Swarms of shadows piled up on one another, their eyes blazing like stars on the brink of explosion. The sole target of theirs – a lonely and exhausted soul, one on the verge of giving up.

Long streaks of fire escaped his hands, seemingly consuming both the ground and air. The forces clashed against another, the flame winning decisively every time. There was many of them, but even after all that the swarm did not lessen, on the contrary, it increased in size. More and more of them came as if the whole world fueled them with power for the one and only task of killing him.

His hands trembled as sweat dripped in large drops, gathering and eventually escaping his long crooked fingers. With a swipe of the red cloth thousands more perished. A gaze filled with pity looked at them, glistening with the will of life.

It was not a place where he should die. It was not the time for him to die. He knew it well. But even so, none can hold the hand of fate, especially death’s.

The shadows got closer and closer. Climbing over their comrades’ ashes was the only acknowledgement they gave.

In moments the sharp fingers of death came for him as well. Blood soaked into the fabric as more stabs followed. His muffled scream pleaded for but a second-longer. Perhaps the prayer reached someone, or something, as the ether of the universe came to life. Like chess on the board it moved in a particular manner, controlled by the invisible grip of some being. It clawed through his skin and bone, through the nerves and marrow, seeping into his very being and core-self.

It was being ripped out. Away from his grasp.

With the very few droplets of power he moved the world, ether and all else, refusing to die or be played like a toy. Cursing the ever pathetic existence of himself, he brought a miracle upon miracle in form of living few precious seconds longer.

Mors vincit omnia…

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

A needle fell from the bony hand, hitting the floor with a twang and rolling under the nearby drawer. Magus was sitting next to a nearby table, where a growling corpse lied. Rummaging through the notes he could not help but make more of them. Black blood flowed from the open wound on the zombie’s arm, stinking of rot and…earth. Why that was the case he did not know, nor he had the freedom to ponder. Whenever a good work flow began the memories from the back of his mind would come forth, bursting out, reminding him of things that made no sense. They were always vague and enigmatic, though there were a few things of use within them…

“It’s so boring. Do I must stay here?” Spoke Iphis. She was laying on a couch as her human pet ran around bringing her drink or food. Whenever she didn’t want anything he’d either stand still with the glistening eyes of puppy or comb her hair. The fact that it was his “desires” fueling these actions was not the weirdest part, unfortunately. The worst was whenever he opened his mouth…

“My Lady Flower, you are so beautiful today.” Rene held onto her arm, patting and caressing it. “Maybe we could go for a walk? Or ma-” she put her finger on his lips to shut him up and then raised her head, exposing the bare neck. It was a sight her puppy ate up in a second, allowing her to eagerly wait for the undead’s answer.

“Sure,” Magus answered, wiping the black liquid off. The bony finger pointed at the exit where three undead guards stood. “If they let you through.”

With a snort in return Magus continued to work. Surgery on undead was his top priority when it came to research, as that proved to be a quick and sure way of making them stronger. The dead flesh was easy to reattach, but he noticed that only after a certain time did it become a part the undead could move. An arm would probably take half a day to bond together, but this was just an estimation when compared to Colossus, which took two and a half days to even move. On the third it was fully functional.

He wanted to make more of them, but it took time and…wasn’t very practical. When it came to pure strength, Colossus was definitely a winner, but as long as it had no armor covering the weak flesh, in terms of defense it was useless. Using an armored zombie was better in that aspect.

“These are troublesome…”

“What are?” Said Iphis, her face shining with eagerness at the prospect of killing time.

“This,” he lifted an ancient-looking axe. An odd power pulsed from its metal, albeit underwhelming, but magical in nature. The weapon was heavy and unwieldy, even though the short handle indicated it should be used in one hand.

“Ah, that. It’s a magic item.”

He already knew that much. The power coming from it was as obvious as a living presence of her flesh.

“It cut through steel like it was nothing…”

“Hmm…” She bent her head in wonder, exaggerating every movement as usual. “That’s a strong enchantment. Most only set fire to things or freeze them…”

Stating the obvious didn’t help at all. Magus was more interested on how to defend from, or better, make them. Arming his undead with these weapons would be a worthy investment.

“And this,” he pulled out a necklace from one of the drawers. It seemed to be made out of silver and looked like a sword. A small gem was imbedded in the place where the pommel should’ve been. “What’s the point of mental protection?”

“Oh?” His words seemed to pique her interest. “You can tell?”

“Of course. It’s as simple as… never mind.”

“Come to think of it, many humans tend to have it…” She sipped on a cup of tea, the village had no wine sadly. “Dear, what is that?”

“Ah! That is the Holy Mark, my Sunshine!” Spoke Rene, clenching his hands tightly. “It is the object representing the Goddess Zess! Every night we pra-” “That’s enough.”

“And that’s that.” Sighing, she waved off her ‘manservant’. “The church probably distributed these to protect them from the wicked.” She sneered. “Must be working grandly.”

