Three figures riding skeletal horses crossed the tracks.

The ringing of the church bell signified an approaching danger. Beck looked to his Pa, who had let the tool in his hand rest on the ground as he scanned the horizon. The young man followed his example, quickly spotting the three riders. He looked back to his father, who nodded his head towards the house.

Beck nodded back, and immediately vaulted the fence and started running for the building. Ma poked her head out of the basement as the young man burst in. He didn't say anything, simply running to his parents' bed and diving underneath. Shortly after, he emerged with his father's crossbow, a bolt already loaded.

His mother was looking out the window at the field, where the riders had met his father. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but now that they were close enough, there was no doubt who they were.

The Grim Riders. Damn rotters.

He rested the weapon on the window sill. Pa taught him the basics, just in case this happened. He looked through the scope mounted behind the mechanism, taking aim for the leader. The dot painted on the glass overlapped with it's chest, and Beck watched as the undead barked at his father.

He flinched. The two rotters at the back had drawn iron and shot his father, one with a bolt of flame and the other of ice.

His mother cried out, bursting through the door and running to her husband. Beck had been so focused on the leader, he didn't even notice. He swapped to the one that had shot the ice, and pulled the trigger as soon as the dot reached it. The bolt lodged in the thing's shoulder, and all three of them looked to him. It bought his father enough time to recover and strike, the kaiser blade severing the head from the skeletal horse under the leader.

Pa was strong. Beck knew that. But he was just a farmer. As he raised his weapon once more, the flankers didn't hesitate to shoot him again. His father crumpled right as Ma reached him, an icicle lodged in his eye. She tried healing him, the streams from [Healing Hands] causing her fingers to glow. The light flowed into his father, but quickly evaporated off of him. He was dead.

Ma screamed, as did a number of people in town, and it shook Beck out of the stupor he had been in. But he couldn't look away. He could see the rotters laughing. A rage ignited in his chest, he pulled another bolt from its case and reloaded the crossbow. It was heavy, and he had to use both hands, but he got it loaded before they finished laughing.

The next bolt reminded them of his existence. The leader had stood sometime between Pa's death and the crossbow being loaded, and Beck took aim at it. The bolt took it in the forehead, snapping its head back. For a moment, Beck thought he'd killed the thing, but to his horror, it reached up and set its head back in place.

Without its hat, the truth of the thing was laid bare. Where the skin on the others was rotting away, Bolthead here looked more like a man flayed of his skin. The bare muscle writhed with every motion, blackened by the energy that animated their kind.

The remains of its horse strewn around its feet, it began to stalk toward Ma. He looked at the weapon in his hands, and realized he wouldn't be able to load it in time, nor would it do enough. Ma was still trying to heal Pa, so Beck dove through the window.

He rolled as he hit the ground. Once he got his feet under him, he started to run.

He was halfway there when it reached her. He could only watch as the thing reached out to take Ma by the hair. She caught its wrist, her hand still glowing. Then he realized.

She hadn't been trying to heal Pa. She was charging something that looked like [Healing Hands], but very much wasn't. He saw the Rotter's wrist disintegrate, its arm turning to ash up to its elbow.

The laughter stopped. If the things still had eyeballs, they would be staring bug-eyed at the stump that was Bolthead's arm. It bought just enough time for Beck to tackle it.

The pair hit the ground, and Beck immediately started pummeling the moving corpse. He didn't have any kind of Skill for fighting, but he had brawled with the smith's son, Mason, growing up, so he at least knew how to throw a punch. He wasn't prepared for the thing to hit back, too lost in his attack.

It's remaining hand met his jaw, throwing him to the side. The two stood, and Beck could see Ma dragging Pa's corpse away, towards the cactus field. The two rotters still mounted were hooting and hollering, cheering for the one he was fighting, their mood apparently recovered. The cold glow from its eyes set him on edge, tempering his rage with fear. The thing chuckled when he didn't move, its voice raspy and wrong.

"Guts just never make it easy. Coulda joined up real simple like, and the Reverend woulda welcomed ya with open arms," The corpse spread its arms wide, "but no. Y'all had to go and make things difficult." At that, it stabbed the stump towards Beck. "Now look what you did!"

The lead rotter unholstered his piece, and Beck realized what it was immediately. Not a focus gun like the others wielded, but a real Spellgun. The cylinder clicked as it pulled back the hammer. The gun was aimed at Ma, the thing's eyes still focused on Beck. The young man took a step, then another, trying to close the distance, arms outstretched to try and stop it.

"Ma!" was all that came out before the shot rang out. Ma stood there a moment, clutching a knife formed from ice that he hadn't seen before. Then she crumpled much like Pa had, falling against the fence and dropping the knife, which turned back to water immediately.

