The first dog to come around the corner received the business-end of Nicolai’s polearm to the top of its head, crunching it into the ground. The blue light in its eyes puffed out through its smashed skull. The next one was right on the heels of the first and unfortunately it saw the fate of its companion, dodging backwards in time to avoid his second strike which swished through the air, inches from its nose.
Nicolai spun away and continued running. After only a few steps he heard the clank of a chain and turned just in time to strike out and knock the hook that came from him out of the air. The undead hook-wielders clustered at the turn as they paused to take aim and another hook followed behind the first, but he stepped aside and it slid past him harmlessly.
He was surprised to see the undead skillfully twist its hands where they gripped the chain, and then something sharp dug painfully into his thigh. Nicolai was almost jerked off his feet, forced to take a stumbling step forwards as the undead hauled on the chain, his thigh burning as the hook dug into his muscle. The other two chain users were spinning their hooks over their heads, preparing to throw, and the dog was charging at him.
Nicolai gripped the chain with one hand and wrenched at it, pulling the undead dragging on him off balance then ducking sideways through an open door as the hooks sailed towards him. The rest of the undead were coming up behind the chain-hook users. He couldn’t get stuck in here.
The dog skidded around the corner, teeth bared as it lunged for him. Nicolai kicked the dog solidly in the head to send it rolling away then pulled the hook out of his leg, teeth grit, and dropped it just in time as it was suddenly pulled away, the undead having recovered. He stepped out after it, seeing all the chains retracting for another throw, the dog regaining its footing a few feet away.
He turned and ran, not looking over his shoulder because it would slow him down and possibly lead to him tripping on something, even though he heard the dog snapping at his heels. His leg ached something fierce and he struggled to run as he should.
There was a roaring noise from behind and Nicolai scrabbled at the handle of a closed door, managing to shove it open and stagger in just as a wash of heat and light poured down the corridor, singeing the hair on the back of his legs and head.
He popped his head around the corner to see the fat zombie undead had its staff raised and glowing red. It had just thrown a literal wave of fire at him. But, there was a benefit. The undead dog was sprawled on the ground, its rotted flesh burning and releasing a stinking black smoke, the light gone from its eyes.
Nicolai’s legs twinged as he prepared to run back out and he wobbled, cursing. The knights were advancing down the corridor, the chain-hook undead following behind with hooks spinning above their heads, and the archers and the fat one were behind them. The injury to his leg was worse than he’d thought.
He pressed down on the funnel of his orb of rejuvenation, feeling it click, then took a short breath from it and used his thumb to flick the funnel back up, taking the breath all the way deep into his lungs. The indicator fell by a third. He felt his thigh grow itchy and warm, as well as his bottom lip which was still a bit of a mess, and even his shoulder which had been aching since the skeletal footman headbutted him.
He’d forgotten about those injuries, didn’t consider them important, and hoped that they wouldn’t take too much of the healing energy away from his thigh. Putting his weight on the leg and his impatient eyes on the undead advancing towards him, he found himself able to stand on it with some lingering pain but he was steady, it felt strong enough. He saw one of the archers bows snap and the flicker of metal, retracting his head just in time as the arrow flew through the space his head had occupied and down the corridor.
Then he stepped out, facing them, a little rise of annoyance and wariness curdling in his stomach. He felt like he’d been doing a lot of running today, and knew he’d have to do a bit more, which irked at him. He would much rather fight, than run. He took rapid steps backwards, snapped his shield up and grunted, the shield letting out a clang as an arrow tumbled away. The hooks were coming.
He knocked the first from the air with his polearm, managed to do the same to the next, then had to try and deflect the last with his shield but it caught on it. Instead of trying to knock it off his shield he set his feet and hauled back, catching the undead as it tried to pull him towards them, pulling it towards him instead. The chain was taut between the knights and he saw them grab for it, looking to aid their companion, but he was able to dislodge the hook in time.
Nicolai was step, step, stepping away, ducking and deflecting more arrows, when the fat one raised its staff high and the orb atop the gnarled wood glowed red. Nicolai kicked a door open and ducked inside as a wave of screaming fire passed him by. Back into the corridor he went, to continue backing away, deflecting arrows, struggling to knock aside and avoid the chain-hooks.
It was an endless, gruelling process. If he turned his back he would eat an arrow in the spine or take a hook to the leg, but walking backwards like this meant that the undead, despite their generally slow speed, were able to match his pace.
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His breath came harder and faster, the energy required to strike the hooks from the air draining him, his left arm aching from the battering of arrows against his shield. The process consumed his entire focus, leaving no room for anything else. Part of him still managed to find some enjoyment in it, but increasingly he wished he could fight back and kill the irritating creatures so they could no longer throw things at him. He disliked being forced into such a defensive and passive role. Alas, he knew he could not fight them all and win without risking severe injury or even death, not as he was.