From the vague memories Magus could tell that this ‘church’ was…an obstacle. They had many humans tamed by the prospect of a better afterlife. Gold and other riches flowed into their coffers like a river into a dam, to the point of bursting. Distributing a high amount of these ‘Marks’ wasn’t that large an investment for them, probably. He was sure they could have some craftsman make it for free, as a sign of goodwill or any other excuse.

“I’ll need to get rid of them…” He put the necklace on, but nothing happened. “Iphis, where the closest can I find a magic craftsman?”

“Look,” she sighed. “I’m not omniscient…” Her eyes wandered to him, hoping for some reaction, but none came as he continued scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “One has to have both the knowledge of magic and crafting to make enchantments. Even more so when making a magic item…”

“They’re very rare - is that your point?”

“Incredibly rare,” she corrected, tucking her hair behind her ear, and rocked back, hanging her head from the side of the couch in thought. “Only once have I seen one; and that was twenty years ago. His name was K’saal. He lived in my home village. Started as a blacksmith - ended up in the Demon King’s palace as the overseer of magi-craft…”

“Was he also a demon?”

“Mhm. A cambion.”

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“Right…” He noted in his mind to put some time into demon research. “How far is this palace?”

“What?!” She looked up suddenly. “You want to go there?!” She stared at him, both worried and excited, waiting for his answer.

“There,” he pulled on the thread, setting the zombie’s arm in place, and then wrapped it tightly with a cloth. “This might hold. Now get out.”

Lazily rolling to the side it fell down the table, growling as if cursing. “Go, go.” Magus encouraged it with a kick, and turned to Iphis. The golden flame shone brightly in the sockets.

“How far?”

“T-too far...” She said vainly.

He sighed, letting out a dry heave of a dead man. “Where else can I find one that is not too far?”

“I don’t know. A noble house might have one.”

“Hmm…”

The undead opened one of the drawers and took out a large parchment. Shoving everything off the table he unfolded it and stared at the ink marks.

“A map?” She stood up and walked next to him. “Where did you get it?”

Naturally, he found it in the governor’s home, but didn’t answer. The map was large, but only showed the local area, barely touching anything outside the small border that marked this northern land called Jaetia. Larger settlements like Bargor or Rigglend were marked on the map, but it’d seem that villages, like the one he was currently in, weren’t.

He turned to Rene. “You. Look at this,” he pointed at the western part of Jaetia. It was suspiciously too detailed than the rest, showing rivers, forests and even pastures or churches. “Does a noble live here?”

“Why do you want to know?” Grimaced Rene at the white skull. Charmed or not it still frightened him.

Seeing that asking directly didn’t work, Magus turned to Iphis, as if saying ‘go on, do your thing’. It was tedious doing it this way, but there was no other option.

“Dear,” she leaned on the man’s shoulder, whispering something pleasant into his ear. “Go on, tell him.”

She indicated with her eyes for Magus to ask again.

“Does a noble live there? In Froset.”

“Yes. That’s where my Lord, Duke Viktor Anworth, resides.”

“Don’t stop. Tell me more about him.”

“He’s a kind and generous man.” He smiled. “He’s also very proud, for good reasons too. Have you heard of Maximilian, the hero of Arstus?”

“No.”

“That was his great grandfather.”

“Does he have someone able to craft magic items?”

“No. I don’t think so…”

“What else?”

“He’s got two children, Levi and Lucy. The son is a squire of Julius Sehne while the daughter has the gift, or so I’ve heard.”

“Gift?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. “Wounds heal with but a touch from her, while magic flows through her veins as if she was a great sage.”

“Whose gift?”

“Whom else but the God’s?”

“Right… god…” Magus checked his watch. It was quickly approaching afternoon. “Time to check up on the rest.”

Outside of his medical lab was a wasteland. Fences still stood, but majority of the houses were ripped apart, only leaving their foundations. The only leftover buildings were used for storage of goods and ‘material’.

Magus walked towards a certain stone groundwork with a wooden trapdoor. A thick chain locked it in place, the same one used to bind Iphis a while back. The heavy lock twanged open as he unlocked it with the key he always held on his person.

“Get down there,” he said to Iphis, who followed him. “Take him as well.”

From the dark hole weird noises of breathing or crying came, but she was unable to refuse, fearing her own goodwill. The ladder creaked as Rene climbed down, after whom came Iphis and finally Magus. She tried to not look, but couldn’t help but notice the fresh leather boots on his feet. Up until now all he wore were but bindings of what probably used to be shoes.

“It’s so dark…” she voiced out. Even her superior vision could not see well in this environment.

Hoping that her master will do something about it, she focused on the sounds coming from all directions. It was sobbing after all. A zombie guard above slowly closed the trapdoor, removing any possible light.

“What will I do with such a weakling of a servant…” Magus lit a torch with his hands, pushing the darkness away.

