To reclaim the sun you must fight alongside the moon.

-Motto of the Tallus Military

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The hand would have felt clammy if it hadn't slammed into the back of Nick's shoulder blade. He gasped as his throat rubbed against the rough wood of the cupboard he had stuck his head into. He turned around, placing his head directly in the path of his assailant's next swing. White hot pain shot through his skull. Sent reeling, ears ringing, he grasped at the countertop, barely holding himself upright. Vision swimming, he finally got a hazy glimpse of his attacker. Its figure was large, carrying itself like it used to have a respectable physique, but all that remained was pale and rotting. Half a head of hair hung greasily across unseeing eyes, the other half of the skull seemingly missing. Maggots swam through flesh, what little clung to the worn bones. Barely keeping the thing together were streaks of glowing orange, shot through the zombie like still living veins. They pulsed eerily in the dark, like an otherworldly heartbeat. In the back, farther into the house that Nick had yet to explore, vague glowing shapes danced in the darkness, jerkily making their way towards him. Nick shuddered. The first time he had fought the zombies, it had been in a heated enough situation that he could ignore how humanlike they were, but the comparison was all too obvious now. He knew they were dead, that the only way he could help them was by ending this perversion, but flashes of a memory he refused to see swam across his vision.

Frantically, Nick held up the knife he had grabbed earlier, waving it aggressively at the zombie closest to him. Undeterred, the undead shuffled closer, taking another wild swing. The force of the narrowly avoided swing blew back Nick's unwashed hair, revealing his wide green eyes. Before the offending limb could fully pass, Nick awkwardly flashed the knife past. He had never stabbed anyone before, and was thus unpracticed enough to be almost completely ineffective. The knife squished through the dead flesh instead of slicing, bouncing the improperly aligned edge off with little more than a scratch. Taking advantage of his shock, with surprising cunning for a dead body, its other fist shot forward in a quick jab, crunching directly into his nose. Nick reeled back once more, holding his nose. Tears streamed down his face mixing with sticky blood, but he knew he couldn't get distracted. The downtime had dulled his focus, but he hadn't forgotten the lesson he learned on the first day here.

Fight back.

Nick nudged Saul, who had been silent the whole time, and gave him a series of designs to create while he focused on fighting. He was hoping if he frontloaded the prompts, Saul would be able to choose whichever was most appropriate for the situation, but he didn't have time to worry about it. The corpse was not content to let him recover, already stepping into another haymaker. It stayed in a loose boxing stance, an oddly intelligent choice that Nick hadn't noticed until just then. Hoping to even the odds, he tried to copy the stance, even as his wrists grew thin and spindly. He went for a probing jab, a decision prompted by Saul, calculating in the background. As he stepped forward, his arm seemed to bulge at the back. Following his turn, it flowed up his forearm until he released the punch, at which point the bulge condensed down into a long, thin spike of dense wood that speared the zombie directly between its milky white eyes.

Nick blinked, not having expected the sheer force behind the blow. "Nice job, man!" He chuckled nervously, eyeing the next two zombies shuffling into the circle of diffuse green light being emitted by his hands. The one closest to him was slightly shorter than the first, but no less muscular. It seemed vaguely feminine, but Nick supposed it didn't really matter. The other zombie was much shorter, its head reaching about halfway up his torso, if he had to guess. They were both in the same advanced stage of disrepair, looking a stiff breeze away from toppling over, but Nick knew that their apparent frailty only truly applied to their brains. His musings were cut short by the two undead suddenly rushing forward in unison.

Panicked, Nick failed to follow Saul's quickly delivered response, instead flinching backwards. This meant that instead of stepping forward, intending to clothesline the taller one while focusing attention on the shorter one, Nick stared dumbly as the tall zombie dragged a clawed hand along his chest, just under his armour. The short one jumped, mouth wide as it attempted to bite him, but his recoiling from the vicious attack luckily placed him away from the follow up. The tall one, however, was perfectly able to land a clean left hook directly on his chin as he fell.

Stars flashed across his vision, but he managed to hold himself better this time. He felt something pooling inside his mouth, his teeth dyed an eerie red. As he pulled himself back into a boxing stance, he spat the blood on the floor.

"I didn't hear no fuckin bell."

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Nick dragged himself out of the house, holding all of the food he could grab. His leg pulled at him, his swollen knee making it uncomfortable, but not impossible, to walk. Blood covered nearly every visibly inch of skin, which was most of him due to the tattered remains of his clothes. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt, not least being his knuckles. He was pretty sure he had cracked a couple. He made his way into the street. His grin was plastered on, fragile and crumbling.

