The lackey fell forward, crashing into the bloody mud. A sharp pain spread across his face as the nose shattered from the fall. Adrenaline flooded the body as he forced back the pain. He had to move quickly or he’d end up filleted. Digging his hands into the dirt, he pulled forward with all his strength. Yet the creature didn’t let go, the crushing grip grinding the bones within his ankle.

“HELP!” He nasally called out while twisting to his side.

Now on his butt, he used the free leg to kick off the zombie. His boot smashing into the unguarded face over and over. Bone caved in as chunks of jellied blood radiated outward, One of the eye’s popped and oozed up from the sunken sockets, while the jaw hung loosely from torn muscle. Yet; for all his effort, he couldn’t do any permanent damage. Horrific thoughts flooded the brain as the flesh regenerated before his eyes. Scrambling, he reached for his pocket and pulled out his knife. Leaning forward, he went to stab the beast through the destroyed eye.

It quickly shifted and the dagger slid into the cheek and out the bottom of the mouth. Cold, congealed viscera dripped onto his hand as he tried to pull back. Instead, the creature lashed its maw forward and bit down. In one clean bite, it tore off two fingers and some of his palm. His eyes widened as he starred out his mutilated hand. All the fight left his muscles as he went into shock.

“This can’t be happening, this isn’t real” he mumbled like a mad man.

Sensing the weakness, the creature reached forward with its other arm and clamped down onto the second leg. Dirtied nails pierce the flesh, penetrating down to the bone. Yet, the man barely reacted to it. His sanity shattered as he faced his death. It was ridiculous, this whole scenario stupid. From the driver, to the zombie, to this. Just a crazy dream and he’d wake up all fine. Even through the pain, an anxious laughter left his lips.

But the zombie kept going. Each finger wiggled within the man’s muscles shredding the tissue to ribbons. Even if he wanted to flee, the calf was beyond repair. Letting go of the ankle, it reached up and grabbed the dagger from its mouth. With a tongue, it pulled the weapon from its cheek and tossed it to the side. For a moment, it stretched the jaw as the tissue quickly regenerated. Satisfied, it bent down and bit into the inner thigh.

Ryland could feel his essence start to refill. They had used up nearly half setting this ambush and another quarter during the first bit of fighting. He had to admit, it was great for unnerving people. But constantly restitching flesh without something to consume really drained him. He watched as his body dug into dessert, the sharp teeth tearing through muscle, tendons, and more. Each bite filled with the essence of life and converted into deathly energy. Even experiencing it a second time, that feeling of euphoria never faded. It made sense as to why the undead sought out life. This was better than any drug.

But his cry for help stirred the others to action. Only a few seconds had passed when his body attacked and already they were rushing to help. Or at least trying to help.

“Bloody hells, that arrow should have put him down permanently. What the hell was this man carrying?” The leader said as he reached for his sword and charged forth.

The archer shrugged and went for his quiver. Grabbing the straps, he pulled up only for the twine to unravel. It slammed to the ground and scattered his remaining arrows across the dirt.

“Dammit!” He cursed as he began picking them up one by one.

The other just watched, he had already used up most of his stamina from the battle before and figured the two others could handle one zombie. Still, he went to the boss’ tent to find some of their prized stamina potions. They were rare, and extremely expensive. But it was better to lose some gold than to die in the woods.

“Where the hell is the key to the potions?” He called out.

“How the hell am I supposed to know? He never trusted me with that info!” The archer replied, still trying to grab his munitions.

This wasn’t good, they kept the key nearby for this very reason. Yet it wasn’t in its assigned spot. He didn’t want to bust open the container as the glass inside could easily shatter. Annoyed, he started searching the area trying to find the metal in the dark.

Ryland grinned at the chaos caused. He couldn’t fight directly, but he could be extremely annoying. This whole ghost thing wasn’t so bad now that he could interact with the world. Sure everything had to be only a few grams and moving that key took a few tries, but it made a huge difference in the battle.

“ANY DAY NOW STEVE!” He called out, the man still not helping.

If they made it through tonight, he’d have a very long talk with the man. It was starting to get a bit ridiculous. He could try and pull back his body. Already he was down to the bone, the thing looking like a stripped chicken leg. But they really needed to recharge and he decided on a different stall tactic.

Running across the field, he positioned himself between the bandit leader and his body. Normally, he’d be screaming for help if a wild man was swinging a sword at him. But the whole being dead thing let him phase through nearly all objects. Kneeling down, he forced power into his hand and grabbed a bit of dirt. It wasn’t much, but it should do. With his weapon in hand, he waited for the man to run through him.

“ARguugh” The leader spit out as a cloud of dust smashed into his face.

