Chapter 1: Thanatozoology

~ Part 4: Critterion of Unlife ~

A [Death Bear Knight], all of bones and black smoke, jumps at me from the shrubbery.

WHY?! Why did you betray me, Shrubbery??

I whirl around. The [Lantern of the Selfish One] dances beside my head, diffusing its warm glow erratically. The monster is as tall as me and much wider. I notice a crooked helmet planted on top of its skull, but no other piece of armour. I want to tsukkomi “What knight are you?!” But instead, I barely have time to take a haphazard defensive stance before I am brutally propelled against a tree.

“Ooffffff…” The shock knocks the air out of my lungs and the helmet off my head… leaving me vulnerable to shrimps.

How the mighty have fallen.

“Hehehe. I have bad luck with bears.”

I slowly get up, fine but a little stunned and covered with dirt, leaves and a few insects fallen from the branches above…

…Wait. Insects? That can’t be right. Necromancy scares off animals, including insects. Where undead dwell, the living scram. I didn’t see a single breathing creature outside of the Erwynian fortified cities since I’d set foot in this country.

That can only mean…

A disgustingly wet and slimy touch creeps up my unprotected cheek and another wave of dizziness makes me stagger, topping the one inflicted by the shrimp’s poison.

*tutu*

You have been [Poisoned]! …again.

Noooooo? Really?

I quickly swat the sluggish creature off my face. It burst into ashes under my metal-clad fingers and the system log informs me I just defeated a [Zombie Snail]. I feel a mental twitch of annoyance.

…snail?

A movement catches my eye and I duck to the side, but too late again. My brief distraction was enough for the bear to send me flying once more. But I’m not smiling this time.

This is quite enough playing around.

I agree.

I’m not that incompetent that I would taste defeat at the paw of an exposition model evaded from the Museum of Natural History.

I don’t like relying on in-game martial skills because it feels weird to have my body move on its own, neither have I ever bothered to learn how to fight properly beyond the few “lessons” provided by Yasmin. However, you can’t get the living crap beaten out of you daily, for nearly two years and by all sorts of creatures, without picking up a few things along the way – the way to the healer most often.

Still in mid-air, my mind skim over all the possible courses of action, from the most straightforward to the less predictable. In the meantime, I quickly mumble a weak fire spell. My left palm lights up and I stick it to my face, engulfing my head in flames that leave me unscathed but obliterate the remaining creepers crawling on my skin and in my hair.

Before colliding with another three, I twist my body, extend my right arm, catch a protruding root, and pull myself down. I hit the mossy dirt in a controlled roll and immediately jerk back up on my feet. Keeping the momentum, I transfer my whole weight on a single foot, twirl, and ram my fist in the smoky snout of the incoming fleshless plantigrade.

A burning halo shots from my gauntlet as it makes contact with the dark monster. The… how utterly satisfying… sensation of shattering bones is transmitted up my arm. My smile comes back, but wider and more feral than before. My eyes narrow into slits. I lick my lips. They taste like ashes.

The words [Critical Hit] flash in the corner of my vision, and the skull of the bear is literally pulverised. The [Dead Bear Knight] collapses and doesn’t rise back up.

“Tsk. That Care Bears reject. Messing with people he can’t handle,” I drop while casually shaking black powder off my metal gloves. That is the only real disadvantage of fighting undead with a holy armour. I end every fight covered in soot. That stuffs gets in everywhere. It itches. And my face probably looks like a chimney man’s.

I step towards the skeleton and bend down to pick up a black femur the size of my entire arm. I dispassionately turn the large bone in my hands.

“Command. Inspect.”

Femur of the [Dead Bear Knight] Types: Blunt Weapon, Undead Restriction: 50+ STR Attack: 70 Durability: 25/100

The bone of a cursed undead monster. Due to the dissipation of the magic animating the creature, the bone has returned to its original brittle and damaged state. It still packs a mean swing due to its sheer weight, though it won’t last long. A perfect weapon for muscle-heads without finesse. It suits you.

I roll my eyes as the “weapon” progressively disintegrates under the effect of [Cleansing Sun Touch]. Who’s the muscle-head?

That aside, the information provided by the system is scarce as usual. Partially because my class doesn’t relate to bones, nor directly to undead – although I’m pretty good at destroying them – and partially by design. The game that is Untold Tales likes to keep its players in the dark.

I don’t really mind. Even the 70 in attack doesn’t mean much anyway. It’s all about how you use things. Wielding a fork with an Attack of “only” 5 and stabbing it through someone’ eyeball can be much more lethal than, say, smashing their arm using a weapon with a damage value of 200. The result is also affected by your own stats and your opponent’s, making any prediction very unreliable.

