Strange things start happening when messing with the souls of the living. Banshee like screaming, unexplained catastrophes, bad misfortune, are all reasons why necromancers stray from messing with life. But why, then, are souls of the dead so much easier to manipulate, to control? Is it the gods doing, or does it have something to do with the creation of life? No matter the reason, one should stay clear of messing with living, or else they risk ending up unpleasantly dead.

“Show yourself or I’ll fling this door wide open. You’ll have to kill me in the purple light. ” I demanded. I knew that if I entered the darkness the beast would skin the flesh from my bones like how a starved man eats a chicken drumstick. What I needed, at the very least, was to see the beast I was going to try to stab.

“Acceptable terms.” was implanted into my mind.

The large beast appeared from the darkness. Held within its front claw was George who dangled like a ragdoll. George was heavy, but heavy was relative. For the beast, George might as well have weighed nothing.

A large patch of blackened flesh covered a quarter of the creature’s head and a large portion of its back. Although these burn marks were hideous, there were already signs of healing. It wouldn’t be long before Malkor was completely better. I could not fathom the destruction that Malkor the Devourer would cause if it ever escaped the underground passage.

“Are you doing alright?!” I shouted at George. It was clear that George was not all right. Being carried around like a doll before certain death was never alright.

“Do I look alright? Before you answer that, no, I’m not alright you insufferable little welp. Kill this thing you stupid apprentice!” George shouted back. It was good to know that George was still ungrateful as ever.

I nodded. Killing Malkor the Devourer was easier said than done.

I carefully stepped forward, slowly waiting for the Malkor to strike. Malkor watched but didn’t move. I was convinced that it was waiting for me to get close enough for it to cut me down with its claws. It was true that Malkor’s claws had a much further range than my arms. My limbs were maybe a sixth of the size of the creature’s limbs.

I burst forward, charging at Malkor. I rolled to the side as the creature’s claw crashed down onto the hard stone, crushing the scattered bones into a fine white powder. I managed to keep the dagger in my hand. It was obvious that if Malkor hit me at all, I would become meat pulp. Not wanting to become meat pulp, I lunged towards Malkor’s claw. Malkor easily dodged my feeble attempt to poke it.

“You’re pathetic prey. Are you planning on pricking me to death with that tiny little scrap of metal you call a weapon? You won’t even get the chance to nick my hide” Malkor taunted.

“I’ve been practicing my lunging for a solid three days now. I better be able to at least scratch you before you eat me.”

“That’s the spirit! Arrogant flesh tastes the best.” Malkor responded.

“Stop monologuing and get to fighting. The sooner you die the sooner I can get out of these claws. It’s uncomfortable dangling in the air.” George chimed in.

“You’ll get your demise soon enough,” reassured Malkor.

“You’ll have to wait a little longer, George. I don’t plan on dying just yet.” I countered.

“Fine,” George grumbled.

As the fight continued, I was proud that I hadn't died yet. I was good at dodging the beast's limbs as they lashed out at me. I felt like a nimble mouse, dodging a clumsy but powerful cat. The problem, however, was that I was unable to find an opening to stab the beast. While Malkor wasn’t precise, it was fast.

My mind raced to think of someway to kill the beast, but I realized that wasn’t possible. Not when I couldn't even score a scratch on it. Worse, I was slowly losing ground as the creature was creeping forward, hammering the ground with growing agitation. There would be no dodging once I was stuck in a corner. As I thought and dodged, it occurred to me maybe my best chance at survival involved the corner. I had a plan.

Slowly, but surely I was pushed towards the door that glowed an unnatural purple. Maybe I could have ran towards the end of the feeding ground, but I didn’t want to hint to Malkor that something was amiss. It would be easy for it to retreat into the darkness and gorge on George.

“Come brave little prey. Die squirming under the weight of my claws,” Malkor projected into my thoughts. Malkor was closing in on me; I was running out of room.

“Catch!” I yelled as I pivoted and flung my dagger at George. I watched it spiral through the air.

Thunk. I grimaced as I watched the dagger sink into George’s shoulder. He was supposed to catch that. The disgruntled zombie grunted as he ripped the dagger out of his shoulder, and plunged it into the beast’s claw.

Malkor the Devourer howled. Blood spurted out of the beast's pierced flesh. It loosened its grip, dropping George onto the floor. Now, Malkor’s sole focus was on removing the dagger. Its green hide near the dagger wound started turning black, the creature’s flesh and hide falling to the floor. I wondered where Alric got that dagger, and why it didn’t bother George.

I tugged on the glowing purple door, pulling it open. I sprinted to where George was lying on the floor, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into the glowing purple room. I slammed the door shut, and collapsed onto the floor as the adrenaline left my body. I was exhausted.

After a few minutes of blissfully doing nothing, I sat up and peered around the room. Many glowing runes were etched on the floor in a circular pattern, glowing the distinct purple I had seen through the door’s cracks. The room was cylindrical, but it wasn’t the shape of the room that caught my attention.

At the center of the room sat a wooden chair, it even had a cushion. On the wooden chair, sat a feeble looking man. His skin was a grayish tone that wasn’t natural, his nails were chipped in a way that suggested he bit his nails. His eyes were pitch black, the same color as his dark protruding veins. In his hands,he held a thick book. His eyes peered down at the book; he hadn’t noticed George and me.

“Are you the Dark One?” I asked, interrupting the supposed Dark One from his reading time. The book must have been captivating for him not to notice George and I barging into his, well, room. At the very least, I knew he wasn’t reading romantic smut.

The Dark One looked up.

“Visitors? It has been too long. Yes, too long since anyone has graced my room. The beast does too good of a job as usual.”

“So the beast does guard you.” I stated.

“No, the beast guards others from me. Azmorilians are wise to lure the Devourer beneath the ground. They are short-sighted people, but even I admit they’re crafty when it comes to solving their, erm, undesirables.”

“You look like a sickly old man. What can you do that’s worse than the brutal deaths Malkor the Devourer brings?”

“It is not death the Azmorilians feared; it is not death I bring. Knowledge can be far more dangerous than any beast if utilized correctly. Kingdoms have risen and fallen over simple truths. To the Azmorillians I’m a corrupter: a foul being who taints the minds of the good citizens. They’re wrong. I’m a savior.”

“And what exactly do you intend to save?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The Dark One smiled, showing blackened teeth with a black ichor oozing out of his mouth. I had seen that vile liquid before when I was deep-cleaning Alric’s catacombs. I remember it reeking of death.

George had finally picked himself up. His eyes peered at the Dark One, but he did not say a word for a moment. It occurred to me that George was not acting like George. He stood straighter than his usual slouch, and his face carried a blank expression. Then he spoke, or, more accurately, something spoke for him.

“The Great Dark One, it is a privilege to see you in the flesh, even through proxy. As the Kings have outlawed the art of undeath, the knowledge and the enlightenment of the past has been forgotten. We work with inferior methods, mockeries of what once was.”

“You seek knowledge.” the Dark One interrupted.

“Yes.”

“With lost knowledge comes new discoveries. I will humor both of you. One question, one teaching each. Ask wisely.”

“All flesh covered undead in current times succumb to slow rotting, until they’re mindless as a bundle of bones. Teach me how to stave off the rotting as you have done to yourself.” said George.

“Very Well.” The Dark One turned to face me.

“And what will your question be?”