The opinions of most people matter in the same way a singular ant matters to a mighty mountain. That is to say, most opinions are meaningless drivel that doesn’t matter. This is especially true for malevolent spirits who attempt to possess lonely widows, dabblers in the dark arts, and orange furred cats. While orange furred cats are impossible to tame, everyone else is susceptible to bad advice. Don’t listen to their ethereal wailing and screaming, complaints and missed opportunities. They had their chance when they lived.

I was not keen on fighting Malkor the Devourer for obvious reasons related to devouring. I felt like a rabbit: one of the smaller, more timid ones. My fingers trembled, as I repeated my training in my mind, remembering how to form bones, how to create mindless puppets.

“I will not falter, I will survive. I will not falter, I will survive.” I repeated to myself, in a hushed tone.

“Are you alright, Arthur? You look nervous. There’s no point in being nervous. You either die a most gruesome death or Malkor is slain. Frankly, it's out of our control at this point. Stop being a little coward.” George tried reassuring me.

“Do you remember how you died, George?” I asked.

George paused to mull over the question. It was true that George's memory was still alright; it was his thinking skills that were decaying.

“It was a gruesome death, if I remember correctly. The internal pain was excruciating, even long after everyone assumed I was dead. I don’t feel much anymore, not like I did back then.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up a corpse?”

“I tripped and fell on a gravestone. The rain had been pouring the night before, and I was too overzealous. Death by gravestone runs in the family, I suppose. It's how my dad died, my grandad died, how his grandad died, and how his grandad’s grandad died…”

I would be lying if I said I was still listening to George ramble on and on. I was too much in my head, thinking too hard about Malkor the Devourer. It wasn’t useful thinking. I had, long ago, mapped out my plan the best I could. The thoughts I was thinking were the types of thoughts that crept into your mind, and took hold of it. I wondered what I tasted like and how painful it would be to have your flesh ripped off of your frame by large claws. I concluded that I tasted good, and that a gruesome death would, in fact, be gruesome.

I took a deep breath, and opened the door to Malkor’s lair. Adrenaline coursed through me, as I got to work constructing a warrior. The bones whizzed and whirred as I willed the dark mana to pull on the bone, causing the scattered bones to rearrange. A satisfying clack reverberated throughout the feeding chamber, as bones fused together.

George stood straighter for a second, like he had when talking to the Dark One. It only lasted a second, before George I knew returned. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I had bigger problems than a weird acting zombie.

“I hear something coming!” George warned me.

“I know! You’ll have to distract Malkor, while I work on creating the bone behemoth.” I responded.

“Alright. If I die again, I’ll make sure to haunt you as a revenant.” George stated too casually.

I knew that working with an odd assortment of bones would be tricky. It was true that I had plenty of different mangled pieces to work with, but finding the right ones were the key to success. Through my mana sight, I could sense the density of bone. Gray mana typically gravitated towards higher quality, stronger bones, so it was easy enough to look for anomalies.

One blob of dark mana caught my eye. The bones were gigantic like you’d find in a cattle, yet far denser. They would make for a sturdy foundation to build upon. The bones were too heavy for me to move, so I tiptoed to them.

By now, the sounds of Malkor’s claws echoed throughout the underground chamber. I could tell by the pace that Malkor moved, that he was very, very angry. George had wandered into the darkness. It was a questionable decision. I hoped he knew what he was doing.

I piled thick layers of bones onto the large frame, building out from the chest first. In retrospect, it would’ve been better to start with the legs, but everyone makes mistakes when they are a fledgling necromancer. Warriors will claim that it is evil to skip leg day, but many young novice warriors fall for the trap of only doing upper body workouts. Necromancy is similar in that you want to make sure the base can support the upper body.

Luckily, the base bones I used were otherworldly in strength. I sat next to the bones, scrambling to finish my creation. I wondered what exactly were the thick bones from. Did Malkor have brethren, or were the bones from a cyclops? It didn’t matter what they had been, what mattered was that they were getting put to a good use now.

