“Down there!” Josephine shouted and pointed down the corridor to a lonesome doorway. She was accompanied by three guards of the manor.

They nodded in response and ran off not sure how this night might end. Their hard leather boots echoed in the hallway as fast as their hearts. Hearing about the governor being killed all of a sudden was unbelievable, but the woman’s face assured them it was true.

Slowing near the entrance, they drew their swords, and then moved in a triple formation ready to cut anyone down. The middle guard moved slightly in front so that they could all fit between the door frame, while the one on the right lit the way with a lantern.

Gradually the room became clearer and the bloody mess, literally, was unveiled. The place was trashed, even the chandelier had fell, and there was more blood than carpet on the floor. In long streaks it twisted and turned, strangely reminding them of a river; there were obvious finger smudges on the floor.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” the middleman said, noticing one specific pattern.

It spelled “Majesty” over and over.

The guards’ eyes followed the lines to its source. Their gaze stopped on a turned over sofa, which was painted in red. Strangely there was no body, only guts, but the smears indicated that it was pulled further in.

Having checked all the corners on their side of the room they began to follow the marks. Following it through broken furniture and shattered glass it led them to a massive opening inside a wall, where a narrow stairway led into the pit of darkness. The men gulped.

“Are we going…?” One with a lantern asked, while the leader glimpsed at the dark and wondered where he got himself into.

“Can’t really let him do as he wants, can we?” He answered and took the first step. His heart raced and his hands trembled.

Their steps echoed loudly as they stuck to the dusty walls. Cobwebs, rats and musky air of the underground accompanied them until they reached a yet another staircase, this time spiraling straight down. Fresh blood veiled the old stairs and the men wondered how it was possible to even bleed that much.

“M-maybe we should wait for reinforcements…”

“I agree.”

“We continue.” the leading guard rejected his colleagues. “What if this leads to an exit? He’d escape and we’d be the laughing stock of a whole city. Who lets a murderer go with the body of its victim? Ridiculous.”

They imagined how well that would end and decided to pursue the murderer. It being three-on-one calmed their spirits somewhat, but the absence of Gibs still pulled at the strings of their hearts.

Eventually the corridor widened into a bigger room – they must have been under the city at this point – where a large double door was open. The sconces were cold and condemned the room to eternal darkness. Thankfully they could be easily lit with the lantern’s flame.

The light bearer approached the closest torch and lit it. Suddenly, in an outburst of fire, the room illuminated, must’ve been some kind of mechanism the men mused, and three figures came to being. Two of which the guards perfectly knew.

“Governor?!”

It was Josset Gide, their master and a small lord, who stood in place unmoving together with the Sergeant and a mysterious robed person.

“That’s not the governor,” the leader spoke, pointing to all the blood and guts spilling out of the man. “and that’s not the Sergeant. They’re undead!”

They swayed like bloody dandelions in the wind and growled as if possessed by some demon.

“More humans?” The robed man spoke. His voice was dry, extremely so that it reminded the men of sand or clay, and monotonous to the point they wondered whether it was a living being at all.

The room they were in was some sort of treasury. Paintings, hides, furs, anything of value, were stored here. Literal chests filled with silver stood wide open, tempting the men with their glare, while various cut stones and golden coins shone in brilliance, making them question whether they were even worth possessing such things. Though by some miracle something out of place managed pull their eyes away from the treasures of the higher class. Rusty iron bars, and cages, were in the very back of the room, behind the veiled man. The figures inside were humanoids in nature, no doubt, but looked like some kind of beasts, perhaps hybrids of the two. Many of them had horns or weird long ears, and their bodies instead of skin were covered in scales or fur. Some were scarily human-like and so beautiful, they suspected sorcery was at work.

The guards looked at each other in unison, probably thinking the same thing, when the robed man turned straight towards them and lifted his cowl.

“A lich?!” A man wildly guessed.

“No. This one looks different than I’ve heard…”

The monster in front was all bones and looked no different than a normal skeleton, except it’s unusual ivory-like bones. Liches typically had skin, no matter how rotten it was.

The demon raised its hand and pointed towards the men, probably declaring their demise, and ordered his puppets to move. The first to come was the governor, who lunged with inhuman speed, guts still flailing and blood dripping on the dusty floor. Two of the guards had to work together to stop his crazed charge. Even after getting stabbed through the neck, he persistently moved forwards, trying to strip them of their life.

