The travel being a mere half day proved to be false, although I did make it in less than a day. This was because of my lack of ability when it came to traversing the land, as it was rockier than what was around the cabin and the subsequent forest. Thus, I didn't make as good a time as I imagined.

Still, there is a silver lining as I only planned to attack whence it was night. The downside was mainly losing extra time to scout out the situation, not from a lack of vision since I can see aptly enough in the dark, but because the people I'm scouting don't. Thus they'll be less active and I'll have a harder time judging their strength and number.

I planned on killing them, and to the last man it would be. Perhaps. There's something I've been wanting to do, something from my own page of existence that if proves true than I'll have an advantage in what I want need to accomplish.

Their encampment consisted of rudimentary wooden buildings, sparsely placed around a entrance to a cave. I'm guessing the cave is their main hideout, since there what I see isn't enough to house the rough estimate that Cera gave me before I left, at around a 100 men. The buildings number less than half a dozen, and even if each is a barracks they'd each only house around 8 men each given the sizes. This train of thought is further confirmed by the patrols that exchange from the cave, the entrance itself hoisting around it a simple gate, obviously meant more to keep out stray vermin than a determined attacking force.

Considering their size and the lack of any competition that I'm aware of, they're a pretty lax bunch. Sensing this weakness I can feel the killing urge well up, bit by bit, and I knew that I had to hurry to consolodate a plan before I engage in a frenzy.

After some time half spent meditating to cool myself, and the other to grasp their patterns, as well as the sun having set, I set upon the encampment from the spot I found a ways away, amidst a few bushes that banded together to survive the landscape. The fact I was able to scout their place, with a severe lack of skill at what a scout needs, further proves the sheer confidence this band has that they're safe.

Once more this sign of weakness is met by a need to strike, and shed enough blood to paint the brown, wooden walls red, and to drown the bandits in shelter down in the depths of the cave. With my own confidence in utterly annihilating this group, I set out, in the dark of night as I weave through the darkness with ease only possessed by those who can see in it. Due to the torches lit by the few sentries set about the camp, their own line of sight is hindered as they only pay attention to what has light cast upon it.

This makes my infiltration easy, and I quickly enter one of the buildings, after confirming those inside are asleep. I may be wrong, since I only judged this on the fact I didn't hear any movement or talking.

Luckily I was right, and inside I found five sleeping bodies, and suppressing my glee at such easy kills and to not simply berserk, I sauntered up to the each one of them, and choked the life from them one by one. And so each died without making a sound, as one hand gripped their throats and the other smothered their mouths.

Smiling to myself at the pleasure that comes from ending a life, a pleasure that I'm unsure if came with being an undead, and quickly exited the building after ensuring the bodies looked as natural as possible, so that anyone who came in merely saw men sleeping as expected.

As I had entered the camp, I also made note of the sentry positions, counting five, four scattered around the edges whilst one patrolled the inner area. Each group was around two to three men, whom, if things continue as they are, will be the last on my list to kill before I descend below. The cave entrance itself having its own guard but a passing glance when I was close enough to see in detail showed me that it was only two men, slacking off from their duty.

Things proceeded smoothly for two more buildings. Once I reached the third, however, from inside came conversation that caught my interest.

"So you says that undead army that swept through left a guy to talk business with the boss?"

"Are ya daft? How many times I gottsa say it, they did! If you weren't always gettin' so fuckin' drunk all the time durin' important mattah's, you'd fucking know!"

"The reason I get drunks is because we haven't had a score in ages because of those walking dead bastards, they scared off all our pickings. I don't even fucking know why we're still here. What kind of bandits are we if we don't got anyone to steal from."

"That's what I was gonna get to before you kept fuckin' interruptin'. The deadman they left, one of them black robed, creepy bastards, apparently struck a deal with the boss. We're gonna collect corpses for'em so the armies they got coming behind'em have good material protected from the weatha'."

"I don't like it, helping corpse raisers. It just ain't right what they do."

"And that's why you're a fuckin' dumbass. The only fucking difference between us n' them is we only made the corpses, they makes'em and use'em too. Ain't no sense in wasting a perfectly fine body than to let it rot, besides that they'll be paying us more than we was makin' robbing people."

"What the hell are we gonna spend that coin on if everyone who wants it is dead?"

"That's the thing, these undead only care about taking down the Empire, the boss wants to milk this opportunity for awhile till we ditch quick for another place. I welcome that there, get to enjoy bringin' my bounty up from scratch all over again."

"Ain't gonna be as fast as mine, you only ever kill'em and steal."

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Despite my occupation, I prefer my women without the kicking and screaming, you damn rapist. You might be a daft but you're a fucking stud of a horse when it comes to fucking." The two men laugh and after a little more conversation, the little light they had lit was soon blown out. I waited a little more to give them time to fall asleep, and entered in to repeat what I had before, though for the man I could sense was the brutal rapist, I indulged in dragging out his death, my fingers digging into his throat slowly as I smothered his mouth to prevent noise, the fear in his eyes inverse to the pleasure in my own. His accounts of past deeds served to dig up a picture of a mother's pantless corpse and the words of Cera. The pleasure was tinged with mourning for someone I never met, for someone I viewed as my first friend since becoming an undead.

