Raylas made it back to the edge of the wagon. The mercenaries guarding it made way as he rushed inside and collapsed gasping.

“You idiot!” Captain bellowed as he stormed up and kicked him in the chest. “What the hell are you doing here and not at your post?”

“Undead just entered the premises while I was on my way,” Raylas gasped.

“Report,” Captain demanded, his fury instantly calmed and replaced by the atmosphere of a veteran warrior.

“Walking corpse,” Raylas said. He pushed himself to his feet and took a towel from one of the other men. The sticky flesh of the zombie stuck to his hand making him nauseous, so he began to wipe it off.

“The flesh is mostly intact on the bodies. They are also wet, so fire will not be effective.” He finished.

“Damnit!” Captain swore.

“What is going on?” A man in rich clothes waddled, Sigmund following at his heels. “Why are you hesitating? Kill those beasts now.”

“Undead don’t die easily, Honored Patron,” Captain explained. “Wet are worse as the bodies will need to be hacked apart before they’ll stop moving.”

“Then get on it,” the Patron sniffed, only to cringe and give Raylas an evil eye. “I pay you to protect me, so go earn your keep.”

“We’ll protect the caravan,” Captain comforted. He turned and gave a look around at the others standing nearby.

“Ten meters, Captain!” Goodwill announced while standing on top of a carriage.

“You heard it!” he bellowed. “Wet undead. Blunts first then blades. Get moving!”

A flurry of activity erupted as larger men with shields rushed forward, most holding hammers and maces. Right behind them were a larger number of warriors with axes and swords. The gaps were reinforced even more, almost five people per opening.

“Raylas,” Captain called. “I need you to cover the food cart gap with Rolft. Goodwill will be watching the skies for fliers.”

Raylas gave a salute and rushed off with the others.

Undead attacks were rare, but not unheard of. Nobody has yet to discover how they appeared in such numbers, but the Priests say most of their numbers are from before the Cataclysm. Souls tainted for their sins to roam the world, unable to rest but only have temporary respite when their bodies are destroyed.

Raylas snorted at the ridiculous story. Undead were a monster like any other, and they reproduce by stealing the bodies of children or tainting their victims by painting their blood with their cursed taint. That not only was that more realistic than their souls being cursed, but it had been seen first hand. Those that died from the hands of the undead soon joined them in their eternal torment.

The problem was they hated to die… again? They kept moving so the only way to stop them was to crush their bones until they couldn’t support their weight then chip them into itty bitty pieces. It would be easier to just burn the bodies but these were wet undead, as indicated by the horrifying stench when Raylas punched it.

He finished tying his spiked gauntlets on and disposed of the tainted towel into a fire. It’ll never be clean again.

“Ray!” Goodwill called out from on top. “They’re about to reach the gap.”

Raylas nodded and looked around. Rolft was already in position by the food cart, his sword ready to start chopping. He could clearly see the undead arriving at the gap between the carriages and start to funnel through.

Raylas sighed and put on his helmet. He was not going to enjoy tonight at all.

He rushed forward through the gap and into a wall of rotting bodies.

He swung his polearm in a wide arc. The handle portion hit the first body and knocked it off its feet while the blade at the end cut the unfortunate creature in two. Raylas strained his muscles and continued the swing, causing a domino effect of other zombies collapsing on top of each other until the last ones slammed against the side of the wagon, splattering in a disgusting mess.

The snapping of bones and squishing of organs resounded around him, but despite the damage he did the zombies just picked themselves back up. Those cut in half continued forward crawling on top of the ones he knocked over, slowing the intact ones from regaining their feet for a few moments.

Using the opening he glanced around while wrapping a thick piece of leather around the blade. There was a thick line group of undead which had surrounded the Caravan, fading off into the night. Luckily there was a lot of spacing between each creature until they came close to the caravan, so this was not a true horde.

Sighing in relief he started his work and aimed to crush the limbs of the creatures. Any which got close to him he would kick or punch to push it back and crack yet another bone.

“Need help?” Rolft asked as he stood back while Raylas hacked away.

“Keep them from crawling beneath the wagons, idiot,” Raylas growled as he swung his pole in another wide arc to open space again. “I can stop the whole ones but the scraps are yours.”

