My senses return to me before long.

I'm lying face first in the dirt, and with a thought of thanks that I don't need to breathe, I push myself into a sitting position to take stock of my surroundings.

Death and corpses. Almost like I left it, except the walking corpses we all know and love are gone.

Oh, I didn't even noticed when I was pushing myself up but my left hand is back...

I suppose it's something to do with my soul merging with the death energy, as I as well feel stronger. Or it's Death's doing. Either way, result is I'm back at full and even beyond.

Standing up to get a better view, I scan my surroundings once again from on high, taking note of the fact that there are corpses. While there aren't as many as I remember, it seems that the necromancer and lich prioritized speed over raising every one of the dead.

Grabbing my axe, and checking for intact shield lying around, I spot movement out of the corner of my eye.

Hastily preparing myself for whatever it is that's poking around fresh corpses, I go prone hoping it didn't see me and that I'll remain hidden amongst the bodies.

With the need to hide myself out of the way, I take a proper look at what caught my attention. From this distance I can't make out the finer details but they seem like a humanoid creature, half the height of a grown man. It takes me some time, and them moving closer to my position, for me to realize it's a child of about 9 or 10 years of age.

Breathing a sigh of relief, oh wait I can't, I check around to see if she's alone. With all the serious stuff that consumed my mind when I got my emotions back, being a jokester may seem inappropriate. And you're right. But it's a real improvement on your mood when you're brought back from the dead and even given a purpose after so much depression. And it'd be a lie to say there wasn't any depression still in me, only putting on a chipper facade to myself lest it crumbles alongside myself.

Seeing no one else, I emerge from the dead orgy to find out what they're doing here. Probably not wise, stranger who's poking around a battlefield that may yield more dangerous things than simply dead corpses and pointy bits everywhere, probably shouldn't approach them. But my curiousity as to why a child is here makes me want to know, as well as a sense of responsibility. Mainly though a sense of guilt...sigh...if it weren't for the situation at hand the facade would turn to dust and I'd be wallowing in that guilt.

Yet once more I find myself with a lack of fear, fueled not by my being undead but a high I'm riding that I met Death itself. Herself? She said she hadn't an actual gender but I agree with her statement on preferring to be taken by a beautiful maiden. A skeletal face wearing billowing black robes with a scythe in hand, fuck no am I trusting that thing. A 11/10 beauty on the other hand, and even if there's a door way covered in blood I'd come willingly. Besides though, you're going along with Death in either scenario, might as well enjoy some aspect of it.

Turning back to the situation, the child, a girl from the features I can now make out from being closer, finally notices me, and I can see the surprise as she jumps in fright. This is followed by her running.

"Hey! Wait!" I yell hoping to she listens to those words, doubting that though since there's not actual reason to.

But it pays off, somehow, as her gait slows as she turns her head back to my standing figure, until she stops staring at me.

It's a little off putting, but now that I think about it, finding a person in what was a field of death is rather peculiar. Scratch that, it's just not right.

"I mean you no harm, may we talk!" I yell again, hoping she agrees. She did the first thing I asked, so lets try for a second time. I begin to walk towards her, noticing the apprehension in her body language but seeing from her face a look of determination.

Soon, I'm close enough to her that yelling need not be done to be heard. Plus she moves away every time I try to get closer, but it's fine.

Before I can ask my own questions she spouts out her own with obvious effort.

"A-a-aren't you an u-undead?" As she voices her question she seems to double in tension.

"Er, would you believe me if I said I wasn't a bad undead?" I ask hoping for her to believe me, if only based on the naivete of children.

"N-no, I wouldn't mister undead." She shows more common sense than I would expect, especially by her being in the middle of a recent battlefield. As I said earlier, worse things can lurk than just bodies and weapons. Take for example my own being, the zombie. There can be naturally risen zombies, creatures who are created just by death energy on its own, seeping into the dead instead of dissipating away, bringing up instinct driven monsters whose lifespan is only as long as there's enough death energy to seep in. This is especially a dangerous possibility when so much death lies in the air from the lich's magic. But it seems I was away from my body for some time, as while death still permeates the air, it is not nearly as so thick as when the battle ended. Still though, a battlefield produces a decent enough amount on its own, due to the events that took place and the corpses that lie around. That alone can attract unwanted attention.

"Would you at least believe me if I said I meant you no harm?" I ask.

"N-no, I w-wouldn't mister undead." Her body shivers. Her response nags at me, but I don't enough about her to make any assumptions as to why she expects me to have bad intentions. Then again I am a zombie. Or am I? Beyond my regrown hand I don't feel stiffness I did as a zombie. Actually, looking at myself, the decay that had been occuring and the shoulder wound I died to have also vanished. I could honestly pass as a super pale person, though on closer inspection my skin tone seems to be grey, similar to the color of the stones that made up Death's home in the Underworld. As to why this didn't trick the girl, it probably has to do with the venue and my showing no signs of breathing. Oh wait, she asked me if I was an undead, I could've said no. Fuck me.