The sergeant on the other hand slowly limped towards the third guard, and readied his sword. It would seem he hadn’t forgotten how to fight even in death. Looking at the man who greeted him just this morning was cruel and painful, even more so now that his left leg and head were bent by 90 degrees. The chandelier flashed through the third guard’s eyes for a moment, before he focused on the now and here. He had to prepare to fight the man who was still fresh enough to be mistaken for a living person.

***

Fifteen minutes have passed since the human encounter. The servants put up a good fight, though the governor only managed to scratch one guard and buy time before getting his brain matter spread over the walls. By this point only two guards stood, trying to overwhelm the zombie Sergeant with their number. Thankfully, the freshly dead man still remembered how to fight and held them off, even killing one with a lucky strike a few moments ago.

The undead could see that his last servant won’t last long if this keeps up - he kept snagging on boxes with his bent leg. Therefore, it decided to help out. It stood still and focused on the energy around, feeling it course through its body. Slowly, a small fireball gathered in the bony palm. With practice it could probably hasten the process, but that’s for another time.

Fire blazed in its hand, growing and getting hotter. The fighting continued as the undead waited for its chance to strike. Finally, when the zombie tripped, an opening appeared. The undead didn’t even have to throw it or anything, with a single thought it shot out faster than an arrow and flew as if having a mind of its own.

As the human was readying to stab the zombie, he finally noticed the magical ball coming towards him. He tried to dodge, but wasn’t quick enough and it blew his arm away. The undead hoped for blood to spill, but it’d seem the heat singed the injury immediately.

Zombie Sergeant didn’t waste a second and stabbed the human in his stomach. He screamed in pain and flailed his stumpy arm, but with a slice of the sword his words were snuffed out for eternity. Guts spilled out like fish out of a net.

Unfortunately, the battle wasn’t over yet and the undead could not enjoy the sight as the last human also thought he had a chance to strike. With all his will he swung his steel sword at the zombie’s neck, hoping to end it with a single move, but the blade barely reached bone before stopping, crushing any hope for the man.

Sergeant slowly stood up, pulling the human who held on tightly to his weapon. He was forced to let it go as it didn’t budge even when he pulled with all his will. The undead laughed at his foolishness and began inspecting the cells, already forgetting about the man, and hummed to the sweet melody of suffering that soon came.

***

The living inside the cage trembled, smaller ones cried. They were probably woken up by the sudden fighting, which made it troublesome since it wanted to kill them in their sleep. That would’ve been nice and quick, but now it’ll have to get close and personal. Not that it hated it or anything.

Pondering for a moment on what to do it remembered the humans who attacked just now. It might as well ‘bring’ them back. They were in a great condition, apart the one who lost his arm. Raising them might not end up a disappointment like the governor.

Moving closer to their bodies, the undead reached forth to the first who fell. His injury was minor – an artery cut on the neck. If you ignored the blood, he’d look alive.

It placed the bony palm on the cold man’s head and focused, not on the weird energy with which it made the fireball, but on the hatred it seeped with. It knew how to do this as naturally as one came to breathe, thus didn’t take much practice like magic control.

In seconds the dead body began to shift, its muscles bulging under the thin skin, and slowly stood up. The undead wondered whether it would do something interesting. When it first raised the governor he immediately went to open the stone door, while the sergeant grabbed his weapon. It guessed that their behavior depended on strong imprints in their memory, maybe even muscle memory had a part in it. Though that was questionable, since they would soon rot and lose those, well, maybe they’ll last longer in the cold air.

The man didn’t do anything of importance, except equip his weapon, which was acceptable in the undead’s mind. If he can fight he can help out with the bloodshed after all. The other two also didn’t seem to be any different, though the armless one struggled more than the rest. At first it tried to pick up the weapon with the non-existent arm, but eventually realized that it had none and used the other.

It was still questionable whether they had any intelligence. They could listen to orders though, sometimes even understand complicated ones. For example, when it ordered the sergeant to fight, it realized that meant using the sword and not madly rushing in like Josset.

For a moment it thought about how useful it would be to have someone to practice speech with, but zombies could not speak. When it tried ordering them they only growled or screeched.

Open the cage. It ordered mentally to the puppets. They moved immediately and swarmed the door, making the prisoners scream in response. Going through iron bars might take a while, so it chose to search the underground room for anything interesting.