Deep within the forest, hidden underground, was a laboratory of unusual make.

The area where the laboratory was located had been dug by clawing hands, and the walls were cut out with rudimentary tools. Arcane scripts of ancient origin were carved surrounding engraved diagrams that had not been seen in this world for quite some time.

The laboratory usually holds enough space to maneuver comfortably, but today, taking up space, there were bodies lying around prone without signs of life—except one.

"I’ll skin you," one of the prone bodies grunted, "and then I’ll feed you to my dogs, necromancer." Such furious and venomous threats came from a man covered in muscles with a face half covered in a white tattoo.

“Well, would you look at that? You’re already able to speak,” an unfazed voice answered the threats. “By all measurements, you should still be under the effects of the Death Sleep poison.” A hooded man stood at a makeshift table of stone created when the laboratory was first dug out. He looked over his shoulder and continued, “That would mean you are at least a Battle Lord ranking in the Lorn Badlands.”

Attempts at intimidation ceased, and the paralyzed Badlander, Battle Lord Otai, resolved not to speak any further. Men of books and magic were one and the same to Badlanders. The more knowledge these types of learned men possessed, the more dangerous they likely were.

The hooded man, the necromancer, smiled, "I can see questions in your eyes, Badlander. Allow me to explain. The Death Sleep poison, as its name implies, paralyzes the body to feign death. No one, not even I, a man steeped in the magic of the undead, can discern the difference." He turned back to the stone table, his hands busily carving arcane scripts around a drawn diagram with the Soul Expropriator in the center of it.

"The Death Sleep poison is rather new," the necromancer continued while his hands remained busy. "Recently, there was an attempt to kidnap the son of Soalde’s City Lord. This particular poison was used. Unfortunately for the kidnappers, they were caught and hanged, of course not without being horrendously tortured first—this is the son of the City Lord we’re talking about." A glow shone from the scripts and diagram on the table, along with the Soul Expropriator.

"The City Lord’s wrath is not easily sated, however. He used all that was within his power to crush all that was related to the kidnappers, even going so far as to invade The Hole." The necromancer saw he’d lost the Badlander at this point and explained, "The Hole is a den of criminals in Soalde, an underworld of the city, if you will. Now, please don’t let your ignorance interrupt me again." The Badlander frowned as the necromancer went on, "Before they were destroyed, the associates of the kidnappers released the recipe for making Death Sleep in order to add some chaos to the city that was about to destroy them. It was a vindictive ploy to say the least."

The necromancer gave a breathy laugh, "Heroes die readily for their cause, but villains always show their childish rage near their end." He turned to Battle Lord Otai with the Soul Expropriator in his hands. "Now, which one are you—someone who will meet his fate with steadfastness or will you cower before the inevitable?"

The Battle Lord’s eyes remained set on the artifact in the necromancer’s hands—the artifact meant for Caden the smuggler as a reward. Unearthing similar treasures happened quite often in the Lorn Badlands. Yet, uncovering their uses was an entirely different matter.

This was the first time the Battle Lord saw this artifact working. Their men, who studied artifacts, couldn't unravel its mysteries before. This necromancer, however, could.

This was no simple man who stood before Otai.

The necromancer knelt as he began to apply the Soul Expropriator to Otai’s chest. Eyes wide and his teeth bared, Battle Lord Otai grunted helplessly, “Don’t you dare touch me with that artifact!” He then started to chant, “Badland is my land! Badland is my land!”

The necromancer giggled, “What a delightful little chant.” When the artifact was nearly touching the Badlander, the necromancer suddenly stood up then turned to look toward the exit at the top of carved stone stairs. “The skeleton knight was activated…?” Statue still, the necromancer remained wordless, his senses no longer present in the laboratory.

After a few moments, he faltered and sputtered, “The skeleton knight was defeated so easily!” The necromancer couldn’t speak afterwards. Every skeleton that roamed this forest was connected to him and suddenly, every single one located on the other side of the forest had perished along with a powerful spell he spent weeks in creating.

This turn of events would set him back substantially.

He bit his lip. Turning on his heel, he eyed the Badlander with fervor. “I’m going to need you now more than ever. Again, consider yourself lucky. You will now be a stalwart defender of the great Zini!”

Sweat began to drip down Battle Lord Otai’s forehead as he started chanting again, trying to remain dauntless, “Badland is my land! Badland is my land!”