Some players only swear by levels and stats, but personally, all that numeric mumbo jumbo mostly flies right over my head.

Which is precisely why people call you an Imbecile.

Are you still there? And don’t talk like you’re any better.

Didn’t say I disagreed. As long as it gets the job done…

I know, right?

Well, I shouldn’t just stand here. I made quite a lot of noise again. Gods know what I attracted this time.

“Okay, let’s g–”

“Squeark?”

…Am I ever going to finish that sentence?

It’s the third time today, isn’t it?

At the strangely hesitant cry, I look down and discover a… a cute white bunny… Well… Half of a cute white bunny. The other half is nowhere in sight, and since the critter is nevertheless gnawing at my boot – even though its head is already on fire – I deem it an undead bunny.

Got any other brilliant deductions, Sherlock?

Shut up, Watson.

Hey! Why am I Watson?

And who else would you be?

Irene Adler?

…

……

………

Hold onto that thought. We’ll come back to it later.

I shake off a few disturbing thoughts and refocus on the much more agreeable spectacle of a small fluffy critter missing its whole rear with, in its place, a squishy trail of bloody intestines and other rotten organs.

It’s called a [Not-So-Fluffy Bunny].

…Suitable.

I stare at the [Not-So-Fluffy Bunny].

It stares back at me, my foot in its jaws.

Nom Nom Nom Nom…

We stare at each other for a short while.

Until…

“You know. I think I really dislike being interrupted.”

“Squeark squeark…?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I raise my foot and shake it violently, eventually succeeding in dislodging the bisected critter. It falls on the ground on its back with an unappealing wet sound and immediately starts to wriggle its bowels, trying to get up. It claws at the air and screeches in mindless rage and bloodlust. It’s kind of endearing.

A smile on my face, I raise an eyebrow then lift my foot further…

“So don’t. interrupt. me.”

…and stomp.

“Squea-rsh!”

…and stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp. And stomp.

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*skrtssshhhh-plop*

With a comical sound, a gory eyeball pops out of its socket and is propelled upwards. It lands against my left temple and very slowly slides down my cheek. It tickles.

With morbid meticulousness, I continue to systematically flatten the [Not-So-Fluffy Bunny], checking for every bone, every organ, every scrap of fur, every muscle tissue and stomping it down to an ashy puddle of thick boiling blood covered in flames.

This boiling reaction is really interesting. I ought to try cooking with undead blood and holy fire one of these days. Some kind of bain-marie maybe? Would that make it a bain-bloody-marie? Then should I add some vodka? And Tabasco… though I don’t really think there’s Tabasco in this game.

…Dragon blood?

Oooooooooh! Nice. I guess it can be considered spicy. After all, it DOES burn your tongue… and melt your insides… Alright! Let’s add this to our list of cocktails. A Dragon Mary’s Grave. Undead and dragon blood mixed with vodka and tomato. I can’t wait to try one. Wait. Where am I going to find vodka? Mmmmh… Oh.

“Sorry bunny. I forgot your existence for a second…”

…

“Meh. Not that you’re in any state to care anymore.”

I look down at the mess of gooey mangled flesh that became of my… foe. It’s now sticking to my boot like a giant chewing-gum and forming a viscous web of long and thin filaments that extends from my sole. It’s rather disgusting. And a little funny.

“…mmh?”

I frown at the unrecognisable remains.

I’ve got a feeling something similar happened recently… but I can’t quite place it.

Must be your imagination.

Must be.

I shrug and glance around. My little orange will-o'-the-wisp lights up about everything in a radius of ten feet, but all I see are ferns, huge trunks and shrubbery. The short battle with the bear can’t have sent me that far away from the road, but I still have no idea in which direction I have to go to re-join the path.

That said, such a big bad bear must have left some prints, so I just need to find–

*crack*

Did you hear that?

Sure did.

My embryonic search for the trail is aborted and I adopt a fighting stance.

What’s the point of aborting if you’re going to adopt right after?

Not now, Brain.

But it’s a legitimate question.

Not. Now.

Cracklings and moans rapidly begin to fill the air. I slowly rotate, scanning the darkness. From the bushy shadows beyond my personal sphere of light, an army of unorthodox undead is slowly emerging.

I catch the outlines of some kind of bicephalous fanged duck, a porcupine with its spikes ripped out, leaving a field of bleeding holes all over its back, and an albino moose drooling blood. A handful of [Armoured Rotting Cockroach] creep closer, followed closely by a brood of [Almost Dullahan Chickens] tottering unevenly, their heads dangling to the side of their necks, only attached by a few shreds of skin and tendons. I even spot an aggressive-looking named monster: [Famished Man-Eating Platypus “Perry”].