His back hit solid stone and he started with surprise, almost failing to knock aside another arrow, managing it just in time. Looking left and right he saw he’d come to the end of the corridor the undead were pursuing him through, and now he stood at an intersection where it joined another corridor. He could go either left or right. He stepped to the left and broke their sightline and abruptly he was safe.
As his thoughts came free from the groove the last few minutes had worn into his mind, deflect the arrow, strike the hook, don’t let it grab me, need an open room the fire is coming soon, dodge, deflect the arrow… he realised there was a group of four people standing there right in front of him.
Nicolai stared at them and they stared at him, apparently as surprised by his appearance as he was by theirs. Three men and a woman. They wore ragged armour alongside rotted cloth and leather while wielding a random collection of ancient weaponry, just as he did. They exchanged meaningful, thoughtful glances with one another and he knew immediately that they were going to try and kill him. They didn’t look worried or alarmed at all, apparently somehow unaware of what was pursuing him. Had they not seen the arrows? Could they not hear the clattering of the dead?
Nicolai grinned savagely, hungrily at them, his stymied rage finding a target at last. But the undead would be here very soon and he couldn’t allow himself to end up trapped between this group and the undead. One of them was saying something, trying to craft their face into an expression of friendliness. It was so ridiculously fake that a short, derisive laugh burst out from his mouth in response.
As they frowned in confusion he turned and ran, sprinting past the corridor, a glance revealing the undead boiling down it towards him. He heard yells from behind and the pounding of feet, a quick look over his shoulder showing one of the men sprinting after him, a vicious grin on his face.
Nicolai turned his head forward so the man couldn’t see his own grin, and after only a few more seconds he heard a cacophony of yelling from behind him, the clatter of skeletal feet and armour, the clanking of chains. Another glance revealed the man behind him had stopped and turned around, staring in shock at the confused tangle of vicious undead that now filled the corridor, cutting him off from his friends who were somewhere on the other side and had clearly attracted the majority of the hordes attention.
Nicolai ducked around a corner and stopped, turning and waiting. His body wanted to suck in great breaths of air but he forced himself to breathe slowly and quietly, raising his polearm high. Listening intently he made out breathing, muttered curses, the sound of someone running towards him. His muscles tensed then the man came around the corner, eyes widening as they fell upon Nicolai, beginning to skid to a stop.
The man had opened his mouth to say something and the hammer smashed into the side of his head. In slow motion Nicolai saw one of his eyes bulge and pop, his face deforming, then time snapped forwards and the man was blasted sideways into the wall in a spray of blood.
The man slumped on the ground, remaining eye rolling and staring, body shaking, one hand half raised in defence or entreaty. Nicolai swung the hammer again and smashed the man’s skull the rest of the way open, brain and blood exploding outwards, which stopped the spasming. He fell upon the corpse, dug around in the man’s mouth for a Seed but instead found it in one of man’s pockets. He plucked it out then hunted over the man’s body, quickly locating a pouch. The man had wielded an axe which Nicolai left, because he had to go now, a peek around the corner revealing a number of the undead following.
He had no desire to be caught up in another endless retreat from chains and arrows and fire, so he fled with his gains, lungs working hard as he gasped air, his legs and arms burning.
After running for some time all sounds of the undead and the humans faded, and Nicolai decided he had escaped so ducked into a room, breathing hard. He sheltered there, regaining his breath and feeding the Seed he’d found to his own.
His Seed’s soul counter increased by a small margin, from twelve percent to fourteen. It only ever showed whole numbers, and he thought it might be rounding up slightly, as this didn’t match up with his previous maths. He also investigated the pouch he’d taken from the man, and smiled at what he found. Four Oma crystals and two points tags, as well as three sustaining seeds. Very nice. His food problem was solved. As he attached the pouch to his belt he found himself hoping he’d find some more people to kill. Only if they try to kill me first, he reminded himself. For some reason the reminder made him want to laugh, but he manfully wrestled it down.
Following this Nicolai checked his map, which had been filling itself in as he ran through the maze-like corridors of the living area. He found that he wasn’t too far from where he thought he needed to be. Just had to cut through a dark area and he’d be back where he’d first encountered the undead patrol. The torches were still a full yellow. He had time to push on to the library. He felt a little thirsty after all the running and sweating and part of him wished he’d brought the water bottle, but he knew he wasn’t yet dehydrated and it was better to tolerate the thirst than to risk losing his only water source.
Heading out he made his way through the corridors. He was cautious, wary of another undead patrol or more humans, but he encountered nothing and found the place Kleos had told him of. A long, cramped hallway with a rounded ceiling. It was darker, missing some of the torches, but there was light on the far side.
According to Kleos, out this tunnel there would be a bridge, and the library should be on the other side. He was almost there.