“Keeping all the fun to yourself, as usual,” Rolft chuckled as he jabbed his greatsword into the upper torso of a zombie Raylas previously cut in half. It had snuck beneath the wagon and almost got into camp, but Rolft used his blade to pick it up and launch it over the wagon and back into the night. “This would be easier if you just jumped in and crushed them with your fists, you know?”

“Just do your job and I’ll do mine,” Raylas spit. He was already covered in the foul gore and he really did not want to be any closer to these walking piles of filth than he had to.

“I’m just saying you’re making a lot of big pieces we have to keep track of.”

“You’re problem, not mine,” Raylas laughed as he bashed a zombie’s face in with the blunt end of his pole.

The crowd steadily grew thicker and thicker as zombies kept pouring out of the woods. Raylas’ breath started to become strained as well and his swings were becoming obviously weaker, though he was still able to topple over entire lines of the rotting corpses.

The foul stench had also numbed his nose by then as well. The entire campsite smelled of death and rot, and Raylas doubted he would be able to get the smell out before they got to town.

The zombies themselves were also closing the gap despite how much Raylas pushed them back. It wasn’t even about him beating them back. The pressure from all the bodies coming together started to push the horde forward. The front zombies were crushed and barely moving and became an unintended shield to protect the ones behind them.

Raylas cursed as he took step after stop back. Minutes became an hour and he was covered in sweat. His armor was sticking to him which made things all the more uncomfortable when the closest zombie finally managed to get a hold of him. Its hand was decayed to the point its fingertips were no different from claws of bone.

It scratched against Raylas’ armor, searching for a hold to pull him closer. Raylas spun around and threw a fist at the creature, cracking it across the jaw and spinning its head completely around, but it remained unphased and continued to claw against him.

Then another scratch hit his armor as another zombie reached him. Raylas spun and elbowed the creatures a step back, but there was no longer space between them and the horde for him to move much.

He threw his polearm behind him into camp and clenched his fists. As much as it disgusted him there was no other choice now.

Rolft was yelling something at him but Raylas couldn’t understand it over the grunts of the zombies. The space between and the others closed so he started swinging his fists. Bones crunched beneath his gauntlets. Rotten blood flew around him as his spiked armor caught a hold of flesh and tore into the creatures.

Bits of gore sometimes tripped in through his visor, but luckily nothing ever came close to his mouth or eyes. It smelled bad enough that he refused to imagine how it would taste.

Unfortunately, they kept getting closer, the horde pushing forward no matter how much he fought back. The worst part was he had been pushed away from the gap and felt his back hit the back of the wagon.

His breath came in gasps. His armor was starting to weight him down more than defend him and even some of the zombies began to latch onto the gaps, pulling him closer to them. Their discolored teeth glowed in the firelight.

Using a good portion of his remaining energy he decided to not fight the tug and leapt into the hoard as they pulled him. His weight caused the ones directly in front of him to fall back and get torn to shreds as he flailed around. His punches, kicks, and elbows constantly caught something and ripped it apart, but all good things couldn’t last as a solid thud landed on top of him.

A zombie launched itself onto him and started biting down on his arm. He punched it like he did on the wolf but when its head caved in the jaws did not loosen at all. Then another bit down on his leg, and another took a hold of his chest piece and started to pull.

Raylas roared in fury and shook himself to break free but more and more started to pile onto him. He eventually couldn’t lift his arms due to the growing pile. His armor creaked and started to bend from the weight. He felt one of the straps of a shoulder piece snap and the armor dragged off. One of them bit down onto his chainmail, crushing his shoulder but the skin stayed intact.

He then felt another strap break, this one on his chestplate. Raylas started to panic as he felt the piece of metal get pulled off, though the other straps held so it stayed close. But now there was a gap and more fingers began to snake under it.

He tried to lift his arm but it was shoved against him when another zombie leapt onto the pile. He flexed his hand to get a hold of something to get free, and he felt his bag.

The knife! He could use it to cut them off of him.

He fingered his way into it and felt around for the handle. He pushed everything else aside only to realize that the knife and chain was missing. It must have fallen out again.

A mouth latched onto his wrist and started to pull it out. Raylas panicked and tried to yank his handout of its teeth, but it didn’t budge. One of the zombies pushed another out of the way, giving him a moment of respite. He struggled against the horde, flailing as much as he could but he was still pinned. The bag broke off his belt and the contents spilled onto the ground, and a small flicker of golden light appeared followed by an ethereal feminine voice.

[You who have awakened me, what is your desire?]