My left eyebrow rises a notch. Named monsters are supposed to be stronger than the average of their species but…

What’s the average strength of an undead platypus?

Well, it doesn’t matter. I can feel my smile stretching.

“♫♪ ♫ ♩♩~”

Distractedly, I start humming a tuneless melody. I calmly observe the incoming horde and count around thirty monsters. Not bad. Not bad at all. Rule number 72 of “Elric’s little Travel Guide, Philosophy of Life and Deaths”: The more the crazier, especially when the more wants to kill you.

My smile continues to grow wider. My cheeks hurt.

“♪ ♫ ♫♪ ~”

In my mind, the melody finally stumbles onto a rhythm and the sound of an orchestra cradles my thoughts, muffling them. It’s comfortable. The strings are especially nice. But I might be biased, as an amateur violinist myself. My body begins swaying faintly back and forth to the music and one of my hands leaves my guarding posture to beat time for a short while.

Nonchalantly I pluck off with my index and thumb the eyeball that had gotten stuck in my golden hair midway to my chin. I bring the squishy, rotten, and now sizzling organ before my own squinted sapphire-green eyes and slowly apply pressure. The small sphere resists for a fraction of a second before popping like an overripe grapefruit, spraying my fingers with murky eye-juice that immediately starts to bubble and fume.

Then I direct my grin at my entourage, showcasing toothpaste-white princely teeth.

If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn some of the monsters flinched under my gaze.

As it is though, I really don’t care. I’m in a good mood. The visibility is horrible. My movements are restricted by the traitorous shrubbery. The trees prevent me from using my oversized Zweihänder. I have no idea how many foes really surround me, nor do I know their eventual abilities.

Now, that’s what I call fun!

Hit it Beethov’!

“♫♪ OOOOOOO~ Freunde~ ♩ nicht diese Tö~ne! ♫♩”

One antidote and one picked-up helmet later, I am marching through woods, with no idea where I am going, loudly singing “Ode an die Freude” and trying to match the screams of my dying preys to the rhythm of Beethoven’s masterful tune.

A large… err… I have no idea what that thing is… some kind of four-armed monkey with the head of a goat… also undead… falls atop me from the branches above. Without slowing down, I reach up, seize it by the throat. Warmth builds up in my palm and soon the creature’s long fur catches fire. I release my grip and instead grab a leg, then use the shrieking burning corpse as a morning star to swat a large hairless coypu – it’s kind of like a crossbreed between a rat and a beaver – jumping out of even more shrubbery.

The ugly rodent is smashed to the ground and doesn’t even have time to screech before a well-placed kick sends it flying through that damned shrubbery. It disappears, never to be seen again.

“Homerun!”

Ah. No. Wrong sport.

I toss the motionless lump of charcoal that used to look like a goat-head monkey over my shoulder and continues my genocidal stroll.

Oh yes. This feels good. I should have done this from the start.

“Freude, schöner Götterfunken ♩ Tochter aus Elysi~um ♪ Wir betreten feuertrunken ♩ Himmlische, dein Hei~ligtum! ♫ …”

Another of those blood-drooling albino moose comes rushing at me from between two bushes of shrubbery. I meet its charge with a fist and a predatory smile.

Ahhhh…

Being careful is overrated after all.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon is kind of a blur in my memory.

On a merry rampage, I roamed the [Lost Woods] erratically, clearing it from its undead filth. The deeper I headed into the dark forest, the more the space between the trees widened. Soon I was able to use my sword properly. From then on, wielding the full potential of my hidden elemental-godless-paladin-ish class, I mowed, punched, trampled, slashed, burnt and beamed and magicked the monsters to oblivion, only hindered slightly by their sheer number and weird diversity.

None could really do me much damage, but their incessant onslaught – and my own lack of restraint – still caused a few close calls, when my mana or stamina would drop a little too low for comfort. That said, I was never really in much danger. Even when some of that swarm of [Ever-Starving Gnats] managed to somehow infiltrate my helmet through the slits, fly down my throat, and start eating me from within… hahaha… it was all in good fun.

However, every pond is bound to have its big fish.

Now the sun is coming down and I am standing at the entrance of a place called the [Sacred Oak Grove]. The large copse looks very peaceful by the standards of the area, with open space between the trees and far fewer wild shrubbery. It’s even a little less impossible to see around here. Maybe because of those glowing mushrooms. In my opinion, this is a great place to set up camp.

Apparently though, the local… err… overlord shares my opinion.

“Squeee-hee-hee-heeEEEEEEEEAK!! Hihihihihihihihi!!”

* * * * *