Beck flew backwards.

He landed on his back, the wind fully knocked out of him. His new armor wasn't damaged, though, and the Chief gave him time to recover. Once he had gotten to his feet, his hand holding the spot where he had been struck, he found where Kenna had gotten her shit-eating grin from.

Chief Kennet didn't press further, though. "Alright, come at me, boy. Show me what you can do."

Beck hesitated. There was a rush of hot wind beside his head, before his widening eyes registered the Chief's movement. By the time he processed what had happened, the big man had already returned to his previous stance. The message was clear, though.

With the threat clearly engrained in his mind, Beck stepped forward and to the right, around Kennet's guard. The chief wasn't idle, however; as he passed around the fist, he felt an impact on his jaw. It wasn't as quick or with as much force as the last two strikes, but it was certainly enough to leave a bruise.

Beck staggered from the force, before catching himself and ducking under the next leisurely swing. Even though the chief was obviously holding back, he still felt the disturbed air as the fist sailed just above his head. He was still on the defensive, though.

So he attacked. As he straightened, he angled an uppercut at the chief's chin, which the big man easily turned away with his right hand, which, to this point, had been tucked close to his chest. Now, though, the same fist engulfed his vision, and the young man was thrown to the ground once more, his bell thoroughly rung.

He laid there a while, trying to put together a single coherent thought. His eyes were unfocused, and all he could hear was a deafening ringing sound. The stone floor was cold. Eventually, we was able to make out a couple of voices.

"Well, he isn't dead." The speaker snapped their fingers in front of his face, and the sudden stimulus was surprisingly enough to bring his vision back into focus. Kenna was once more kneeling over him, this time with her father, P'tah, and Ætan gathered around. The *young men*, he had to keep reminding himself, looking at him with pure pity in their eyes, while the chief simply looked disappointed.

Kenna's frown, in contrast, was a mix of frustration and concern. A bit surprising, with how much glee she normally took in tormenting him. The light of a small flame manifested from the spot on his forehead where he had been struck, and underneath, he could feel the itch of broken blood vessels and skin mending. The blood where her father's knuckles had broken the skin was still there, now that he could register the feeling.

The large woman dragged Beck to the edge of the ring and sat next to him, her hand laying on his head. Once he finally felt he was back to normal, he gently pushed her hand away and sat up, finally looking at what was going on in the ring now. The Chief was currently trading blows with P'tah, who was putting on a much more impressive showing than Beck had, even if the chief was still moving at the same languid pace as before.

Their little session didn't last much longer, though; P'tah overcommitted to a cross, which ended in the same way Beck's had: parried and punished in a single blow. Kenna sighed, then went over to drag the young man back and begin the healing process once again. She muttered to herself after she returned, "I swear, you boys are all too eager to get hurt."

The rest of the afternoon was spent similarly, alternating between sparring with each other and going against the chief. Beck faired much better against the younger opponents, even Kenna, though he never won a single bout. Kennet simply batted aside any attempt at touching him, staying rooted in the middle of the ring for the whole time.

There was a silver lining to the half-day of getting beat up, though.

[Pugilism] has leveled up! +1 Strength It is now lvl. 2

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

The next day, the Kode once again took down their tents and packed their belongings. Beck woke with everyone else this time, and so by the time they left the alcove, the sun was just beginning to rise. Above, a few of the Wheya's bats lead the way, occasionally circling to allow the lobsters to catch up.

It wasn't too long before the wind changed. The smell of salt water hit Beck's nose, carried on the wind. After another thirty minutes, the Wheya broke formation and flew forward at full speed, causing the Kode to pick up the pace as well. It wasn't long after that the town came into view, and everyone understood immediately why the Wheya had gone ahead.

Dryharbor was under attack. What could only be described as a mass of undead were attempting to push into the small town, held back by the townsfolk with whatever weapons they had. The only thing preventing the horde from overrunning the settlement was a hastily erected stone wall.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The Wheya were dive-bombing the shamblers, their whips striking heads and limbs for the short periods they were in range. Their mounts would grab a rotting corpse at the bottom of their flight, only to fling it even higher into the air at their apex before their next dive.

The Kode pushed their lobsters to go as fast as they could, with those not occupied with driving loading their crossbows and taking aim, Beck included. The tribe spread into a line, each beast scuttling claw to claw so that the arbalists would have clear lines of fire. Between the preparation and the loosing, there was nothing to do but wait. It felt like an eternity.

Finally, they were in range. Someone loosed the first bolt, followed quickly by the rest of the tribe. The Wheya refrained from diving during the bombardment, but quickly resumed while the Kode reloaded. Beck was still green compared to the majority of the tribe, so by the time he finished loading, very few still had bolts on strings. Another wave of undead fell to the bolts.