"That was a cool line, wasn't it?"

Indeed it was, Nicholas. From Rocky, I believe?

"Rocky V, yeah. It felt really good!"

If the dead had been capable of thought, I imagine they would have been very impressed.

"You're damn right they would've been! Oh yeah, did the plan work?"

To some extent. I did not gain much agency over the impetus of our magic, but providing the framework beforehand allowed me to handle the magic while you focused on the actual fighting. At which, you need to be significantly better.

"I know, I know. I've just never been in a fight before! Without you, I would have been completely dead there. Those zombies were throwing like actual boxer punches!"

While I appreciate that, I cannot pull your weight forever. We will work the best when you are able to devote your full attention to the physical aspect, while I handle the magical, and the planning.

"How do you even get better at fighting?" He asked around a bite of bread. They were wandering through the marketplace, taking in the dust coated wares that had survived the test of time.

I would advise weight training, as a start.

"Ughhhhh, but I hate the gym!"

Then you will be pleased to discover that instead of a gym, you have me.

"Fine, I'll lift weights, but what do I do after that?"

Apparently these zombies are accomplished at boxing, so I imagine you could expect to improve by pitting yourself against them.

"You think there's more of them?"

If there is one thing that you and I have learned from zombie movies, it is that there is always more zombies. Saul nudged him mentally, directing him towards an alleyway that he was approaching. As he passed, a zombie lurched out from the darkness, mid kick. Nick flinched back, but even just grazing him, the bony foot sent him spinning backwards. Wincing, he directed Saul to ready another spike as he got into his jerry-rigged stance. The undead spun on the balls of its rotting feet, deceptively fast, as it launched into a roundhouse aimed squarely for his temple. Eyes wide, Nick dropped into a squat, feeling the wind tousle his hair as the attack blew past. Hoping to disable the leg, he threw a sloppy uppercut, but missed completely. The undead took advantage, switching the foot it stood on to launch a back kick directly into Nick's chest. He flew back, wheezing as his back hit the cobbles, but he scrabbled to his feet as fast as possible. Already, he had taken to long, as the undead got into his face, slamming a side kick directly into his thigh. He felt his leg buckle, winced as his knee slammed into the stone. Now far above him, the undead wound up for a finishing blow, but Nick managed a final charge. Springing upwards in a single, desperate movement, he landed an uppercut directly underneath the zombie's chin, just as Saul unleashed the spike.

The air was covered in a spray of rotten meat, clogging his nostrils and burning his throat. When Nick opened his eyes, he saw the head of the zombie, nearly detached from its body, with the tip of the spike sticking out through the top of it's skull. His eyes were wide with awe for a moment, before the revulsion reclaimed its rightful place and he began gagging. A solid minute of dry heaving later, he turned around and began heading back to the city gate, content to leave with his spoils, but was stopped in his tracks. Surrounding the gate that he had just come from was a mob of undead, hundreds strong. Their orange veins lit up the darkness like a wildfire, nearly blinding to his unadjusted eyes, but he could still see his chances of leaving dropping precipitously.

Turning on his heel, he began walking away as quietly as possible, when he saw the undead approaching from the other side of the marketplace. He didn't think they had seen him, but their numbers grew by the second, until the entire street was filled with them. It was only a matter of time until they caught him. He hurried down the alley that the last undead had come from, cursing the low light level inside the city. Nothing jumped out to grab him, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. A shorter house had a ladder leading up to the roof, left behind from repairs never to be finished. The melancholy tugged at his heart, but he brushed it off for now, instead climbing the ladder as fast as possible. The tiled roof groaned worryingly, but held up well enough. The food tumbled out of his hands as he rushed up, but he didn't have time to worry about it.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Just as his feet shot over the rim, a zombie walked into the alley. It looked to be in significantly worse shape than most zombies, mostly a skeleton, with just a couple strips of flesh stubbornly clinging to its frame. But it didn't shuffle like a normal zombie. It walked, whole and upright, with a keen, cunning light shining through its empty eye sockets. Tracing every bone, running over all its limbs like nerves, were whisper thin strings of orange light. They met up into thicker lines, and continued joining as the combined around the body until they met in a thick, braided rope set into the spine. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the strings surrounding the throat rose up, twisting around each other and growing, until what looked like a throat had wrapped around the skeleton's spine. A floaty, scratchy voice echoed out of the creation, little more than a whisper.

