Jake sat in bed, as usual, thinking about life, death, and undeath.

As a necromancer, he had a very important decision to make. He didn't have to make it now, or even in a few years, but he had to make it before it became relevant: Should he become a lich?

Sure, undeath was cool, which was why he surrounded himself with it. Skeletons and zombies following your every whim, fighting on your behalf? Count him in! He didn't use them to attack anything or kill anyone, unless those people walked up the hill that comprised his little slice of the countryside and threatened him for no reason besides the fact that he controlled undead. He just liked having them around, for very good reason, too.

Even now, an undead warrior clad in rusty, mossy black armor, its face ablaze with cold green flames, one of his strongest minions, brought him another glass of wine, and all he had to do was pass a thought in its general direction. How cool was that?! Plus, they were undead, so there were no ethical concerns about mind control or anything like that. Free, ethical, hands-and-knees service every day, and all it cost was about five years of intensive study!

Even the local nature folk liked having him around, since he extended his labor to them, too. Farmers had their land tended, the forests became somewhat more tame, but not too much, life was all good all around for about four hours a day. Too much more and the magic controlling them may corrupt the land, but so long as he kept them in check, their services could be rendered without causing any damage whatsoever. He could even complete certain expensive rituals to keep them clean, so the higher-paying folk got 24/7 service!

But with all the cool things he could do with undead, becoming one of them permanently... he didn't know. It sounded cool in theory to be able to live forever, and he always thought it would be cool to be that flaming lich with the booming voice, shouting doom over adventurers foolish enough to enter his domain, even in jest, but...

Well, first of all, the immortality itself is a problem. Jake wasn't the worst at keeping to one thing, and he liked his liesure time, both shown by his current status as a skilled necromancer using his skill for liesure. That said, there's only so much one can do in the world, especially with every goody-two-shoes trying to kill you simply because of how you look. Jake wasn't a violent man, but he didn't want to die simply because some god arbitrarily decided his existence shouldn't be. Being a necromancer brought too much attention already, in his opinion, and too many of his zombies were fresh for his liking.

Jake looked back at the book which had started this train of thought, "The Everlasting King". The king in the book never seemed to get bored as a lich, especially with all the politics constantly rearing their heads, but Jake couldn't see himself sticking to anything that long. Perhaps he could go speak to said king and ask his advice?

Suddenly his guards became more alert, drawing their weapons and dropping trays of food to the ground. Yet another intruder had killed one of the marked skeletons, sending a signal of distress to the main cabin. What a pain.

Jake grabbed a bowl of grapes which had landed on its side, discarding those touching the ground and collecting the rest back into the bowl. Walking into the living room, he posted guards through the room. He stood in front of the door to his bedroom with his two strongest minions next to him, popping grapes into his mouth now and then, listening for the sounds of battle growing louder. Hopefully he didn't have to use all this force, and they could just talk things through like reasonable people.

He looked into the mirror, noting he had lost even more hair. There were only thin strands now. While he was able to keep the necrotic effect from affecting the places where the undead worked, by necessity it had corrupted the entire field which made up the hill. The grass outside was browned, his house was in mild decay, and it had gotten to him too. Part of why he considered lichdom was he already looked pale, sunken-cheeked, and unkept. He could easily be mistaken for either someone who spent way too much time indoors, due to his pale countenance and tired eyes, or for one of his own ghouls. Sadly, the first was mostly true, him being a scholar and man of liesure. How much longer until the death-sickness simply overtook him, and he became undead either way? Was it possible? Should he just not take that chance and get ahead of it, become a powerful lich before the blight could take him and make him a simple ghoul?

Lost in thought, both of how he would deal with the intruders and whether he was destined to follow the "next step of any sane necromancer", he was truly caught by surprise when the door to the room suddenly became the door to the floor. He had tossed a grape into his mouth, and in his shock, didn't catch it with his tongue.

The knights close to the now-hole-in-the-wall attacked the intruders, only to be turned away by a faintly shining barrier. "Ha-HA! Take that, undead! Yeah, this is what I'm talking about!"

"See? You can have tons of fun adventuring without killing anything living!"

"Oh, no, living things are so much more fun, but I do admit, high-level undead sure are a treat!"

Jake attempted to ask them politely to stop, but his new throat-friend was a terrible translator. Instead, he made a high-pitched, gargled, "Ghraaa, haaach!" while waving at them with one hand, the other clutched to his throat.

His body guards held the intruders for a full two seconds, bashing against the shield until they disintigrated at the sound of, "Turn Greater Undead!" The robed one stepped toward Jake, then stepped back as he lunged forward, begging for mercy in the form of, "Ghraaaa!"

"He can walk past the anti-necrotic barrier?! Holy shit, this one's powerful!"

"He can't be more powerful than Toara! The necromancer must be in the next room if his most powerful guard is stationed here. Begone, foul one, Flames of Righteousness!"

As he spoke, Felix's expression changed a tiny bit. Just before he was enveloped with flames, Jake thought he could see a look of horror in Felix's eyes. As he burst into flames from the inside out, his innards becoming sausage and his skin a well-done steak, as he screamed a gargled scream of the damned, a weak, "Oh gods, what have I done?" escaped Felix's lips.

The reason is very simple. In a combination of throat-pain, sorrow at his work being lost, and terror for his life, Jake displayed one thing to Felix, which Felix failed to notice until the spell was already cast.

The undead couldn't cry.