It worked! He had gotten the idea when Steve swallowed that bug earlier. Now it was time for his special move.

“Hold still” He muttered as the man shifted back and forth, his free hand trying to wipe the dirt from his eyes.

The leader was pissed. What the hell even happened? He tried to search the area for a hidden foe, but nothing appeared. Tears streamed down his face as his eyes worked out the dirt, but it wasn’t fast enough. Slamming his sword into the ground, he grabbed his shirt and began rubbing at the face.

“Stop that whining!” he screamed at the partially eaten man. The constant cries of pain intermixed with bits of laughter really pissed him off.

If they were going to die, at least die in a fight. It was utterly pathetic giving up like that. The thought of giving up and becoming a babbling mess only enraged him. If that man died, it would be nearly impossible to carry all their loot to town. Already the losses were insurmountable and it’d take him months, if not years to rebuild his crew. Plus he’d need to bribe, lie, and cheat to keep word from spreading about this fight. Who’d want to join the crew that was wiped out by a cart driver? That story wouldn’t ever leave him and he’d get downgraded. His class as a [Bandit Leader] would be reverted to [Bandit Lieutenant] or god forbid a [Lackey] of some kind. He’d rather restart at the bottom and live a lawful life then go back to the lackey life. With one last swipe, he cleared out the rest of the dirt and grabbed his sword.

The creature was only a few feet away and glanced up like a lost puppy. Bits of sinew stretched between the mouth and open wound before snapping back like rubber. It was a territorial stare, this was HIS food and nothing would get between it. The leader wasn’t even shocked at the carnage, he’d killed many men in worse ways. Besides, it was mostly the leg. Once this was finished, he’d chop that torn up appendage and cauterize the wound with a torch. It’d be painful as hell, but at least the man would be alive. He’d just dock the man’s pay based on how much the healer charged. Already the numbers were slipping, black-market healers overcharged like crazy. But they’d just have to eat the cost as there was no other option.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Pickup up his sword, he took a moment to analyze his foe. Already this thing had killed one, worn out another, and was eating a third. He could tell it wasn’t your basic zombie and didn’t want to fall into a trap. Both hands grabbed the handle, the fingers wrapping around the worn leather as he activated a few skills. This would be overkill, but he was going to decapitate the thing in a single swing. No need to draw this fight out, just one clean cut and it’d be done. He took one step and…

Click

His trousers fell. The leader was so focused on his foe, he didn’t even notice the hands working at his belt. Those ghastly fingers easily pulling apart the loops and hooks with finesse. A small tug here, a push there, and bam. Ryland couldn’t help but laugh as he stumbled forward. That powerful aura fading as he held his pants with one hand and the sword with the other. Thank the gods he had fresh undergarments on. Nobody needed to see those taters in the night. He began to struggle trying to slide them off, but his boots were far too thick to slide through. Fabric got tangled in the straps and tore slightly from the pressure. As he struggled trying to strip down, he lost balance and tumbled to the ground.

Both legs were twisted as the pants wrapped around the ankles. Sitting up, he grabbed his sword and went to cut through. With care, he began to slice through the first bits when…

SMACK

Or at least Ryland hoped it felt like a hit. Instead, the ghost had shoved more dirt into his eyes. The sudden impact caused his focus to slip and he sliced open his leg. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was annoyingly painful.

“WHO IS THAT!” He screamed out. It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

The man turned into a raging mess as he continued to curse. Every known insult and various statements of defamation left his lips as he struggled to remove the dust once more. It was a horrible prank; every time he cleaned out some of the debris, Ryland was ready with another handful. It was humiliating, he was the strongest of the group. Yet here he was tangled in his pants and fighting dirt.

“FUCKING KILL IT ALREADY!” He called out to the others.

“ALREADY ON IT” the archer called out.

He’d given up collecting all the arrows and just had a handful by his side. Some of the fletching was ruined, but at this distance it’d still be an easy shot. Pulling back the drawstring, he slowed his breath and aimed at the zombie once more. It should have killed the creature on the first shot, this time he’d be sure to burn it immediately. As he was about to release the arrow, his head shifted when another voice joined the fray.

[Death Bolt]

Ryland glanced over as Steve unleashed his spell.

“Finally, It took you long enough!” He shouted back.