"One will find you, host. You are not permitted to run." As it spoke, the Skeleton's head turned until its eyes, burning specks of orange light, stared straight at him, peeking over the rooftop. At that, Nick immediately began running, which was a good decision as the horde chose that moment to flood into the alleyway. Most of them were shoddy, stumbling and falling when moving at any kind of speed, but a portion of them demonstrated the same dexterity as the Skeleton. Clambering up the ladder, they sprinted after him. Looking back, a bad habit of his, he saw five of these zombies keeping up with them. He jumped across a small alleyway, the extended roofs making it barely an obstacle. He heard a rattle as the zombies landed as well, but when he looked back they had all managed the jump with ease.

"SAUL!" He panted. "WHERE DO I GO?!"

There are very few plants up here, Nicholas, I cannot direct you effectively. However, I would advise lateral movement as soon as possible. He said, concentrating. Nick followed the instructions, clearing the much more significant gap, before stopping at the lip. As the closest zombie jumped, he swung wildly, finally catching a lucky break as his fist cracked against the zombie's skull, sending it spiralling to the street below. Its head cracked against the cobbles, the light flickering out from its eyes instantly. Nick didn't see this however, as he had started running the second he made contact. Now with one less enemy to worry about, he shot over the angled rooftops, his speed noticeably improved from when he had first arrived. Shingles dropped to the floor, shattering like ceramics, but miraculously he managed to remain balanced. Unfortunately, the disturbance had slowed him down enough for the next zombie to catch up. Saul wouldn't be able to help, there weren't a lot of plants on the rooftops, even petrified, so Nick stepped into his haphazard stance. The zombie wound up for a front kick, but was slow enough that Nick had time to desperately grab for the foot. He grabbed onto the dead foot, pulling as hard as he could, until the limb popped off. Thankfully, the momentum was enough to send the undead rolling off the roof. Nick blinked, holding a rotting foot, before he remembered that he still had to run. He threw the foot at the closest zombie, snapping its head back, and then continued his sprint.

Three zombies remained, the only noises telling him as such being the pound of rotten meat on tile. In a better situation, Nick, having spied a glass window in the next house he planned to jump to, might have continued on. But the incessant pounding, growing ever closer, the sound of jaws closing down on him, was not an environment to critical thinking. And so, when he made his next jump, he aimed lower.

Nick crashed through the plate glass window, scattering shards of it across the floor. They tore at his flesh as he went, long lines of fire stretching all over his body, crossing over the barely healed wounds he had already collected. Hot, red blood fell to the floor in ribbons, coating the glass in crimson. He picked himself up, looking out the window he had just jumped into, or what was left of it. He could see the remaining zombie split up, but one, the one with the least intact flesh, stared at him with malevolent, flickering orange lights, before it turned.

Nick shuddered, knowing he needed to make it out of the building before the zombies found a way in. His first plan was to direct Saul to create as much wood as he could, around his internal organs. He was hoping they could cover the heart, but it might've just been wishful thinking. As Saul got to work, Nick turned to look around the room. There was a fireplace across the room, with a wrought iron poker, as well as a set of very fancy plush chairs. Lack of upkeep had worn out the chairs as much as anything else, but they might serve to barricade the two doors in the room. He grunted, pushing against them. With a screech that nearly stopped his heart, the first chair moved, leaving deep tracks in the dust gathered on the floor. He couldn't quite wedge it under the expensive looking doorknob, but he hoped that the weight alone would be sufficient. Once he had the second door covered, he looked around the room once more. Along the right wall, the one with no doors on it, there was a large cabinet, stocked with ornate glasses and amber liquid in decanters. He supposed he could light everything on fire, but he would rather not. He grabbed the fire poker, and peered out the window, looking to see if one of the zombies was down there. All he saw was a fatal drop and ash grey vines climbing the tall manor house.

The vine gave him an idea, though. He pulled his head back in carefully, luckily jolting at the crash of wood once his neck was clear of the glass shards. Hurriedly, he turned to where he imagined Saul to be.

"Saul! Can you talk to those vines?"

Saul was panting heavily, barely able to muster a response. N-no. I will be convalescing for quite a while. Worry not, your heart has been sufficiently covered.

Nick looked down, to reveal that his chest was indeed covered, with a curved plate of wood like a breastplate. This was significantly more wood than the first time, even if the power had increased with practice. Nick realized that Saul must have given it his all. If he wanted magic to happen, he'd have to do it himself. His face set with determination, he sat down, ignoring the glass crunching beneath him. Crashes and bangs echoed from the bottom floor, but he pushed them aside. Slowly, far too slowly, his thoughts faded out. He sat in a well of grey void, experiencing nothing. Once again, the hiss of wind through leaves rang out, and once again, Nick was immediately taken out of his trance. The destructive noises grew closer. Desperately, Nick thought through what he was trying to do. How was he supposed to communicate without thinking?

