The unmistakable glow of magic seeped from the walking corpse’s many holes. It scrambled forward with a singular focus in its decaying mind. Slowly, it shuffled its feet through the mud. A raspy groan left its shredded throat. The guttural sound it spat out was the only noise its shredded throat could muster from its shrivelled lungs. 

  How long has it been?

 Its fingers were now claws. The tips have rotten away, leaving only sharp but yellowed bones. With a single eye, it stared at its hands. Then at the armor that still clung onto its body. A single swing will surely turn the rusty plate into dust. It scratched at the faded emblem on its chest. Rust fell off as it scratched the area with the imprint of a lion with its crude claws.

 Another groan. The words dried up in its empty mouth. It coughed, a futile attempt to wet a mouth that could no longer speak the common tongue. Dust and dirt were the only things it drew up from its stomach. The undead creature lurched forward, screaming silently with a voice it no longer had.

 Thoughts and emotions flooded its mind. Each memory it dug up gave it no solace—only pain. It remembered its life. It remembered the battle that took place in this field. The promise it made to come back when it was done. The arrow that turned everything dark. 

 He remembered himself.

 Unsteadily, it crawled its way towards a small puddle. The visage that looked back, decayed and ravaged as it were, was him. Dead. Yet, still walking. Not alive, but a living death…

 His claws swiped at the puddle, trying his best to remove the image of what he had become. His fingers clawed at his exposed skull. The bones dug into what little skin clung onto his head, some flaked off while he scratched his head in thought.

 A nightmare. It was all a nightmare.

 He was sure of it. This is simply some vision before the dawn of battle. Soon, he would wake up, wear his father’s plate and chainmail, and march to fight the horde sent to ravage their lands. It was all a nightmare.

  After a moment of recollection, he decided to move from his spot. Mud squelched below his skeletal feet with each step. He did not know his destination, but he felt the urge to go somewhere. It pushed him forward through the grassy plains. He did not need to breathe, yet he gasped for air with each clumsy step.

  He faltered for a moment. A feeling snagged his footing in the world of the living. The cavity where his innards used to be is empty, yet he felt the need to fill it. Hunger, like the rot that had eaten away at his body, gnawed at him. He needed to eat, but where?

  And what?

 Something tugged at him. It reminded him of his wife’s stew, but… different. He shambled towards the source of the sensation. Another vision, perhaps? Maybe a dream, a memory even, of his home. His pace quickened as he moved towards the hope of a dream.

 Yet as the sensation became more intense, he heard only the buzzing of distant flies and the cawing of crows. Another corpse lay half-buried in the mud ahead of him, though it did not move like him. Someone’s horse was being scavenged as it decomposed, and he loomed before it with a screaming hunger in his mind.

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 A crow landed in front of him. Its red eyes stared at him, regarding him for a moment while he stood motionless. He thought it would take a bite out of him. But the creature simply flapped its wings and turned its attention back on the dead animal. It joined the others, its beak dug into the tender flesh. A small piece was torn off by the crow, and the sight of it swallowing the black meat drew him closer to the gruesome feast.

 He dropped to his knees. A nightmare, that’s all it was. A nightmare where his body moved on its own. His hand reached towards the spoiled insides of the corpse. He shouldn’t be drawn to the rotting innards, yet neither his mind nor his soul screamed at him to stop the madness. Perhaps it was a trick of his mind. After all…

 Why did it look so delicious?

 His jaw unclenched, what little sinew and skin that held it relaxed as he tore a sizeable chunk of what used to be the horse’s stomach. A single bite, and he prayed that what will come after will wake him up.

 “Oh lost soul, wandering the world of the living, you have suffered long enough.” A gentle voice spoke from behind him.

  He whirled, dropping the soft meat as he did so. A child, clad in robes and symbols he did not recognize, stood before him with a warm smile.

  “My mistress waits for you with open arms, warrior of ages past.” 

  There was a flash. Behind him, the murder of crows flew away in a cacophony of noise. It was the end of the nightmare. It should’ve been the end. But his instincts and the hunger that now filled what was left of his mind forced his legs to throw him forward towards the young boy.

  His claws swiped at empty air. The single eye in his head swivelled and saw him, and the silent figure behind him. The veiled woman peered at him from beneath black fabric and midnight hair, and smiled.

  Like a child who just learned to walk, a single step became a challenge. Another step, and he crumpled to the ground. He looked around, trying to make sense of what just happened, but even his sight faded into darkness. Once more, he let out a groan. A final, desperate cry to wake himself from this nightmare.

  A soft caress on his forehead was the woman’s response. “Rest now, child. The battle ended a century ago. You performed admirably.” 

 “... My family?” Did the words come out of his mouth? He did not know, yet he spoke them nonetheless. “Are they well?”

 “Your wife, your children, and your grandchildren wait for you. They have waited long enough.”

  He could no longer lift his arms. He could no longer feel them, yet he could tell the woman gently held his hand while she comforted him. It was odd. She was cold, like a walking corpse like him, yet he sensed the warmth in her.

  Ah. That was the sensation he felt, the urge to chase that warmth… the desire to devour it and take it for himself. He looked at the woman, her face a hazy dream beneath the veil. He closed his eye and let out one final groan.

  He was ready to wake from this nightmare. 

----------------------------------------

  The magic fizzled out, loosening its grip on the corpse. Muscle and bone slacked, and the body returned to being inert. The boy let out a sigh, his hands already on the shovel. His eyes met the woman’s cold gaze and gave her a nod.

  “I have witnessed.” He said softly, head bowed and eyes closed. “I will bury him now, mistress.”

  “As you should.”

 The boy looked up, saw the woman was gone, and shook his head. It was a sacred duty and performing the rites is a great honor. But the grumbling noises of his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten for a day, at least. And though the night and hunger had crept up on the boy, his beaming smile brightened his spirit.

 Distant lights, though dim and shrouded, called to him. A town, he thought, would be the perfect place to gather more souls for his congregation. He hoped it would be a good place. The perfect place even, to spread Death.