“You think of me as a servant?” she asked suspiciously, glancing at the exit that was no longer available.

“You’re more than they.” Pointed the ivory finger at the source of the sobbing.

Along the cold stone walls people lied, chained and hopeless. Dirt, mud, blood and, quite possibly, refuse, covered their exposed flesh. Women sobbed quietly, trying to cover up as much of theirs and the children’s bodies, while men grinded their teeth with plotting timbre. Goats cried in indifference.

Having taken over the village a sudden influx of material reached his hands. Not needing to bother about bodies for a while was good, but Magus still felt he could do better, thus he left a few humans alive for experiments. Having no idea whether it will bear fruit, it provided a chance to research them, perhaps that would strengthen his puppets in the long run. Villagers were...meat shields and time wasters after all. They could not fight with weapons like the guards and their flesh was weak and soft, useless on its own. Nor could they compare to wolves, whom were tricky even in undeath and possessed natural weapons like claws and fangs.

“And,” she gulped, trying not to retch at the smell. “What are… they, for you?”

“Livestock. That is how they call those that they devour, I believe.” He hummed a terrifying tune, poking a few women whom screamed and scrambled away as far as the chains allowed. “Though some murder wildlife as well…”

“That’s called hunting...”

“Though they’re not wild, even if they look it sometimes,” he went on with his tangent, clearly dismissing her words. “So let’s settle with ‘life’. Hmm. Yes. That’s fitting.”

“…why am I here?”

The sight already was more than enough for today and she wasn’t keen on killing or torturing, not in this environment.

“You’re here because of him,” Magus pointed at Rene, who stood still all this time. What he was seeing was his alone to know.

“As I said, he’s mine. I won’t give him to you,” smirked the succubus. “Unless you want to trade…” She glanced at the bloody men. “Though I see none worth as much as he.”

“I need not your crazy human. Prove to me his loyalty for you, and in turn for me.”

Gears turned in her mind and she finally understood why they were in this cellar.

“You want him to kill them?”

“One is enough, but yes, as a test.”

“Fine. Let’s get on with this then.” She once more leaned in on the man’s shoulder, whispering something, making him do her bidding. “Which one?”

“Hmm…” He scanned through them. “Ah! That one is perfect.” It was a little boy.

“Nooo! Please don’t!” A disheveled woman grabbed the child, holding him tightly. “Don’t take my boy! I’ll do anything, kill me if you must!”

The woman cried and clutched onto the child, not moving even after a few kicks to her side.

“So annoying.”

“Please, please! Don’t take him from me!”

The skeleton turned to Iphis, looking her up and down, searching for an answer.

“Does it absolutely must be that child?”

“Hmm… I suppose not.” He turned to the other wall, opposite of the one the woman cried. There, grouped up, sat five females, two of which were children. “This one, then.”

“Nooo!” Again one of the women followed the example of the first, and stood in front, protecting the small girl. “You will not take her!” Tears ran down her face, clearing a path through the dirt.

“Iphis, you’re a female, yes?”

“Look here…” She rubbed her nose in exhaustion and took a deep breath. “Of course I am! Who do you hold me as?!”

“Explain what’s wrong with these two.” A spark went off in his palm. “This is ticking me off.”

His tone and actions seemed fake, as if he was acting, but Iphis knew he was serious.

“Those children belong to them I belie-” “Ah, an offspring. I see.”

He turned to them.

“I understand you two. Si- nine months is a long investment. How old are they?”

“T-ten.” “…nine.”

He took a deep exaggerated breath. “I see, I see. That is a long time. I wouldn’t be happy if that long a time went to waste.” He nodded along his own words.

“I'm very generous, so how about this,” he raised his finger. “You two – fight. Fight to the death for your property and the loser shall lose the right of th-”

Suddenly the nearby chains hissed as a large man jumped forth from his spot. Both his face and muscles tensed in rage against the chains.

“I’LL! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOUUU!”

He roared even louder, like some feral beast, and the cobblestone cracked, giving loose and releasing the metal spike holding him back.

Two meters. That was all the distance between him and the monster. It should’ve been over in seconds. The man already imagined how the skull cracked and crumbled, how he saved everyone around him, how that beautiful woman would congratulate him and even bards would sing of his heroism, yet…

With a disgusting crunch a shadow slithered along the ceiling and, faster than eyes could see, struck. The razor-sharp natural weapons sliced the man’s arm off, through bone and all, in but a second. It dropped like a meat sack a few meters away, right onto one of the women, causing further havoc.

In waves the blood pulsed, splurging out like a fountain from his stump, spraying everyone in sight. He cried in agony, both cursing and pleading, god knows what or who.

Soon with a second slither the man’s cry transformed into a low gurgle, as the flesh of his neck separated in two and his corpse dropped like a log, slowly painting the ground in his blood.

“All of that for not even a single scratch. How awkward.”