Poke.

I felt my brows furrow in annoyance. Something was pinching my cheek. I didn't want to wake up. That sleep was so good...

Poke.

A frown formed on my face as I stirred slightly, trying to move away from whatever was messing with me. "Five more minutes..." I murmured, trying to stay away whatever was trying to get at me.

Poke.

I scowled, finally turning to my side. Something sticky was up against my face, but I didn't really care about that. I just wanted to go back to sleep. Slowly, my eyes cracked open, vision first appearing blurry, but eventually becoming more and more visible.

Only to find myself face to face with a bird.

I frowned at the curious creature. It had a wicked, curved beak, and a strange, fleshy face. A vulture, my mind provided, though I wasn't entirely sure where I had gotten that information. I continued looking up at the curious creature.

It's beak was brought down to my cheek again, the sharp edge tearing a bit of flesh off the side of my face. Instantly, I brought a hand up and pushed it away, urging the large bird to fly away.

With the bird out of the way, my gaze turned towards my surroundings, and horror formed deep in my gut.

Bodies were piled on top of each other, corpses littering the ground so thoroughly that it was difficult to find solid ground. The muddy earth was filled with rivers of water mixed with blood, and the scent of rot and death was thick enough to cut. Strange, somber energy filled the air, that same energy filling me. A battlefield, my mind supplied. A mass grave.

The area was sparsely dotted with dead trees, and the battlefield- or, what remained of it- seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. I wanted to gag, staring at the dead bodies surrounding me. I wanted to cry, or fight, or do something to make all this death worth something.

All I could do was look down, my neck lacking the energy to keep my head up. Half of my face had been resting in a puddle of blood-mixed water, making the entire thing tinged red. Something stared back at me.

A harrowed face, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, stared back with a piercing, almost animal-like gaze. Black hair, once neatly tied back in a tail, fell around my shoulders in uneven, wild waves, curling around me like a set of claws. Between the eyes and hair, the face staring back at me looked more beast than man. My face, I thought, raising a shaky hand to touch it. My whole body felt weak, like the energy moving it was barely enough to keep me going.

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Why couldn't I remember anything? Where was I? Why am I here? The question swirled in my mind, which unfortunately, my mind never responded. I turned towards the vulture, which had flown away about 20 meters, then at the bodies. There must be someone else alive out there, I thought to myself. I knew it was unlikely, but the sheer number of people meant someone had to have survived, right? Maybe they could help me, explain what happened. Why it had happened. There had to be some reason, though I feared what I might do if it wasn’t a good one.

I opened my mouth, to call for help or something, but all that came out was a vague gurgling sound. Huh?

Something was inside my mouth, stopping me from speaking. I frowned again, opening and closing my mouth. I used my tongue and touched something-something cold and hard, tasting strongly of bronze. I pushed slightly against it, trying to dislodge it from my throat, only to have the nauseating sensation of all the flesh in my head being turned by whatever was in there. As I slowly processed what that was, another wave of nausea roiled over me, and I felt the need to gag, but all that came out was a gobbet of congealed blood.

Something was stuck inside my head. Trying to hold in any more vomit, I slowly took my gloved hand and grabbed a small, orb-like structure. With a slow, steady movement, I began to pull whatever was inside my head out.

Shiiink.

I coughed out more blood into the pool in front of me, slowly gathering myself. I managed to avoid throwing up more blood. My mind vaguely told me that keeping blood inside me was important.

Until I looked at what was in my hand, and vomited blood and bile over again.

A dagger, slicked red with blood, in a simple, elegant style, who’s blade was nearly a hand and a half. The hilt was wrapped in bloodstained, black leather, and the grip of the weapon was the same. The pommel, a single, simple bronze orb, was covered in strange designs. That. That had been in my head.

Horror continued to build in my stomach as I realized the implications of that. There was no way, absolutely no way, that anyone could survive a dagger going through their head like that. No one. And yet…I was still here.

Frantically, almost desperately, I tore one of my gloves off my hand and placed it on my chest, wedging it between the hardened bits of my leather armor. And then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nearly ten minutes passed. The fear filling my body should have made my heartbeat grow faster, should have made my chest heave in panic, and yet, neither of those things happened. My heart, in all that time, had never beat.

I was dead.

“N-no. No. Nononono-” I raised my hands to my head, the awfulness of my situation causing more and more disgust to fill me as I stared down at the monstrous face in the puddle of blood. I was monstrous. I was evil. The type of thing that heroes went out to defend against, the thing that armies fought against, the thing of nightmares and fear that kept children and adults alike up at night.

I was worse than dead. I was undead.