Raylas froze as the voice echoed in his head. The moment of inactivity caused multiple other zombies to latch onto him and his chestplate was finally torn off. They clawed against the chainmail, snagging the links and pulling.

Raylas recovered after his lapse with a swear and rolled as best as he could to free himself from the new graspers but his body barely moved from the weight of the corpses on top of him, though the zombies shoving each other out of the way gave him brief moments of opportunity.

[State your desire and I shall make them come true]

The voice sounded again. There was some kind of strange magic going on, and he didn’t think there were any wizards in the company.

Links on his chainmail started to break, and other pieces of armor were getting peeled off, or the plating was starting to warp into a scrap. His breath was also becoming labored as they were piling on his chest. Gore and blood flowed all around his body and he felt the burning of infection seeping into his blood.

[State your desire or you will die]

Raylas growled at the voice, but it was right. No matter what magic was being done it would be better than dying at the hands of this filth.

“Give me the power to live!” He gasped. “Let me destroy these undead!”

[Your wish is my command]

The voice faded away. Raylas continued to try and force the zombies off of him but his strength did not return. His vision was starting to become spotty as his breath became more and more strained from weight and fatigue.

His armor was in tatters and his weapon was gone. The zombies had also finally ripped multiple holes in his chainmail and he felt one bite into his arm. Raylas screamed in pain and fury as he tried to kick it away but another zombie took a hold of his leg and bit into it. His boot bent and dug into his bone.

He was getting close to giving in and letting the creatures feast, not by choice but because he would have no more strength to fight. Whispering a curse at himself for getting pushed to the side during the fight he gave one last push against his attackers.

Then the world seemed to freeze. The biting and clawing stopped, but the weight remained. He tried to move but it was as if he was stuck beneath a boulder. He flickered his eyes back and forth to find out what sorcery was going on.

Above him, between a gap of the horrifying faces peering hungrily at him, he saw a glowing ball of white flame hovering in the hair.

[Who are you, mortal, to pull my attention?]

The new voice exploded in Raylas’ head, causing a pain he never imagined. It was as if his entire head was being pulled apart as well as compressed into the smallest space. His vision wavered from the pain, which did not help due to his struggle to breath.

[Did you call me just to waste my time?]

Raylas growled. What the hell was going on? Who was this damn voice to not only cause him such torture but to also insult him?

“Go to the hells, whatever you are,” he spat. “I asked for power to kill these rotting bastards and now you appear. Either help me or piss off.”

[You desire my strength?]

“I desire only to live,” Raylas gasped. He pushed against the power restraining him and his arm budged slightly. “And as things stand I am about to become a meal for these things. Now will you help me or not?”

[I was curious about the inheritor of Aasim heritage. The flame in your heart burns brightly, though your piety is lacking. But you can still be of use]

Raylas was blacking out now. The voice was too powerful and was starting to overpower the little mental strength he had left.

[Take a sliver of my power. Prove yourself useful, Aasim inheritor]

The flame disappeared from Raylas’ sight. A small after image remained, but that became unimportant as the horde started to move again. Skeletal fingers clawed into his flesh and his body was yanked back and forth.

Raylas screamed in frustration and pushed against the horde. His head throbbed in pain, he was bloodied and being ripped apart, and he was confused as hell at what was going on.

His arm broke free of the zombie’s teeth and flew out wide. He blinked in surprise at his newfound freedom and swung his fist again, cracking the skull of the zombie digging into his chest. It stumbled away and he braced his elbow onto the ground and pushed, the pile of zombies lifting up with surprising ease.

His hand also hit something. A chain brushed his fingers as he lifted the horde above him. He spun his body around so the zombies would pile on his still armored back, and below him was the dagger and chain. He took a hold of the blade and swung it around, cutting fingers and hands off which were scrambling for his open chest wound.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Get away from me,” Raylas roared as he swung his fist around.

The smell of searing flesh filled the air and the zombies started howling in what sounded like pain. The weight on top of him instantly eased off and he took a number of relieved gasps.

He pushed himself into a kneeling position and looked around. There was a gap between him and the other zombies. A fine powder was falling as well, but the zombies appeared to avoid the dust. A few had even turned away and started moving toward the gap in the caravan. He looked down and saw the remains of his bag, the ring and pouch lying half buried in the dirt. He scooped them up and stuffed them into his gauntlet to make sure they didn’t fall out again.

Raylas growled and leapt forward, swinging the dagger around to cut his way past the slow lumbering creatures and into the gap. Each cut went through the creatures as if they were not even there, the smell of burning flesh followed after.

“Die you bastards!” He bellowed as he reached his previous position. The Zombie’s attacks felt much weaker than they did before, barely making his pause as he shoved and cut his way through. Their bones were also extremely brittle, cracking seemingly at the lightest touch.