Then, a thought struck him. He sat down once more, but didn't clear his mind. He sat with his thoughts, thinking more than usual even. Slowly, painfully, agonizingly slowly, foreign thoughts fixed with his own. Ambient noises of the wilderness, building until they almost overwhelmed him, but Nick could not allow himself to be distracted. The pounding at the door of the room told him he didn't have much time. He latched on to the ambient noises, trying desperately to understand, until suddenly they snapped into focus.

-you there?

"Ha! Yes! Yes, I'm here!" He laughed, nearly sick with relief, when the door burst open. All three remaining zombies rushed into the room, no longer content to chase him around. They were here to finish him. Nick brandished his fire poker, desperately bargaining with the vines along the outside wall.

Yay! New friend!

"Yes, new friend! I'm your friend, my name is Nick."

Name?

"Yeah, it's what people call you- it doesn't really matter right now. Listen, I need to get out of here, very fast. Can you help with that?"

Name.

"Name?"

Want name.

"Oh for- if I give you a name, will you help me?"

Name! The vines shouted excitedly.

The closest zombie approached, throwing a quick jab. Nick swung for it, knocking the blow away, but he had committed too much. His weapon wasn't covering his body anymore. This mistake was capitalized on immediately, as a sweeping roundhouse rattled his left shoulder. The blow knocked him back, but Saul's breastplate saved him from a broken arm. The shock rattled him, making him frantically swing his fire poker. A lucky shot connected with the zombie's head, dropping it to the floor, but the other two stepped forward, menace glimmering in their eyes.

"Aaagh, fuck." he hissed. Even wit the bone intact, he'd still have a pretty nasty bruise.

Name?

"God, hold on, kid." The vines really did feel like a child, excitable and easily distracted.

Kid? Name! Good name!

"You- what? Kid? Whatever, please, get me out of here, Kid!"

OK! Kid agreed, before falling silent. For a moment, Nick thought that Kid had left, as nothing happened. The zombies drew closer, throwing a couple probing blows that he desperately warded off. But then, with a tearing sound, the window above him was suddenly filled with writhing snakes. A light ash grey, they slithered into the room, reaching for any available surface. Like a wave, they poured into the room, knocking the zombies backwards into the fireplace. Vines shot out, knocking over the liquor cabinet. Amber liquid flew across the room, drenching the floor in whiskey. The vines almost completely avoided Nick, all except one. It climbed up his leg, wrapping around his torso until it rested around the wood covering his neck like a scarf. Nick looked at the gently bobbing end of the vine, and said, "Thank you."

Suddenly, one of the zombies collided with the mantle above the fireplace, rattling the mounting. Atop the shelf, a small fire starter wobbled back and forth for a moment, hanging in the air for just a second, before dropping to the floor. Nick stared, as the small metal piece hit the floor, releasing a tiny shower of sparks. Sparks that flew all over the whiskey-soaked vines. A tiny, barely there flame immediately burst into a roaring inferno, tracing its way along the vines, towards Nick. Immediately, he turned and ran, vaulting back out of the window, glass shards crunching against his sluggish wooden hands. Kid screamed in his head, a single long, haunting note. Nick trusted his new friend to keep them both safe.

As the cobbles below rushed up to meet him, time seemed to slow around him. "Listen, Kid, listen to me! I know it hurts, but we have to get out of here. If you can detach from the rest safely, you need to, or you will burn up!" The speed of thought was much more efficient, allowing him to get his warning out long before he was crushed against the ground. Kid didn't verbalise a response, but he got a verbal nod of assent. With a second smaller cry, Kid used a shard of glass stuck in the window to separate itself from the mass of vines. Now without any kind of safety net, no matter how precarious, Nick watched the ground grow closer. At least, he thought, he had kept Kid safe. He closed his eyes.

And then opened them again as his right arm blazed with pain, having been nearly jolted out of its socket. Vertical momentum turned horizontal, the wind brushing his hair out of his face. Nick looked up, to see Kid wrapped around his good arm, straining as it stretched out to grab a rooftop a couple feet away. As Nick reached the bottom of the pendulum arc, Kid couldn't hold on any longer. With a grunt, Nick managed to roll over his shoulder as he landed, the wood surrounding his torso proving adequate protection. He ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling far above.

They had made it.