His muscular arm rose toward the sky, Red signaling victory. The roar of a crowd could be heard in his mind. In memories not his own, people could be seen in reverence toward him, their bodies trembling while shouting for his triumph. Their voices shook the arena. A man, sharply dressed, shouted, his voice echoing, declaring Red the winner by knockout.

Lights flashed as Red’s image was captured for stories to be written about his win, his legacy being propped up more as the world was reminded of his dominance as a boxing champion.

"Most honorable, heavenly, honest, handsome, and hardy human," a voice said, pulling Red away from the bizarre world that belonged in dreams. Below Red, the gnome, Polopp, was flashing a docile smile, keeping his head respectfully low as if he were presenting his bald spot. Wet nervous sweat covered his face, though his cheeks never lost their cheery rose color.

"How mighty and magnificent you are, Red the hero," Polopp complimented, unwilling to release his smile or raise his head too high. Red wouldn’t kill something so insignificant like a tiny gnome over petty and frivolous insults, would he? Not knowing the answer caused the gnome to feel as if he were dangling precariously on a cliff’s edge.

"I was someone else again…" Red murmured and frowned. Memories of a dwarf he’d squeezed the consciousness out of came to him, and with the recollection came pangs of guilt. He hated these fighter memories. Never had he made friends before and when he finally did, he strangled them.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

But where would I be without these foreign memories? Red pondered solemnly.

Polopp nodded, ready to agree to whatever Red suggested—even if Red declared that gnomes were only good as footstools, Polopp wouldn’t argue. However, Red’s words gave the gnome pause. Thinking that another person had gained control over you was not normal.

Examining the young man looming over him, the gnome’s eyes moved up and down Red’s lanky form.

"Um, Mister Red…?" Polopp probed. Unfocused brown eyes that seemed distant suddenly fixed on him. Somehow, the gnome smiled wider in response, hurting his face, while he hunched lower, almost bowing at a sharp angle. "You fantastic, exemplary, powerful, glorious human, may I ask why you have spoken about ‘being someone else’?"

A breeze swept over the clearing and stirred the grass and flowers, making them appear like they were waving at Red. Previously, a scene like that, complete with fragrances and colors, would have delighted the simple young man, but worry robbed him of the scene’s beauty.

“Bad juju,” Red answered with forlorn, “I have bad juju affecting me.”

“May I ask that you expound?” the gnome entreated.

“You want me to blow up?”

“Um, no. I meant, what do you mean about bad juju?” Polopp clarified, still keeping his head low.

"Bad juju. Bad magic," Red explained. "I have bad juju that gave me memories from others in another world. At first, they helped me make coin to buy food and helped me help Dwindle—my manager, the one I told you about. But now the memories have made me attack Dwindle." He shook his head, his long matted hair swaying back and forth, "These memories are bad juju. My mama said to always get rid of bad juju, and I mean to as soon as I get back to Soalde."

He nodded resolutely, though his expression weakened as he pondered his hopes aloud, "Maybe Dwindle will forgive me for hurting him then…"

“Ah!” Polopp shouted, making Red jump. A sausage shaped gnome finger pointed at the young man, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” Red didn’t understand what was happening which was normal for him. “This is soul work.” Polopp’s rosy cheeks’ red color deepened. “This is my work! Err, I mean, this is what my work revolves around!”

The gnome began to run in circles around Red making the brawling champion dizzy trying to follow the tiny person with his eyes.

Dust flew as the gnome dug into the dirt to stop.

"Mister Red, I can help you with this problem," Polopp declared.

"You’re a magic man?" Red asked, imagining how incredible his luck would be if Polopp were a magic man who could wash away bad juju.

"I’m a whole lot more than that. I’m an alchemist."

Dwindle stood at the door of his house, his hand on the door’s handle. He couldn’t enter. How could he? On the other side of the door was Poly’s smiling face, and the elf girl was expecting him and Red to return together.

It was too much for the dwarf to face.

"You know, Poly. Heroes often show up in the strangest of places. Sometimes in a place like the Reeking Valley, and sometimes in an unaccomplished dwarf."

Why would I say something like that, Dwindle asked himself harshly. What have I ever done with my life besides fail?

The dwarf released the handle to wipe his hands. His hands weren’t dirty. He only needed another excuse not to enter.

She deserves to know.

With that thought, Dwindle pushed past the door and entered. An empty home greeted him. Poly would only be in her garden if not here.