Thinking to myself, she asks me another question with a tad bit more confidence than previous, though her body yet still betrays her fear.

"Why can you talk mister undead? A-aren't you supposed to be trying to eat me?" Her voice is high pitched, but feels on the low side for a girl, and it's hard to really give it a description when it's tinged with fear.

"I can talk because I'm not a bad undead. And technically speaking I am supposed to try to eat you, if I were a bad undead. But I'm not, by the irrefutable proof of me not eating you." I match the girl's confidence as well as beating her in hiding my shivering, this talk of eating her bringing up bad memories once again.

It seems my declaration did and didn't work, her head nodding yet her body not calming down. I suppose she appreciates my bluntness but at the same time it does little to assuage her fears. She's showing a lot of wisdom for one so young.

"If I may ask a question little girl, why are you here?" I ask. As my words touched 'little girl' something flashed across her face I was surprised to see, considering her reaction to the situation previous. Annoyance.

Her fists clench as her body shivers slightly less, seems as though she's making herself calm down. After a moment more of her doing that, she answers my question with the most confidence so far in the conversation.

"I'm looking for knives for Mama and Papa...theirs aren't any good and so I wanted to get them some. Er..-" she pauses and bites her lip before finally asking me another question "-mister undead, how come you aren't dead. You're the only one walking.." She gestures slightly at the carnage around us.

I smile, giving out what has become my default answer. "Because I'm not a bad undead, so I can keep going when the bad ones can't." Every time I say 'I'm not a bad undead' is a pain in my non-beating heart, though the alternative is the truth and that I do not wish to share.

She nods once more at my answer, and I can see herself relax even more, still not completely unguarded, not even close, but calm enough to stop herself from shaking constantly.

Seeing this, I try for a question I've wanted to ask since I started talking to the girl.

"Can I meet your Mama and Papa?"

My reason for asking this is because, believe it or not, I have no clue where the hell I am. Going from following the army to dropped into nowhere is jarring to say the least, and people like this girl's parents are the perfect ones to ask, as her clothing speaks of outdoor living, made up of various animal hides that aim for warmth and utility over aesthetics. I can only hope that the answer is yes, as otherwise I'm left with mindless wandering till I find some way to find out where I am and where to go from here.

Her face shows surprise at my question, and to my own surprise, she answers, though not in a way I expected but it wasn't a no. "You can....but Mama and Papa aren't around right now and so you'll have to wait..."

"Why did your parents leave you all alone?" This new information gives me a bad view of her parents, but I like to know all the details before making an opinion. It's just easier that way.

"They went hunting..." She doesn't say anymore and neither does it look like she will. Breathing in an imaginary breath to settle my thoughts about the situation, I ask the girl one more question.

"What's your name, girl?" I didn't say 'little' this time since it obviously wasn't liked by her earlier.

"It's Cera...what's mister undead's name?"

Her question catches me off guard, as I realize I'd have to tell her my embarrassing name I made up for myself. I never actually thought I'd need to tell some one it, envisioning my future to be a detatched killing machine in the employ of the necromancer till I gained enough strength to overthrow his shackling power. Basically never having to interact with people. Thinking frantically, I decide to take the easy way out to avoid as much embarrassment as possible in the eyes of this little girl.

"I-I don't have a name." I idly scratch my awkward smile plastered face as is so often portrayed by those trying to hide embarrassment. It marginally makes me feel better about my answer as I feel a sense of connection to those who have shared my woe at this time.

"Uh....then I'll call you Grey then mister undead, since your skin is grey..." Her eyes stare at my skin, something I feel to be because of it being unusual. Even zombies pale till their bodies decay, the magic that sustains them not used to prevent this onslaught of time. As for grey skin? That seems to be a unique feature for my undead self. I don't know whether or not it's because of whatever it is Death did or if it's a result of my boost in power. The power I at least know the reason for, if not the how and why as to how it became like that.

My soul has merged seamlessly with the death energy that I so crudely forced into it. My best guess is that Death is the reason for this, but I'm unsure as to it being caused by her kiss or by something else she did. She didn't really explain much on what she was going to do to me. Actually, she explained nothing except sending me back to my body. It might be because I simply didn't ask, but the aura of power she exuded made asking the few questions that I did an incredible struggle.

I nod at Cera's naming sense, leagues above mine. I should thank her in the future, though I haven't a clue as to what I could give or do for her. I'm rather limited in the skills I possess, and even more so in the items I have, all of my wordly possessions now amounting to an axe, my soldier's armor, and whatever shield I scrounge up before we leave.

"Then my name is Grey. Nice to meet you Cera."