Peace. Darkness. Daiden welled with a rush of emotions from watching his comrades suffer against the undeads. He watched two soldiers die at the vanguard. It twisted his heart, the reality of his existence within Mioverold. His first death, then one more; comrades he had shared a meal with, made clothes for. He felt despair when the horde spilled from the shield wall, not his own, but through the eyes of those around him. He clenched his teeth from the tension, from when it tightened like a noose around his neck.

Daiden shielded his head on the floor, crouching against the stampede. “Where are you when I need you the most?” He thought with a crumpled expression. “Ehedus! Clear my bloody mind already…fucking hell!” His complaint cut through the tunnels in an echo. He counted to the moment, until a light unburdened him from the shackles of anxiety and fear, frustration even.

Finally, Daiden struggled onto his feet while resisting the slowing stampede. He watched Deng close the shield wall, with over sixty hostilities on the inside. He tapped his feet, evasively moving through the horde, and then his arms, in turns and sways. “No injuries. That’s, that’s good.”

“Soldiers of the Multana Earldom!” shouted Daiden, with an infectious ferocity. “Stay in pairs. Stay alive. We’re going to live through this!”

The Godvildian trainee distanced his mind from the noise, the grunts and screams, the sound of weapons under stress, from clanking metal to metal. He slaughtered some of the weaker undeads around him, now in a rhythm, and with a firm grip over his swords. He cleared a path through the horde, slashing, hacking, and stabbing, in the flow of a dance, to reach the shield wall.

“Not yet…” thought Daiden, pursing his lips. He drew the horde away from the soldiers at the vanguard, stubbornly resisting attack after attack, in evasions, with parries. He severed the heads of the Fleshbound Soldiers. He shattered the ash-coloured bones, and hammered on the Crimson Lockjaws. He breathed into the smell of decay, blood, and combat.

Sixty to forty, then thirty. The numbers whittled.

Daiden and the Multana Soldiers continued to crawl from under the worst of odds. His chest heaved from the effort, gasping for air. He waited for his aura to tear away at his exhaustion, with his Aeter Persistence, and grabbed at Deng’s shield. Taken aback, the Multana Captain broke formation, allowing Daiden to cross over to the other side.

“What are you doing?” shouted Deng. He turned to the soldiers on his right, “Pull him back. Pull him back now!”

Nobody moved. Their bodies continued to defend against the undeads, from muscle memory alone. Their minds fixated on the Godvildian trainee instead, their benefactor.

Without fear, Daiden cut through the smaller horde to reach the two Acris, kicking them apart. He scrambled to his feet and rushed towards the one in front of him.

Lured into a moment between life and death, Daiden attacked the Acri on instinct. He slashed from the top, across a diagonal path, but missed when the undead backed away from the sword’s range. Making a quick decision, Daiden added to the weight of his swing and lifted from the ground to throw another kick. It connected with the Acri’s chest, and with enough force to push the undead onto the wall this time.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“I can’t know until I know…” whispered Daiden, under his breath. “But I’ll know if I’m able to hunt you!”

***

Deng watched his benefactor plunge into combat against the two Acris. He shifted to his right, then his left, and urged his soldiers to break formation.

“What?” blurted a few soldiers, confused.

“Split into pairs and support the back,” commanded Deng. “The breach is no good. We need to improvise.”

The soldiers slowly nodded in agreement.

Deng quickly pointed at those equipped with the Grim Falcon Cloaks. “You lot, come with me. We can’t let Ser Daiden handle the Acris by himself.”

***

In a hot sweat, Daiden smiled when Deng improvised to hold the other Acri from interfering with his battle. He restricted the undead by locking his swords onto its skeletal frame, throwing a punch right after. He grabbed onto the hard skull and attacked its mouth next, in punches again, repetitively. The impact recoiled onto his elbow with a sharp pain, and started to dent the protection around his knuckles as well. But the Godvildian trainee persisted, until the Acri fell limp.

Daiden breathed in relief and stepped away from the tall, thin undead. It looked the same, for a while at least. But in a blink, he noticed the Acri awaken once more, cocking its head to one side. It grabbed onto its neck with both hands and squeezed, clawing into its bones with a strange, eerie smile. It screamed, muffled still by the stitches on its mouth, shaking in a frenzy, before falling limp again.

A little distracted, Daiden inched towards the Acri. He dragged his feet and stopped, drawn to the situation at hand. But the undead leaned ahead, without warning, grabbing onto the former’s neck much like it did with its own. Lifted off the floor, Daiden swayed to kick the Acri’s face. He wriggled from the loosened grip and retrieved his swords in haste.

The Acri followed.

Daiden parried the long arms, and the sharp claws. He jerked his face away to avoid a swipe, but stumbled with the other, allowing the Acri to leave a deep, four-fingered scratch on his face. Daiden retaliated almost immediately, with a wild slash that somehow managed to cut a corner stitch on the Acri’s lips. He fell from the elaborate swing and flinched, expecting the undead to pounce at any moment.

But the Acri froze instead, despite the opportunity. It covered its mouth, confused and in pain.

The Godvildian trainee straightened his knees and returned the Sword of Broken Probability to his spatial inventory. He messily clung to the staggering Acri, prying its hands away. He slammed the undead onto the floor and pointed his sword at its mouth, clipping the other stitches as well. Almost on instinct, Daiden retreated, watching the enemy’s lips part with a yellow, sticky, grease-like substance. But with its mouth now open, the Acri screamed without restraint, at a shrill pitch.

Most of the soldiers dropped to their knees, while Daiden covered his ears. It reverberated through the tunnels, shaking the underground dungeon.

“What the fuck?” thought Daiden.

Driven to the brink of madness, the Acri swatted the Godvildian trainee aside and sprinted towards the horde.

Daiden hopped back onto his feet and followed. He grabbed the Acri and shoved it onto the walls once more. He turned the undead around and stabbed the open mouth, sundering it with a minor explosion. Daiden coughed away the dust, angling his shoulders to deflect another set of attacks, and struck again. He tilted his sword by the hilt and slashed at the Acri’s cheek. He retrieved his weapon from the motion of his swing and slashed an arc from left to right, cleaving the head this time.

“That should do…right?” stammered Daiden, barely a whisper. He wobbled to the side and slowly moved towards Deng and the others. His thumb tapped at the back of his spatial ring in that moment, reequipping him with his second sword.

“Onto the next, yes, Captain Deng?” sang Daiden, playfully. He bled from all the cuts on his body, more from his face. “Ah, I’m starting to feel a little drowsy…”

Daiden smacked his cheeks to jolt his mind awake. He joined the Multana Captain and his soldiers to fell the second Acri, before pointing his swords at the rest of the horde. “Is it too much if I ask you lot to handle the rest? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I think I’m a little tired now…”