Steve flicked him off and watched as the first shot slammed into the archer’s arm. The impact loosing the arrow but shifting its aim. All watched as the bolt arc’d across the sky and smashed into the back of the half-eaten lackey. That wasn’t good, his boss was going to dock his share too. He tried to turn and fire at the distant caster only to see the blob of negative energy flying towards him. He got up to dodge, but was far too slow. The glob of magic smashed into his chest and was quickly followed by three more. Thinking quickly, he dove down to the ground and began crawling towards cover. His muscles burned and his body was exhausted from the magical assault. Laying back, he rested against the cart to catch his breath. What they hell was that skill? He’d fought magics before and they were always fire, ice, and lightning. Hell some just threw chunks of rocks at you like a territorial hill giant. This was new. He opened up his shirt and saw the skin slightly discolored, but it wasn’t damaged in any way. Yet all he wanted to do was doze of and take a nap.

“Eli! Have you found those health potions yet? I could really use one right now!”

“Not yet! Why is that man still alive? I thought we checked the bodies and he was called dead” The swordsman called out from the side.

Grabbing his bow, he preloaded an arrow and peaked out the side. He was instantly met with another blast of that dastardly spell. Unless they could find a way to distract the man, both were on lockdown. He was happy the caster didn’t know any fire spells or their cover might have turned into a bonfire.

Steve was shaking as he held out his arm. Without a wand to focus, it drained so much of his mana. It was a bluff shooting out so many bolts, but thankfully the two were on lockdown. Now he was wishing he took higher tiers into the death magics. While they were not good in one on one fights, low tier death magics were the bread and butter for sample collection.The spells were not as destructive as fellow mages, but did have one good perk–It directly assaulted stamina. Sure there was some minor health-loss from the rush of negative magics. But draining the living energy is what its primary purpose was.

Early [Necromancer]s quickly learned that fresh flesh was best flesh. Yes, making camp near an old battlefield or graveyard was best for forming a negative zone. Yes, a steady supply of corpses allowed for armies to grow. But to make truly powerful servants, one needed fresh reagents. It was why many would take a few points into flesh sculpting as they leveled. Being able to shift muscle, stretch tendons, and revitalize connective tissue allowed for great chimerical servants. A plus side to these skills was the use of torture. Anyone would start yapping when they watched skin get stripped and grafted onto some wailing undead. The pain amplified as they worked the nerves and the duration extended as they shifted blood vessels. Some of the worst monsters of mortals were those that specialized in these techniques. Oh yes, they’d scream, beg, barter, and cry; but at the end of the day they were just another reagent in a well stocked lab.

As such, the simple [Death Bolt] and its variants were such powerful tools in a [Necromancer]’s arsenal. Each blast steals more strength from their target. It was insidiously slow, many ignoring the assault at first. Just minor annoyances and a bit of a sting, yet the effect compounded quite quickly. As the stamina was drained, they became more sluggish. Skills shut off and power was lost. Many would chug health potion after health potion, hoping it would do something to staunch the effects. Yet those were worthless, that beautiful flesh was never damaged. By the time they realized the true nature of the spells, most could barely stand from exhaustion. Collapsing to the ground and captured for experimentation. Soon they couldn’t even stand as the last few blasts knocked em out cold.

“Look, you bait and I’ll shoot. We need to take him out fast.” He shouted to his friend.

“I can hear you and the moment you pop out, you’re dead” Steve yelled back. He only had one or two shots left, but needed to make them count.

“I know you can hear me dumbass! Doesn’t mean it won’t work.” The archer yelled across the field.

“How about you bait, and I charge! You already shot Greg!”

“Ok look, that was an accident and I’m sure Greg is doing fine. What do you want me to do? Hit him with my bow. Gods why did I join this stupid team.” The archer complained.

“I heard that. I swear I’ll knock three teeth out once we finish these bastards off” The leader responded.

“And did I hear you shot Greg?

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT CAN’T YOU GUYS JUST DROP IT ALREADY” He was getting ticked

“Enough of that” Ryland said and dumped a pile of dust into the leader's maw. If only he had some millipedes or bugs, it would be far more fun.

With their leader silenced, the remaining two continued to bicker. Both wanted to peek and see where the mage was, but both were too scared to do so. Using the opportunity, Steve began to sneak towards Greg the lackey. That man stole his dagger and he wanted it back. He tried to stay as silent as possible, keeping far from the bandit leader before him. He was a trapped animal and would lash out at the most minor movement. Finally, he reached the half-eaten man and felt the ire of the zombie before him.

“Can we trade?”

The zombie glanced up and gulped down its latest bite. Turning towards Ryland, the ghost nodded and it backed off. It was full and wanted to try another tasty treat. As the bloodied thing scampered off, Steve bent down and took back his weapon. Greg groaned as he lay dying in the field. His legs torn to shreds, his face half eaten, and most of his fingers bitten off. Steve felt bad for the guy and decided to end it. Closing his eyes, he plunged the weapon into the man’s throat.