Raylas smiled as he brawled past them and into the campsite. The perimeter had been broken through, though it appeared like his section was not the first one by how they were entering from all sides. Merchants were being eaten left and right and even the Patron was nothing but a bloody pulp. The only way he recognized the fat bastard was from the shredded fine clothes he wore.

He started inside when he froze, feeling danger. The large blade of a two handed sword flew in front of him and dug into the dirt. Raylas jumped back and clenched his fists, ready to fight, when Rolft lifted the sword from the dirt and blinked as he looked at Raylas.

“You’re alive,” Rolft wheezed as he swung his sword past Raylas and bisected the closest zombies.

“And you look like shit,” Captain stated as he destroyed the remaining with an electric blast from his hammer swing. “Thought you were a zombie for a moment.” He paused and gave Raylas a questioning examination before turning and swinging his hammer at the wheel of the food wagon. Another electric pulse occurred, obliterating it in a shower of wooden shards.

The wagon tilted and collapsed, closing the gap, while the supplies on the wagon rolled off and fell inside the circle. Raylas sidestepped as a barrel of wine cracked next to him and flowed out into the already blood red grass.

The Captain did a quick scan of the area before focusing on Raylas.

“What the hell happened?”

“Too many gathered,” Raylas breathed. He felt surprisingly rejuvenated, but the injuries across him ached. “The horde forced themselves through by numbers. Nothing I could do besides slow them down.”

“Damnit!” Captain cursed. “Not what I was curious about but still not good news. Goodwill! Do you see an escape route?”

“Negative, Boss.” Goodwill hopped across the carts and hung over nearby. “They stopped trickling out of the forest, but there has to be at least another eighty of them outside the circle.”

The Captain cursed again. A stream of blood was flowing down his head and he had to blink constantly to keep one eye from getting gunked over. Even Goodwill didn’t look unscathed and had a number of scratches on his legs, his leather boots and grieves missing. Everyone looked bloodied and tired, but the battle was not over yet. Raylas threw a punch at a zombie that shoved its way in behind him and it exploded. The body shuttered then continued forward again only to be vertically bisected by Rolft’s sword.

“The mission failed,” Captain groaned. “Patron is dead, the goods are as good as gone with the horses dead, and too many men have died.”

“We better move soon if we don't want to join them,” Sigmund sniffed as he strode forward. He was missing an arm which was flowing freely. The wound looked ridged, like it was hacked off with a blunted instrument. “The horde is currently distracted with the other bodies so we should have a chance to break free.”

The Captain nodded and gave Goodwill an order to gather the remaining men. Goodwill nodded and pulled out a horn and blew two quick notes and one long one. The men scattered around the inner plaza started to fall back toward them, fighting to keep the horde from gathering too many in one spot.

Raylas looked between everyone gathering. Their previous company of thirty men had halved in size. He looked at each of the gaps that zombies were pouring through. There was five other sections in which they would have to break out of.

“Halfwit,” Raylas called out, pointing at Goodwill. “Where is the horde the least dense?”

Goodwill rolled his eyes and did a quick scan. “Third exit across the camp, or behind us now.”

Raylas nodded and looked at the Captain. They would either have to fight through the horde again to leave across the camp, or chance climbing over the food cart and making a break for it. In his eyes it was an easy choice.

“I’ll take point,” Raylas volunteered, gesturing to the cart.

The Captain looked between the cart and the far gap before shaking his head.

“Let someone less injured–”

“I just have a few scrapes,” Raylas interrupted. “Armor protected me for the most part. I’ll do my job properly.”

Captain gave Raylas a pointed look before giving the confirmation. He turned to look at the surviving members of the group.

“Well, you heard him. Form up and get ready to defend. Fighters outside, injured inside. Let's move.” The others started to move, a few hacking away zombies which had wandered close. “Give us a nice landing area, Raylas. Don’t you dare die on me.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Raylas laughed, pretending to be more confident than he felt. He gave a look around and saw his polearm in pieces beneath the food wagon. He reached down and took a hold of the blade and tied it on his belt.

“Be ready to give the signal,” Captain said to Goodwill, who saluted.

Raylas took in a few breaths and clenched the dagger. He took a hold of the chain in his other hand and spread it, wrapping the end of the chain around his wrist. Captain gave it a questioning look before turning away to continue giving orders on helping the wounded.

Raylas lifted himself onto the broken wagon and looked over the field of moving bodies. It was at least ten deep, and his heart hammered nervously in his chest. But this was his duty, and he volunteered. It was time to make good on his word.

He took in a breath and jumped into the mingling horde.