“Master! What spectacular displays of power!” Calzion clapped energetically for his master as he moved down the street. He made sure he was still within sight of the gate should some sneaking survivor attempt escape. “Marvelous.” His feet stopped a good distance from his master; avoiding the range of the aura that poured out of him.

Christoph heard the voice, but his thoughts and actions were like a fish in a glass bowl. His subordinate’s words echoed around in his head, but he couldn’t quite register them.

“My Lord?” Calzion examined the area. Gitma was still standing guard near her gate; though, she’d dragged a third body closer to the door to continue her meal.

It was as if a plague had rampaged through the town. Every poor soul that was infected became violent and lost all aspects of conscience. Surely, no one could see the carnage laid out over the street and believe it had been done by one man… one being.

Yet, it was so. The gathered ice from Gohdin’s spells had begun to melt and darken the dirt of the road. Blood had soaked the area and bodies littered the ground. Some were broken, others were ravaged by cuts, and others seemed to have frozen in the warm air of the spring day. It was horrific yet impressive.

Calzion couldn’t help but smile, but it slowly faded with his master’s silence.

“Master?” He took a step forward and felt the air begin to shift. He thought he might freeze where he stood, but he needed to move closer. “Lord Gohdin?”

Christoph heard the voice and tried to shake his head. The world felt a million miles away while being right in front of his face. The darkened blades of grass sang as the breeze flowed through his mind, but the muffled voices of reality shook the grounds he stood on.

“MASTER!”

“What?” Christoph spoke with a low, exhausted voice. He found himself standing over a small pile of gathered corpses, men and women, who’d been subjected to devastating damage.

His uncaring eyes examined the bodies. Their common clothing and similar weaponry reminded him of why he’d come and why they were where they were.

“Ah.” He nodded and began to examine the vicinity. His eyes were yellow as they were when this body was born, but veins of crimson had swelled at the corners to discolor the outer rims of the eyes. “Is that all of them?”

Calzion saw that his master had not sustained one injury. It was beyond impressive. All these humans of an apparent warrior tribe couldn’t manage to scratch the dragonkin. The half-elf intended to walk forward and congratulate his master further, but his next step brought him into “Unhallowed Aura”.

“What’s the matter, Calzion?” Christoph felt drained, but he noticed a sudden shift in his guardsman’s expression. He’d walked forward with such life. Now, he stood like a statue that seemed to recall the agony of being chiseled. “Calzion?” This mental weariness began to fade as legitimate concern washed over the King of the Undead.

“No! Please!” Calzion and Christoph looked at one another. Though they were allies, the approaching master and his subordinate had very different views of the situation.

The master believed himself reaching out in compassion. The servant believed death was coming to swallow him up. This had happened before, but the effects were much more prevalent than before.

Christoph stopped where he was between several sprawled corpses. He remembered this, I’d done this before. He looked at his claws that were covered with bright liquid—reflected crimson suns in his palms. I need to… I have to pull…

He closed his eyes and strained mentally to withdraw the energy. Pull it back!

“Please! No!” The loyal servant cried out for mercy.

Pull!

“Lord Gohdin! Forgive me!”

PULL!

“Ah!” Calzion collapsed to his knees and drew in as much air as he could. The breath was filled with the stench of death and iron. Catching his breath, cold sweat dripped from his head. Both eyes were opened wide. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his master.

“Forgive me.”

The underling rose his head gradually. His master was kneeling about ten meters away. His head was shoved into the dirt. Calzion immediately began to panic. The thought of human blood staining his master’s grandest garbs or dirtying his person expelled all magically induced fears. The sight of him bowing… it was horrifying.

“Please, Master! Stand up! Do not degrade yourself for me.” Calzion had fallen victim to the ability he knew of. It was his own fault for assuming it would be alright or that things had settled. His master had seemed off and the air carried his power forth, yet the half-elf had entered the affected area.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Christoph did not rise right away. Instead, he considered the change that had occurred; that loss of self which he was only now seeing the devastating outcomes. His eyes looked to either side and saw the lifeless orbs of the dead watching him. It made his skin want to crawl, yet he remained bowed and let himself be stared at by unblinking humans.