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Beck stood there a moment, the reality of the situation hitting him like a truck. The monster in front of him simply holstered its gun, then ordered one of its subordinates off its horse. As it mounted, the one that had shot the icicle approached him, a knife drawn.

Beck had been stumbling toward his parents corpses when he saw it, almost too late. He twisted, causing the attempted stab to miss, before it turned into a weak slash that nonetheless cut into his stomach. The wound was shallow, but the pain brought him back to the moment.

He sent a right hook into the thing's jaw, and it snapped off. The rotter stared at him for a moment, its tongue hanging from its throat, then looked to where its jaw lay in the dirt. Beck followed its gaze, just as surprised at the result. He recovered first, though, sending another hook into its temple and laying it out.

You have learned the Skill [Pugilism]!

Beck didn't have time to read the effects, nor to think about anything other than grabbing the knife it dropped. He snatched it up and plunged the blade into the corpses eye socket. For a moment, all was quiet.

You have slain a Grim Rider! Level up! You are now Lvl. 2! +2 stat points

You have learned the Skill [Knifework]!

Then two pairs of boots hit the ground, and the remaining rotters approached him. He immediately allocated his free points into Dexterity, the governing stat for [Knifework]. Beck rose as they approached, clutching the knife hard enough to turn his fingers pale.

Bolthead's mouth was moving, but Beck couldn't hear what he said. The undead drew knives, the unholy light in their eyes betraying their intentions. They wouldn't kill him, not yet.

Beck stepped toward them, and stabbed once in reach. The one in charge intercept his stab with its own blade, plunging the knife into his forearm and letting him cut himself open with his own inertia. The other corpse went to the side and stabbed him in the gut.

Now he was bleeding in four different places, three of which were deep wounds. The wounds to his arm forced him to drop the knife. He was able to catch it, but only barely, thanks to the points to dexterity. He disengaged from Bolthead, pulling his arm free of the blade and swinging it limply at the flanker.

As he turned to face the other, Bolthead stabbed him in the thigh, punishing his shifting attention. He threw himself at the other with his remaining unwounded leg. He was starting to feel a little woozy, but he was able to knock down the lesser rotter in exchange for another knife in his gut.

Beck didn't think, just started stabbing. Each was aimed for its head, but his vision was blurring, and the corpse was still able to move its head enough to avoid the blade. Every attack dug into the ground instead of flesh, and soon enough, the young man had exhausted his energy.

Beck took a kick to the ribs and rolled off the body he had pinned a moment ago. Every part of his body hurt, even the parts that had never been struck. He came to a stop on his back, staring up at the sky with milky eyes. The figures of the two remaining Grim Riders stood over him, the one he had been trying to stab fumbling with his gun.

Bolthead stopped him. Beck had a hard time hearing; his head felt like it was in one of the barrels of cactus water. But he was able to make out what was said.

"Don't waste the mana. Leave him for the shamblers."

With that, they left. He heard the distant hoofbeats as the two took off, and then there was silence for a long while. He couldn't tell how long, since the sun wasn't high enough to be in his line of sight yet. What he could see was another System notification.

You are bleeding out! You will die of blood loss in 4 hours if you are not treated!

Gut wound detected! You will die within the next 12 hours if you are not treated!

He could only stare up at it. He would've laughed, but he was pretty sure that kick had broken a few ribs, and he didn't want to hasten his own demise. So, with nothing else to do, he retreated into himself, to that space inside where he instinctually knew all of his skill resided.

It felt like a well. Like his skills were deep inside a hole, and only through consistent effort could he truly make use of them. He drew up [Shape Water], examining the newly-strengthened skill, and opened the System window that described it.

Shape Water +1 Wisdom

Your natural affinity towards water has given you a slight control over it. You may move up to a certain amount of water dependent on your Wisdom and Skill level.

The description was pretty barebones, as he was told was the case with almost all Tier 1 skills. Apparently, they got more detailed as they climbed the Tiers and got stronger. He took his time with the skill, feeling its signature where it had etched itself into him. It was only after he found that it was nowhere near complete that he remembered he had gained two skills during the fighting.

The fight that had led to his current state. Dying, with his parents already dead not far away. That thought stopped him. And for the first time in his life, he prayed. He had done small prayers, thanking Feila for bountiful harvests, asking Magir to care for the dead, even though that was his job anyway, and of course the yearly celebrations for Apollyon to celebrate the sun being restored. But none of them had been real prayers, with any meaning or belief behind them.

Beck hadn't really been a praying man, no matter how pious Ma was or wanted him to be. But now, on the edge of death, he knew he had to at least try to make peace with the Archangels. He prayed to Feila, that she would preserve his life somehow, and to Magir, to safeguard his parent's souls.

Then he settled for a bit, and just let unconsciousness take him.