----------------------------------------
— First Lieutenant Dullahan —
----------------------------------------
“Please, sir... I beg of you... that’s all I know...” The ghost’s voice trembled, its form once ferocious, now a barely flickering, disembodied shell of a man. His neck was thin and translucent, twisting unnaturally within the grip of my binding spell. The unnatural glow of his ethereal body flickered weakly in the dim light of the crumbling fort, the heavy silence of the ancient stone walls amplifying his pitiful plea.
I glared down at him, my eyes narrowing with disgust, as my mind scoured his soul for any shred of further knowledge. My hand, outstretched and trembling with raw power, clutched the spell tightly, the arcane energy pulsing through my fingers. The cold, unforgiving air of the fort, thick with dust and decay, clung to my skin like an oppressive weight. My boots crunched on the broken stone floor beneath me, disturbed by my fury.
“You’re telling me you let a zombie in rusted armor frighten you into submission?” My voice was a growl, low and rough like the scrape of metal on stone. The abandoned fort around us groaned in response, as if the very structure was reacting to my rage. “You were supposed to hold this fort, in life and in death, and you couldn’t even manage that, soldier?”
I raised the hand that held my head, the cold, skull-like visage of my severed form resting in my grasp, tucked beneath the rim of the horned helmet that crowned my neck. The helmet itself, black and weathered, bore the marks of countless battles, its horns twisted like jagged peaks of some forgotten mountain. My fingers brushed lightly against the battered walls, the ancient stones beneath my touch crumbling with age. A fine layer of grime and dust coated the timeworn stones, each one a silent witness to the wars fought and lost within these walls. The fortress around me seemed to lean inward, its very structure bowing under the weight of its own history, closing in like a tomb.
The ceiling above sagged dangerously, beams of fractured wood struggling to support the ruinous weight of time. My footsteps had echoed ominously through the hollowed halls, each sound filling the emptiness with the ghosts of the past. The long shadows cast by my head and helmet danced along the crumbling walls, stretching across the once-proud hallways like spectral fingers reaching into the gloom. The air was thick, as if the fort itself was holding its breath, waiting for the final, inevitable collapse.
And yet, with all the trembling spirits of history that remained, the one that stood before me had failed.
“You dishonor me, soldier. I’ll make sure your replacement doesn’t make the same mistake.” My voice was venomous, seething with contempt.
“But the girl... the ghost! It’s what you wanted to know...!” The spirit pleaded, his form flickering more rapidly as I turned my gaze toward him, my fury growing.
The spirit wasn’t even part of my command, I realized, but an unfortunate remnant from an ancient war. His soul was caught here in this forsaken place, unwillingly summoned by my power, clinging to the remnants of duty. He had failed me, though, failed at his most basic task. A coward who ran from a mere undead maniac—no magic, no harm. Simply a terrified man with a branch. The thought of it, the betrayal, burned through me like acid.
The ghost’s words, however, had given me a hint—there was more to this than his failure. The other spirit, the one that had been with the girl, had more to offer.
I finally released the spell, watching his body shudder in relief. “Return to your post and await further orders, sentry. Fail me again, and it will be your last.” My voice was colder now, detached from emotion, as I watched him disappear into the rafters above, his movement quick, desperate.
Watching him fly off was infuriating. The way he sped away without a moment’s hesitation, as if I were a mere inconvenience, grated against my every instinct. A soldier should fear their leader more than any enemy, yet here was a fool who had no respect—for me or for the dead. To see him so easily disobey his duty made my blood burn. How many had fallen to this very same fate? The fort, the walls, the very earth beneath my feet had seen more than their fair share of betrayal.
The girl, though. A twisted, unsettling vision. A ghost with elongated spider limbs that twitched unnervingly, her crimson hair cascading down her back like a river of blood in motion. The description matched, every detail sharp in my mind. But the question gnawed at me: How in the hell did she become a ghost?
Her appearance was a haunting puzzle, and I couldn’t shake the unease that settled deep in my gut. There was something about her—something not right. Was she a product of some new twisted curse? Or had she willingly embraced the afterlife in a way I couldn’t understand?