Sighing without breath, I finish up the rest of the buildings with ease, to then turn my attention to the sentries positioned around the camp. I planned to use the element of surprise and my superior speed to quickly kill one and to incapacitate the other for my experiment. Crouching behind a wall, I spy on my first group of victims.

Despite the few buildings, their placements are sparse, thus the distance between sentries was enough for them to not notice the scuffle that ensued.

Dashing from my cover, the ground between us and my target was shorted quicker than they could turn around once they sensed me, my axe falling down into the side of the head of my target, before I back handed the other one with free hand to knock him unconscious. The force behind the slap may have been a bit too much, as the thump on impact and the thud on landing made me worry that I had killed him, but his chest still rose with breath, though obviously haggard and painful.

During this I had gripped the torch of the man I slayed with my axe hand after releasing my hold on it, to ensure no suspicion arose from the other sentries at the sudden change in the flames position. Among the things that were improved upon my metamorphisis, my dexterity and hand-eye coordination were one of them, allowing me this feat that a juggler would find impressive.

Now onto my experiment, something I've taken from my own circumstance. Raising a body of a still living person, close to death. While I don't know through what means the necromancers do it, I feel that the method I have in mind is far different anyway. To force my own death energy to take control over their soul, not trying to merge with it like I had done before, but to suppress it so that the person is utterly obedient to me. There are many flaws with this plan, such as my own lack of skill in manipulating death beyond drawing it in. However, during my meditations I've worked to improve my control, and I can only hope this extends to outside my body.

Gathering the death energy, I manipulate it out of my body, holding tightly with my will so that it does not dissipate, and push it towards the now writhing body beneath me. The energy moved as I willed, a pleasing sight to my eyes, and it began to enter the squirming man. I began to sense that he was less than a minute from death, the energy I implanted within him giving me this information that could only be labelled as a sixth sense. Guiding through him, I found what it was I was looking for. A space that did not feel physical and yet it was as solid as the ground beneath me when my energy touched upon it. Rather than being settled in at a particular part of his body, it seemed to be spread throughout it, and only appeared once the countdown to his death was less than half a minute away.

Sensing the solidity of the space, I had nearly abandoned the experiment feeling I had literally encountered a wall, but the solid nature of the space began to warp more and more to a fragile state. Remembering the crack in the space my soul resides, I try to force the energy to break through the now thin layer. This was met with success, although the opening was not as clean as the one I have.

Quickly acting before the man dies, I rushed the death energy in, and quickly gripped his soul with it, to prevent it from leaving his body. This slowed its departure, but it did not stop it, and I grew concerned until I remembered how I stopped mine in the past. A sadistic smile floated across my face.

Using my death energy to wrench control over the soul from its owner, I commanded it to stop. The effect was immediate, as the man went from his unmoving state as he approached death back to the writhing from earlier, this time far more violently. Gazing upon this scene, aside from the pleasure I got from his sufferring and the fact I got to share something I dealt with before, I noticed that it looked to be longer than what I had experienced. I can not think of a proper reason for this, as it could be caused by the size of the opening to his soul, or because someone other than the soul's owner ordered it. My sadistic thoughts also brought up a solution I had concerning discliplining this servant and any more I have in the future. While I'm certain they will not be able to disobey my orders, I worried that like my own case had been, they possessed a level of autonomy that could prove helpful and dangerous in one. And since they can't feel physical pain, knowing that I can provide them with a pain that transcends the body to strike the soul, I had no doubts in their loyalty.

Soon the writhing stopped, and I could feel the body beneath me settle, until it once more stirred in a more natural manner than what was on display before.

I could feel a connection between us, as without any conscious thought a feed of death energy from myself was provided to him. I noticed that the energy I passively created had ceased to rise for myself, so I can only assume it's being used to ensure he remains 'alive' as undead go.

It is not long before he rises, slowly but rise he does, and once he stands he eyes me with fear and confusion. To this I merely smile, not caring about his inner turmoil. I merely command him to hold this torch and to stand here, like an unmoving statue. The emotion on his face is increased a notch as his body does as ordered, as I reliquish the torch to his hands and he stands firm, his face now stuck on a hideous visage of fear, a fear only felt by those who are utterly helpless.

Smiling to myself as I move to kill the rest of the sentries, slightly sad that I could not produce more autonomous undead servants, but more than happy at the one I gained. Whatever he was before, I would ensure he payed the price of his actions through his servitude to me.

Before this however, calmed from the concentration I needed to raise my servant, I mull over the information I acquired earlier about the necromancer residing here. This is an unexpected event, as well as the fact that yet more armies beyond the one I was apart of will be coming, but not an entirely hopeless one. A necromancer's magic will, for the most part, prove ineffective against an undead like myself. As for the magic that will, as a necromancer would need something to reign in the more powerful of the undead, I had no doubt it too would be ineffective. I had that much confidence in the being I became from merging with Death's own essence. What use is the magic of death against the being itself?

Those thoughts put away for later, as I once more concentrate on the task at hand, a smile again appears on my lips at the impediding slaughter. The cloak and dagger will soon be over as I indulge upon the slaughter of those sheltered in the caves.

Tonight, I will bring to Death meet these people, hoping they realize their blessing as she gives them an open armed embrace to all who travel  to her kingdom.