caravan or patrol managed to reach us in a week.”

“I would say that it’s very much not pretty clear.”

“Forgive this old servant.” Adam bowed his head deeply. “I did not want to overreach.”

“Oh, stow it. I am not a noble anymore, you can relax. No need for keeping up the face shtick.”

“Master.”

Minutes passed and the clouds of dust transformed into recognizable silhouettes. Like the scouts described each of three visible groups was comprised of pitful rag-wearing refugees being pursued by a group of skeletal undead. Most of the dead were naked, with their fingers sharpened into cutting tools but amongst them, I saw two or three with pieces of flesh remaining. Those were armored and armed, bellowing commands and hurrying other monsters.

The refugees were clad in sand-covered clothes, desperately jogging forward. Some of them were clutching their belongings, others carried small bundles - either with valuables or… children. Their gait was slow and painful with stiff movements that only a person on the brink of death could make.

“Skeletons and skeleton commanders.” Charles murmured under his breath. “Are they trying to drive refugees into our lines to wreak confusion? Something doesn’t add up.”

“It’s not even a hundred undead… any Kingdom’s patrol would be able to dispatch or avoid them. Skeletons are pretty stupid, after all. What I am not seeing?”

“Leader?” A rough voice had interrupted his musings. One of the better-equipped cavalries trotted closer.

“Yes, commander?”

“Permission to engage the enemy and rescue these poor civilians.”

Charles’ brew rose. “Never took you for a merciful man, commander.”

“Noblesse oblige and all that crap.” The cavalry leader smiled under his mustache. “Besides no better way to test my subordinates. Blood must be spilled. Preferably the enemy blood.”

“That’s more like it. Permission granted. Just… be careful.”

“Careful is my second name!” The smile transformed into a huge grin, as the large man turned back. “Ready weapons!” He bellowed. “Let’s smack the deadies, and rescue a few damsels in distress!”

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

His troop rushed ahead, slowly raising their speed.

Soon a steady clatter of hooves filled the battlefield. Cavalry closed in, their lances poised to strike. Undead braced, their chaotic ranks suddenly gaining order, yet lack of armor or weapons turned the attempt pitiful instead of dangerous.

A moment later the dead and the living clashed, sending waves of dust and thunderous screech noise of metal meeting bone in the air.

The human squad had run through the enemy, instantly eliminating about half of them.

Still, many remained, their arms torn apart and bodies smashed.

A living army would have routed at this moment.

But this was no living army.

“That’s enough!” A booming voice of the commander echoed on the wasteland. “Get the refugees out of here! We’ll let the infantry have their glory!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Sure!”

“Flint, go and ask the women to follow!”

Laughing gleefully a scarred veteran trotted closer to the refugee on the front, one carrying a small bundle that I surmised was her child. He ignored his horse nervous neighing and leaned closer.

“My lady, can I offer you a seat behind me? We’ll get you and your child to safety.”

He waited for a moment, but no answer came back. The woman was just staring at him, her face hidden behind the rags.

“My lady?”

As he came even closer the woman reacted.

She threw her baby straight at the soldier, before screeching.

It was an infuriated, inhuman voice that left her throat.

Cavalryman instinctually caught the flying “baby” only to have it unpack in a sort of a spider-like skeletal abomination with long legs and arms and a small torso… which immediately reoriented itself and sunk its teeth in the cavalryman’s face, tearing off the flesh.

As he screamed the same scene played out around the man, people getting thrown out their horses in a desperate bid to break free of their enemy’s attack. The remaining soldiers were torn between helping their comrades and running away.

Seconds passed and the decision has been made for them. The rest of the “refugees” took off their rags, revealing their true forms - leathery skin, white eyes, and claw-like fingers.

“Zombies!” Shouted a soldier before he was overwhelmed by a sudden charge and dragged from his mount.

It took only moments before humans were annihilated.

“No! No. Dammit… no… these were good soldiers! By Brighton’s beard, they will pay!” Charles cursed. “They will pay...” He repeated, his red eyes squinted, observing the rest of the suspicious refugees.

“No way around it.” He grunted, before riding up to the front of his army. He dismounted a lone figure against the slowly advancing enemy.

“Get the horse.”

“Sir!” A soldier saluted and grabbed the reins.

“I am no sir.” Charles scowled and, in the same breath, a low chant started flowing from his mouth. Unlike earlier, it wasn’t structured magic, a repeat of words without a true meaning behind them.

No.

Right now Charles was muttering to the growing flame in his hand. Explaining, convincing it. Communicating.

It was new. It was exhilarating to hear.

As I listened, something resonated in my soul.

Like the words he spoke were also sent to me. Asking for aid.

Asking for power.

And both the flame and I answered, growing in power, a small fire swelling to an enormous proportion. A second and third soon appeared, slowly rotating in place.

The dead noticed the change, and their disguise was thrown to the wind. Three armies collapsed on a lone man threatening to smash him to pieces.

And then… they stopped.

“GREATER FIREBALL!” The mage shouted and the flames sprung to life.

A fiery trail was left behind each of them before a second later an explosion brightened the sky. And another. And another one.

The temperature rose as I observed what could be only described as small bombs slowly fading from existence. They left only scorched bones and melted metal in their wake. The oh-so-scary undead were mostly erased from the face of the earth by a single spell.

Some of the zombies and skeletons remained, lacking limbs or large parts of the flesh. They stubbornly stuttered forward, their hatred for living forcing them into an unwinnable battle.

I could nearly hear the collective swallowing of the army left behind the red-eyed mage. There was some kind of aura spilling from the man, making it hard for anyone to approach.

“What are you waiting for?” The fire demon screamed. “Kill them! Kill them all! Avenge your fallen brethren!” A hoarse voice filled with malice shocked humans into action.

“Charge!”

“With me, soldiers!”

“Shower them with magic!”

“Archers! Fi-----re!”

And amongst the warriors, I could hear small whispers of awe. Songs of terror.

“Follow the Fire God!”

“Follow the Blueflame!”

“Follow the Red Death!”

Humans surged like a hungry ocean, decimating the remaining enemies. And in the middle of this surge, a lone person was standing - like a rock fearfully avoided by the flowing river.

Yet somebody broke the unspoken barrier.

Adam slowly walked closer before shouting. “Master!”

“What!” A rough answer came back, the mage’s face red and strained. I could see a green flame flickering in his eyes. The red of his hair and eyes also turned more vivid. More alive.

Charles’ servant swallowed dryly before speaking out. “The scouts report another group approaching the outpost.”

“Good. Just point me in the right direction.” He growled. “I am positively itching for more targets.”

“That would be problematic, Master.”

“Why?”

“Because this group is flying Princess Agnes colors.”

“So… are you saying that they’re like these people?” Charles’ casually pointed toward the glassed floor and scorched zombie remains. “And that they’re too being pursued by the undead?”

“Y-yes. A-and there is a lot of them. We noticed ghouls, abominations, and many types of skeletons. Vampires are probable, but shouldn’t be a problem during the day.”

“Haaaaaah.” Charles relaxed, and his hair stopped glowing. “Time to greet my fiance, then. Prepare the army after they’ll clean up here. I’ll aid you where it is possible.” He paused. “And ask Master Vincent for help. We’re saving royalty, so the old mage should pull his weight.”

“By your command!”