Being torn in half was far more painful than Arron would have imagined.

"Damn it!" Arron slammed his fist into the soft earth of the respawn circle.

"How far did you make it this time?" Brynhild asked innocently.

Narrowed eyes was his only response.

Twenty-five times. Twenty-five miserable times he fought that zombie bastard.

He laid into the rotting corpse with everything he had. Getting better and better at placing his shots with his hammer where he needed them. Which, thank God he found each time he went to help Maggie. Arron had smashed the thing's windpipe, crushed the hammer through its skull. Hell, on attempt eighteen or so, he managed to slam it into its eye.

And the zombie kept coming! Every time. As if it didn't even feel the blows. A normal body couldn't keep moving with a hammer lodged in its temple, but the zombie? It sure could. Taunting Arron with its refusal to die.

He even tried being sneaky once. Only once though.

There's a few feet of space to the left or right off the trail before you'd end up in slick muck at the edges of the darkened pools. That one accidental slip sealed his fate. A boney hand grabbed his foot and pulled him towards a watery death, firmly cementing never going around again. Luckily, he'd been able to kick the hand off.

Resetting, he tried again, sliding on his belly to better hide behind the tall grass.

But that zombie spotted him. He was positive the creature could not have seen him. It was why he attempted an ambush tactic, and somehow it'd known he was there. At this point, the zombie had to possess some sixth sense. Because just like that, bushes and muck be damned, the thing nonchalantly walked over and ripped Arron in half.

Growling his frustration, Arron put his head in his hands and tried to decide what to do.

He was going to get to the Black Keep. It was going to happen. He just had to get past this stupid zombie guard. And if he couldn't sneak around it...

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Back to violence it was.

He gave Brynhild his now customary wave and started on his way to Maggie's.

"See you soon!" Brynhild called after, making Arron grind his already well-worn teeth.

He figured out quickly that to obtain the money for the caravan, he could go back and kill rats for Maggie. Shock hit him the first time, having anticipated other handyman work, considering he'd already dealt with her rat issue. He thought it had to be laziness on the innkeeper's part that led to a new rat taking shelter. But there was no rat that could hope to be as ugly as Wesley, and the hateful, knowing glare it laid on Arron was hard to misinterpret.

Through trial and error, he developed a routine to lure the big rat out of its den, and crush it via cave in. Though at each showdown he had to be a bit cleverer, as Wesley would anticipate his moves if he did the same thing over and over.

Wesley killed and coin in hand, it was off to his caravan ride to The Darkened Lands, where he would try to pass the zombie, and ultimately get butchered in increasingly brutal ways. He'd respawn and wake to Brynhild's smile, that was starting to look amused by his torture, and do it all again.

This clearly wasn't working.

To say he was frustrated was an understatement.

Three days of this endless pinwheel of rotting flesh and pain, and he was no closer to Bella. The pressure was becoming palpable. If he could just get past this roadblock.

He took the time during the caravan ride to come up with a plan that wouldn't end with that Valkyrie's mockery hanging over him.

Asking other players to kill the zombie for him always ended the same way. "No." They all had the most ridiculous excuses too. Not having room in their party or they were shooting for a leaderboard time, whatever that meant. He attempted to follow them in hopes he could pass by before another zombie came along, but as soon as they went through the portal, he'd lose them.

The players ran down the path when the caravan eased to a stop, laughing and jeering at each other. Oblivious, or more likely ambivalent, to his problem. It was infuriating, knowing he was so close to Bella but unable to reach her.

He gripped his hammer and set off, stepping through the portal like so many times before. Coming around the corner on the path, he spied the shambler in its usual place. Exactly the same as the last twenty-something times.

Along the ridge to his left were several large rocks balanced on the top of the slope. He smirked at the sight. Unlike him, they precariously passed the hours under the sun, rooted to the spot since time immemorial. He fought down his inner voice jeering that he had it backwards. Because Mr. Rotting Flesh was that very slope, and him with his hammer had no luck at tipping the scale.

Arron tsk'd to shut the nonsense down, took two steps then spun back around. The boulders... They were large, only the smallest of them being something he could picture moving. At least without some kind of jack or lever.

A large smile crept across Arron's face as he moved to put his plan in motion.

He could already picture the route the rock would take down the hill.