As I completed the body, I looked around for a head. There were many skulls, the shapes and sizes varied immensely. The head I went with was small, even for a human. Maybe it had been a gnome skull. It looked a bit goofy. But it wasn’t as if my undead would need much brains anyway, not when all I needed it to do was smash a monster.

A loud roar echoed throughout the chamber. Malkor must have found George.

I put the last finishing touches on my giant creation, and willed it to life. I stumbled as the immense drain of mana from my body surprised me. Even with ample ambient death mana, this creation was still taxing to maintain. This was not a creature I could keep together for long.

The mighty bone behemoth rose, standing at least twice the height of me. I was not particularly short, but I felt like a midget standing under my creation. It swiveled its tiny head and looked down at me, waiting for me to order it.

I urged my creation forward into the darkness, as I followed close behind. I hoped that George was still unalive.

“Help!” screamed George, who dangled from the claws of Malkor. Malkor’s jaw was unhinged, ready to eat its meal.

“You will all die! Don’t think the Dark One will save you! You’re prey and I am the hunter,” Malkor telepathically communicated.

“No!” I shouted as I watched Malkor devour George in one bite. Malkor did not chew his food. Chewing was what prey did, and was, frankly, a waste of time.

I urged the behemoth to lumber forward, latching its large makeshift arms onto Malkor. The bone behemoth exerted strength that would turn even the mightiest of brutes into pulp. It took more than strength to defeat Malkor, however. The creature was far more cunning than mindless bones.

Malkor bashed the sides of my minion, with its extra claws as it held it in place. I commanded the giant of bone to push Malkor towards the cave wall. Bones creaked as the behemoth slowly made ground. The damage to the behemoth was substantial.

As Malkor broke bones off of my creation, I used the long thin tethers gray mana to pull the bones back into place. I fell to my knees as the exertion started to take a toll on me. I felt drained, like my life was being sucked out of me. But what was there to do? Malkor was holding his own; I would not kill him if this continued. The fight continued for mere minutes, but it felt like hours had passed.

All of this work was worthless. All of the hunger, the constant learning was worthless. I knew life wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair when creatures were born with limbs as strong as mithril and flesh that healed faster than health potions. I realized, as I sat on my knees, that my death was inevitable.

I could hold on a little longer. But it would only be out of sheer stubbornness and pettiness.

“Give up. Soon your flesh will be mine!” cackled Malkor in my mind.

“I’ll kill myself from exertion before I let your grubby claws into my skin!” I defiantly shouted.

I commanded the bone behemoth to plant its feet and pull Malkor to the side. The beast tumbled, but recovered. They locked appendages once more.

It was only a small trickle at first. The blood seeped out of my nose, dripping onto the cold stone floor. I didn’t feel any pain. If anything, I felt numb.

Through the darkness, I saw a light. It was not mana and it burned my eyes. I had grown used to the lack of light and reliance on my mana sight. I shielded my eyes.

Malkor attempted to turn his body, and see where the light was coming from, but the behemoth would not let go. The rhythmic marching told me it wasn’t just one person. There in the distance, I saw a horde of undead. Skeletons and zombies marched like a battalion.

“You think I’d just let my apprentice die!” shouted a voice I recognized as Alric. I wondered how he knew I would be fighting Malkor. It possibly something to do with George.

George's demise saddened me. I couldn't do anything but watch him get eaten. He was somewhat mean, but he'd pulled through when it counted. Tears streams from my face. It wasn't the pain that caused me to cry.

I felt an intense pain as the behemoth continued to drain me of mana that I no longer had. I held on, I tried to hold on. I did not watch the horde of skeletons but I could hear the screams and the thrashing of Malkor. I smiled at the melody of anguish. He deserved death, to feel what he did to others. The undead climbed Malkors hide, as he was pinned to the giant bone behemoth.

As I stared at the ceiling, Malkor spoke to me.

“Your cowardly tricks might kill me, but you’ll die too. You'll suffer! Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but the Dark One always corrupts the gullible fools that listen to him. I cannot wait until you’re stripped down to the bone, until you face the same fate as me. You will always be prey.” Malkor communicated to me.