I rubbed a finger across my chin thoughtfully, the action almost reflexive as I marched forward, my iron boots clanging against the decayed wood beneath me. The sound echoed through the deserted hall, a mournful groan that matched the fort's broken spirit. Each step seemed to shake the very bones of the structure, threatening to collapse it further.
Stepping outside, I was greeted by the harsh midday sun, its light doing little to warm the cold, decaying ruins around me. The wind carried the scent of rot and moss, as if the very land mourned the death of what was once a proud stronghold. I stared into the distance, the sunlight harsh on my eyes, but the deep shadow in my chest, the one that had nothing to do with the ruin before me, remained. I contemplated the possibilities—each more troubling than the last.
The most likely cause of all this was her late majesty, Queen Arach. A woman deeply spiritual, to put it mildly. In fact, she possessed the eerie qualities of a banshee, with her ethereal wail and presence that could freeze the air. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Princess Ichni had inherited some of those... peculiarities. If the girl had indeed ascended to this state from her mother’s curse, then it explained some of her strange abilities.
Still, the thought was unsettling, like something out of a nightmare—a once-proud princess now bound in ghostly form. It was a bizarre theory, no doubt, but then again, so was the sight of a headless warrior casually strolling through the meadows. When put into context, it fits. Strange, but not impossible.
It occurred to me that the zombie might very well be a necromancer—something I knew all too well. After all, my own ranks were filled with such dark practitioners, the kind who could summon the bodies of the dead and reanimate them as mere puppets. In fact, I too had dabbled in such art, though I preferred to keep my skill set to more... efficient methods. This particular zombie, if it were indeed one of those foul practitioners, could be a fledgling lich who had gone rogue, abandoning his comrades to align himself with Princess Ichni.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
It struck me as a possibility worth exploring, especially since the soldier ghost had said that this so-called "zombie" wielded nothing but a large branch—hardly the weapon of a seasoned soldier. It made sense now: a novice necromancer, desperate for power, utilizing the princess’s plight as a means to further his own goals. A simple, yet dangerous alliance.
Was this necromancer truly working in Princess Ichni’s best interest, or was he merely using her as a pawn in some twisted game? The thought of him manipulating her, twisting her into an instrument for his dark schemes, ignited a fierce heat in my chest. I could already see the despicable things he might force her to do—corrupting her with his power, stripping away any shred of her dignity, leaving her a shadow of what she once was. The very idea made my fists clench in rage, the ghost of my former strength making my bones ache.
If they were planning anything at all, there was only one logical direction they would have gone. I turned my attention to Aratan Villa, where my returning investigation would take me next. The villa, with its quiet nobility, would provide more answers—if not in the form of a chase, then at least in clues hidden among the streets and its blithering inhabitants. Whatever game these players were involved in, it would all lead back to that place. The questions gnawed at me, but for now, my course was set.
As I leered towards the direction of the town, in the distance, I spotted a figure—a lone adventurer. Her blonde hair shimmered like threads of sunlight as she nimbly loosed arrows at her prey, the creatures falling to her deadly precision. A huntress, I surmised. But more importantly, a potential source of information. She was alive, after all, and far easier to break than a shade or ghost. A few well-placed strikes and she'd be singing like a bird, if I cared to listen. My lips curled into a grim smile as I closed the distance, the familiar thrill of interrogation already rising within me.
I moved forward at a deliberate pace, my form almost blending with the shadows cast by the slanting rays of the sun. The soft whisper of the wind rustled through the tall meadow grass, hiding my approach. Her back was turned to me, focused on the task at hand. She was busy carving the antlers from a hoplop—an innocuous-looking demonic creature with the appearance of a hare, its prize a trophy of its short-lived life. It seemed a trivial task to her, but to me, it was just another opportunity for me to squeeze the words out of her throat.
“Look, grandpa, I didn’t blow this one up!” she shouted gleefully, the cheer in her voice at odds with the grim circumstances she was unaware of. “I bet that ghoul won’t even know what hit him when I show up with these!”
“I’m afraid I’m not your grandfather,” I growled, my voice dark and dripping with malice. Her eyes widened as she turned to see me, and she stumbled backward with a terrified scream. “But I’m certainly interested in this ‘ghoul’ you speak of. You’re coming with me to the fort—for a little ‘chat.’”