You have aided in the slaying of a Zombie! x2

Single shots to the body wouldn't be enough to kill even the weakest shambler, but the sheer volume of fire meant that the likelihood of a headshot was almost guaranteed. As they neared the town, though, a large portion of the tribe jumped down from the lobsters, leaving only the best armored to direct the beasts. Beck didn't get the memo.

He was in the middle of loading another bolt when they hit the wall of bodies, their momentum lost with the impact. He almost fell, his feet slipping out from under him before he shoved his toes into a gap between the shell plates.

Claws clamped down on the shamblers, crushing their spines and sending them to the ground. Picks flashed, causing perforated heads to leak horrible energies. Bolts flew overhead, most embedding themselves into unliving bodies. None of the things could get close enough to grab anything their teeth wouldn't shatter on.

Beck took advantage of his situation as best he could. The proximity meant he had to adjust more with every movement either he or his target made, but it also meant he was much less likely to miss after he pulled the trigger. The first fell immediately, followed by his second, third, and fourth marks. By that time, the horde had dwindled in numbers fairly substantially, about a quarter defeated between the towns defenders and their newly arrived support. Neither the Kode or Wheya had suffered a single casualty, though the townsfolk's situation was mostly unknown.

A single note sounded from the distance, barely within the human and human adjacent audible range. The bats dropped all at once, though they were able to recover before they fell into the horde. The shamblers paused at the sound, any that weren't already engaged turning and shuffling away from the amassed forces. Beck's eyes followed their trajectory, quickly finding the source of the whistle.

A single rider sat astride its skeletal horse, at the top of one of the taller dunes in the surrounding area. Bolts followed, some finding purchase in dead flesh, but most falling into the sand. A few of the Wheya gave chase for a short time, scoring another few kills, but the vast majority of their forces did not pursue. Beck himself attempted a shot on the rider, but the bolt fell hopelessly short.

By the time the mass of undead had left the range of the Kode's weapons, the ground was littered with now-still corpses. The Wheya had already flown over the walls, and the Kode were directed towards the waterfront. A few of the townsfolk had descended, searching for familiar faces in the bodies. Many of the long-dead bodies had bites taken from them in several places, and almost all of their heads fell apart once the energy sustaining them had leaked sufficiently from their forms, exposing their lack of brain matter.

Train tracks ran parallel to the coast, separating the town from the docks while the machine was there. The fighting had apparently been fiercest on the opposite side of town, where the wall was forced to stop or else destroy the tracks. On their way to survey the damage, though, a familiar voice broke the relative silence.

"Beck?" Turning in the direction of the voice, Beck found his aunt Marina staring at him from the porch of a small house. Tears welled in both their eyes as he walked over.

"Hey, auntie." A soft smile spread across her face, a mirror to his own, as a sound that was half laugh and half sob escaped from his throat. "Didn't expect to see you here."

It was Marina's turn to laugh now, as she gathered him up in her arms and propped her chin on his head. There was no denying she was Pa's sister. They had almost the same build. "I thought you were dead, boy. Mason told me what happened and-"

Beck tried to push her away at that, but his aunt was stronger. She only held on a moment, though, at which point he took a step back, his hands on her shoulders. "Mason's alive? Where is he now?"

Only then did he notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. "He's fine, last I saw. He was helpin with the wall earlier, and they haven't brought him to me." She sighed, and pulled him back into her chest. "I'm so glad you're alright."

Beck wanted to run to the wall, to check on his old friend, but he couldn't. Marina's arms came near to crushing him as he simply patted her back. Eventually, though, she let him go, tears still staining her cheeks. He gave her one last squeeze before he left, then set off for the wall.

He found Mason by the tracks, helping to build an arch big enough for a train to pass through. The youth was almost unrecognizable, covered in plate mail as he was. The suit was obviously too big for him, parts hanging loose around the arms and torso especially, obviously having been made for someone a good deal wider. His contribution to the wall was minimal, all things considered; mostly hauling material for those more adept at manipulating the earth.

Beck waited for him to deliver his latest burden before approaching. His hand met a pauldron. "Mason. It's good to see you."

At his words, the smith's son turned, his open helm allowing a full view of the awed expression that had taken over his face. Slowly, shaky hands came to rest on Beck's face, pushing his hair from his face. "It's really you." He was once more pulled into an embrace, though it was weaker than his aunt's grip. "I thought you were dead, man. Everyone else... They're all gone. All that's left back home is blood." Beck could only stand there, unable to conjure any words that felt right.

Another high tone pierced the air.