“Please, my Lord. You must get up.”

Lord Gohdin did rise, but it wasn’t with a smile. It was plodding and emotionless. He’d slaughtered his enemies. This was a victory. He thought this as he turned to count the dead.

“Then why does this feel like a loss?”

“Sir?” Calzion heard the growling voice muttering.

“N-nothing.” Christoph had unleashed a good amount of power. His hands had torn souls from flesh, and the worst of it, to this boy… was that he felt nothing.

The victory should be sweet. His shoulders should straighten with pride as he’d singlehandedly annihilated his enemies.

He’d done it without hesitation. The loss was deep. It was a loss of what the victory had fed on.

“Gitma!” There was a tearing sound accompanied by a slurp. After a few seconds there was a response.

“Yes,” they could see she straighten her mask. “How may I serve?!” She was still at a distance, but she’d finished off three or four of the corpses. It’d been a good day for her, and she wasn’t full yet. Still, she ignored the bounty and rushed toward her master.

“Are there any left?”

She’d reached Gohdin without running out of breath. Amazing, as a human her size and girth wouldn’t have moved at that speed and remained collected. She was calm enough to take deep, slow sniffs of the air.

“Ah,” her tiny right hand reached out toward a building just down the street. “There seems to be two aged specimens in there. They are with,” she took another sniff and nodded, “five younglings.”

Christoph looked to the building and then back to the small horror at his side. Her two pupils darted around in excitement as drool, he hoped it was drool, oozed out from beneath her mask. The creature was insatiable.

She’s a bottomless pit! Christoph shook the uncomfortable thoughts in his head about where everything she ate went. He was glad he didn’t have to know that.

Yet, the questioned remained. What should I do about them? Christoph turned his head from the right to the left. Fur matted with blood surrounded him, and he felt nothing for them.

“Where are the people from this town?”

Another quick sniff. “Meat.” Gitma pointed toward a tall shed to the west side of town just a few buildings away. There was a stable on one side of it and some emptied shop on the other. Every window and door in town had been propped open or at least cracked, but this shed was closed up tightly.

“Are they all there?” Christoph waited for the answer with heavy eyes that couldn’t bear the weight of what existed beyond those double doors or the two thick logs that were secured across them. “Are they more of these people?” He pointed down to one of the fallen barbarians.

“No.” Gitma’s voice rang with sounds like insects rubbing their legs together. “These smell like those.” She pointed to the barbarians and back to the area with the younglings. “Might I eat them, my Lord? I am so very hungry.” Gitma’s beady eyes were dashing from corpse to corpse.

Christoph considered this. There were things to be done.

What about the survivors? Humanity asked the question, but the undead had the answer.

“Gitma, you will leave the bodies here.” Gitma seemed to whine which made the dragonkin’s eyes flash over to her. She quieted herself. “I leave those to you.” He pointed to the building with the only living humans left. “I came here to leave no survivors. Can you carry this out?”

She didn’t think it over. The answer was obvious.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Then do it quickly. The faster it is completed, the more time you’ll have to clean it up.” Christoph wanted to vomit at what he’d just said, but the undead wouldn’t let his empty stomach release the tension. “Those that fell on this road will be left here.” The coldness of his verdict made his chest tighten.

“Then, I might eat those?” Her eyes began spinning around excitedly.

Sighing, her master answered, “You may have one from among the bodies only if you deliver them a quick end. Is that understood?” They won’t make it here. He tried to convince himself. In a foreign land, they’re hunted and won’t last. “No suffering.”

“As you wish, my Lord.” She set off as if she’d just been given a present. What wondrous blessings her king had provided her!

This made the pain in Christoph’s stomach all the worse. Watching her leave, he tried to forget the destination. He hoped, in his undead heart, that there would be no noise. Just an end.

“Calzion, come with me.” Christoph began moving toward the shed, a two-story building that must have been used for storage in conjunction with the stable. Rothmire had a similar setup, but the buildings were nowhere near as well constructed.

“What would you ask of me, my Lord?” The half-elf placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly as they walked.

“We’re going to bury them.”