“Wh-what the hell are you?” She shouted, her voice shaking with fear. The usual response. Humans, always so predictable. I couldn’t help but smirk, a cold and amused glint in my hollow eye sockets. They all fell apart at the sight of my gaze, quivering like frightened animals, their bravado shattered in an instant.
“I am First Lieutenant Dullahan, the left hand of Demon King Malphas.” My voice rang out, a chilling monotone laced with ice. I didn’t need to raise it to command attention; the weight of my presence was enough. Every word dripped with disdain. “I control the undead, those bound by my will, and I know you’ve encountered one of my disobedient soldiers. Don’t even think of running. I can still make you speak, even with your limbs scattered in pieces. I’d rather not add your broken bones to my collection... but I will if you force my hand.”
She glared at me, her defiance burning through the air like a torch. Even I, accustomed to watching mortals crumble under the weight of my presence, felt a flicker of surprise. She was resisting? I couldn’t remember the last time someone stood against me with such blatant disregard. A twisted grin stretched across my face. How fascinating.
A voice, soft yet carrying a weight of wisdom, interrupted the tense silence. “I am her grandfather, Lieutenant Dullahan. I must insist that you belay that order and allow her to continue.” The words were slow but firm, and they shackled me in place. I turned my head, still held by my arm, and my gaze landed on the figure who had spoken—an withering old man, standing just a few feet behind me. His presence was an unexpected complication. How had I not noticed him before? He wasn’t supposed to be here. How did he...? Ah.
His eyes locked onto mine with a venomous disdain, the intensity in them resembling a maelstrom ready to swallow anything in its path. The mere weight of his gaze made my knee twitch involuntarily, and a sickening realization spread through me. I was at a severe disadvantage. My luck had led me right into the presence of one of my most dangerous adversaries, and I knew that even with all my strength, a confrontation with this man might very well end with me falling. The thought tightened in my chest, and I cursed the situation under my breath.
I stood motionless, my flickering flames for eyes fixed on him, weighing my options in silence. Every muscle in my body screamed to be ready for a fight, but I could already feel the tension hanging thick in the air. His every movement was deliberate, his posture suggesting a readiness to strike. As I analyzed the old man, I felt a shift behind me—quick, fluid. The huntress was preparing her weapon. I turned just in time to see her notched arrow, its shaft glowing with the hue of water magic, aimed directly at me. My options had narrowed to none; I was caught in a perfect trap.
"I see," I muttered, my tone flat, my gaze unyielding. "It appears you're right. Continue, then." My words carried no respect, only the cold realization that I was outmatched for the moment. "Good day to you, then, Pelagion." The name slipped off my tongue like a curse, its weight lingering in the air between us.
"I don't go by that name anymore, Dullahan," the old man said, his voice thick with bitterness. It was a warning, clear in its intent. His eyes locked onto mine with a ferocity that made my breath catch. The hunched posture he held didn’t seem like the frailty of an old man; it was the poised readiness of a master predator, coiled and waiting. Each shift he made, though slow, carried the weight of someone accustomed to violence, and I could feel the tension building. If I didn’t leave soon, I knew he’d make his move.
“Ah, yes. How foolish of me,” I sneered, turning away with a cold laugh that echoed through the clearing. There was no use in wasting time with these two. They clearly weren’t allies of His Majesty, just another set of distractions that would stew in their own hatred for my kind. They could whine and fester all they wanted, but they wouldn’t get any closer to the truth. I had no more patience for their petty games. I spent too long with the old man once, so I was keenly aware of his aloof and dangerous nature. After betraying his trust once before, I knew I would not regain it again, through fear or otherwise.
The guards at the gate, however, would be far more useful. They would tell me everything I wanted to know, down to the smallest detail.
“May the tides flow in your favor, then, elementals,” I said with a mocking bow, the sarcasm dripping from my words. Without waiting for a response, I turned my back on them, letting their glares burn into my back as I strode away. The lingering tension of their presence didn’t concern me; they were just nuisances, beneath my attention. My focus was already elsewhere, my mind on a far greater prize—the runaway princess and the zombie, a mockery of loyalty itself, hidden somewhere in this forsaken land. The sooner I dealt with them, the sooner I could return to more important matters.