Without uttering a word the recently revived soldier grabs his crying and joyful squadmate and brings him down towards himself, as though he was going to whisper in his ear, then in one swift jerk, they rip into his throat.

Shocked Bertrand takes half a step back despite being twelve feet away, while Francois who’s the closest to the duo smashes the pommel of his dagger into the crazed skirmisher, heedless of this though they keep tearing into the throat of their now screaming squadmate.

Cursing Francois yanks back his foot and roughly stomps on their head, a horrific thud ringing out across the woodlands, it didn't work though and as their victims screaming turned into waterly gurgling, Francois once more brought his boot up and brought it down onto their head.

Brutally caving it in. Panting more in shock than anything Francois stumbles backwards with clumps of mattered hair attached to his boot, while Césaire runs in out of nowhere and starts hurriedly trying to staunch the blood flow of the wounded man with a napkin of all things.

“No point, look at their eyes Césaire, he’s dead.” Francois sadly murmurs.

Recovering his composure slightly, Bertrand mumbles out loud “Drugs.”

“What was that lad?” The skirmisher who Bertrand had helped early asks, voice shaky.

Looking over at him Bertrand saw a sorry sight, he hadn't noticed it initially but the poor guy had a huge chunk of his forearm ripped off, as well as dreadful scratches that had drawn blood littered all across his face.

Seeing the confusion on his scarred and scratched face though Bertrand couldn't exactly not answer, so clearing his throat with a weighty cough, he replied more confidently. “Drugs.”

“Césaire thinks that all this is happening because of drugs, it makes sense now that I've seen this all first hand. Just like how Kale was spread through saliva this drug is likely spread the same way.” He clarified, after seeing their dumbfounded expression when he just said drugs.

“Haha, glad you agree with me.” Césaire laughed right behind him, nearly making Bertrand jump in fright.

Turning back around to face them, Bertrand saw the standard smirk on Césaire’s face, though it seemed rather fake. The arrogance and amusement not reaching his eyes.

“weren’t you helping Francois?”

“Like Francois said their dead, both of them, we’re going to spend a quick few minutes setting up a burial and grabbing their personal belongings for their families then we’re leaving. While we’re doing that how about you run over to the medical wagons and get yourself treated Pierre, after informing one of the officers about this of course.”

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With slightly glazed eyes Pierre nodded his head before setting off on a light jog back towards the direction of the legion. Bertrand hadn't had him pinned down as a Pierre. Then again considering he was standing with wounds that would have likely felled Bertrand himself it made sense that was his name. Man of stone indeed, it didn't even look like he was really bleeding.

“So what are we digging with?” Bertrand questioned, he didn't recall shovels being typical skirmisher equipment. Maybe they would crave a hole in the dirt with their beamers but that seemed a rather wasteful usage of their few mana cubes.

“Flame, we’re going to shove them all together and set them on fire. Not a great burial but better than being left at the mercy of the elements.” Césaire replied sounding puzzled that he was being asked such a dumb question.

“Ah, that makes sense, is it alright if I stand guard instead?”

“Course, course. Just stay where you are you've quite a good spot, Olivier will be opposite you so don’t worry about watching your back, guys a sharpshooter.” Césaire said leaning forward and giving him a pat on the shoulder, well handing him his beamer he must have snagged off the ground after the battle.

What was with Césaire and Francois patting people, Bertrand wondered, as he gratefully accepted his rifle. I mean it was calming but he had been through the hell that was basic training, a person had actually died in his boot camp because of how harsh it was. Of course, this was grisly but it was also what he was trained for.

Well, not exactly, but technically it was, adaptation was a trait that the camp focused on heavily after all, and what was he doing right now if not adapting.

In the future for example he would certainly make sure he didn't have to rely on self preservation to keep people from charging him, because his fellow skirmishers had and the result was five dead brothers.

Even while musing about what he would have to watch out for and what he would need to improve on in the future he was keeping a stern eye on the area.

Despite that he almost missed the twitch of the betrayed skirmisher's corpse. Keeping a close eye on it he waited for a few seconds but no further spasm occurred, but just before he could look away the body shuddered and then just like their squadmate they started to get up.

“GUYS!” Bertrand shouted out confused on what to do. Olivier wasn't as confused though and hurriedly points his beamer at the now resurrected skirmisher, shouting at them to put their hands in the air.

They didn't listen though and instead began to make their way, slowly and with jerky movements towards one of the bent over skirmishers who was busy removing a ring from one of his dead comrade's fingers.

Frozen in shock he simply looked up as they made their way towards him, when they were just a few feet away Olivier swore and finally made true on their threat, firing their beamer.

A pulverizing ray of pure fore hit them in the side, impacting them just below the elbow and nearly cleaving half their arm off. It didn't stop there through angling the ray upwards the newly resurrected skirmisher had the flesh torn off their upper arm.

It didn't even faze them. They just kept walking. So Olivier kept the ray trained on their neck and their decapitated body fell to the ground in less than a second. Putting an end to their unnatural new life.

With wide eyes an unspoken “what in the Holy Seer’s vision” echoed around the half done burial grounds, communicated solely through skittish eyes glancing at every shadow and shaking hands glancing beamers.

In the stillness that followed a bit of movement attracted everyone's gaze, another body was getting up. Another dead skirmisher was rising from the dead like an ungodly flower sprouting towards the sun.