The garden was also empty save for the plants meant for Red’s meals.

He came back in and saw cold stew in a pot over a dead fire. The look and scent of the well-made food showed clear evidence that Poly was responsible. She’d evidently left a while ago. Searching for Red would be the only logical action she’d take at this time.

The front door burst open as Dwindle ran out of it. If he lost both Red and Poly, he wouldn’t know what he’d end up doing—perhaps dying while fighting gang members. Dwarfs loved arguing, innovating, and inventing. They also were known to pay back in full.

His short, stout body could be seen speeding away from the Classy Slums toward The Hole. An elf without elven magic, especially an elf of the Ahweldi, was severely disadvantaged in Loderan. The Hynuul clan was the most suited to survive here, though they were the most unwelcome among the elves due to the past war decades ago. The Hynuul elves could use common magic, and with their talent, be nearly on par with sage symbol magic.

But the power of the forest dwellers such as Poly depended entirely on elven magic.

Dwindle gritted his teeth. He would find her. As much of a failed dwarf as he felt he was, he would find her at any cost.

When he entered The Hole, he felt a familiar discomfort, like a murderer was watching him. Every time he entered this cursed place, he always experienced the same ill emotions. The streets, once cobbled with stone, were broken and covered in holes. Around there were buildings that mirrored those in the White Rabbit district if the White Rabbit district had been ravaged by war and thus abandoned.

He carefully passed a structure that was partially collapsed, with shadows moving about in the darkness it held, making him jump. How he hated this place!

The dwarf began noticing a strange emptiness as he walked. The outer part of The Hole was bereft of people.

Where is everyone?

Dwindle heard voices in the distance and followed the sound.

"What in the realms is going on?" someone asked with a befuddled tone.

Another person answered as fear shook their voice, "These are signs of the end times. It has to be."

The dwarf saw a slew of people gathered around a phenomenon that stopped him in his tracks. There were animals there before them in numbers. Dogs, cats, birds, rodents, reptiles, and even some rare breeds of magical beasts that are rarely sighted were all gathered here. Dwindle could only guess by looking that there were thousands of animals present.

Stranger still was that every animal was motionless, as if they were stuffed trophies, and each furry and feathered head was facing the same direction.

Dwindle followed where the eyes of the beasts were locked on and managed to pinpoint the object of their focus after noticing they all formed a massive circle around a singular spot. His round eyes noticed an empty space in the center of the animals, where a tiny figure was lying.

The figure seemed to be nearly his height. A familiar hue of dark green hair fluttered in the breeze.

"Poly…?" Dwindle mumbled, coming to a realization of what he was looking at. He broke into a sprint, "Poly!" He dashed past the animals and into the center of the encirclement. The sight of blood turned him pale. He knelt down hurriedly next to Poly and carefully turned her over. Her heart-shaped face had lost color. Two daggers were sticking out of her.

"Poly!" Dwindle shouted, emotion cracking his voice. His stubby dwarf hands dove beneath the elf girl, and he scooped her up. "Don’t you worry, Poly. This failed dwarf will make sure you live!"

The heads of the animals all turned up to follow Poly’s body as she was lifted into Dwindle’s arms. Despite the emergency, Dwindle paused at the sight of the animals staring at him and Poly.

Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure Poly lives! The dwarf thought with determination, his brow set firmly as he clenched his teeth. If he had to fight these creatures, he would do it without reserve if it meant getting Poly that much closer to a healer.

He marched ahead. The heads of the creatures turned with his movement, always keeping track of Poly and always silent, their beady eyes never blinking. There was no twitching of noses or fluffing of feathers. The animals merely observed.

Dwindle couldn’t help but feel unsettled. The onlookers spoke to one another, unable to rationally explain the mystery behind the scene playing out before them.

Seeing the limit of the circle ahead of him, Dwindle let out a sigh of relief. In exiting the encirclement, the animals began to follow. The dwarf’s round head swerved backward in reaction. The animals were still only staring, but they had started to follow him as a massive herd.

Dwindle gulped hard and pressed forward regardless.

“Hey, dwarf,” a resident of The Hole called out, “What’s going on?”

Anxious, Dwindle could only shake his head silently in response, afraid that if he spoke, the animals would attack.

“Don’t disturb the little guy,” another person remarked, “Let the dwarf take that demon magic somewhere else.”

Someone else grunted, “It’s the end of the world, I tell you. The bloody end of the world.”