Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Toxic Ch: 45

Lord captain Dale slept peacefully through the long, slim dagger that ran through his heart, nor did he wake when the short length of anchor chain tucked around his feet dragged him to the lightless depths below.

Jermik took the helm, as Addie controlled the drum, impelling the zombies into motion through the spells wrought in the ship’s beams and planks.

Silently they glided toward the darkening horizon, picking up speed with every stroke of the oars.

Racing into the gathering mist and fog, the ensign of light’s holy temple drifted on the waves in the wake of the former flagship.

#

Gandree hewed and chopped with efficiency, but no enthusiasm, at the unfortunate victims that swarmed through the shallows, lunging at the cluster of defenders on the waterside.

His trusty old shitshovel always did whatever job he asked it to, whether digging, fighting or, once he had some fresh strings, he might play some music tonight. He smiled at the thought, as he drove the heavy steel blade though a struggling zombie’s neck. He had time to mull over his situation, thanks to his new friends…

Tall, yellow armored Gary stood beside him, cleaving the wretched things down mechanically with a heavy bronze falchion that sheared through bone and scrawny flesh with terrible ease. The man displayed none of the verve, jollity or general silliness that the young dwarf had come to expect from him. He seemed vacant, empty, half a zombie himself, inside his armored carapace of lacquered yellow wood.

On the dwarf’s other flank, the red haired giant, Tallum wielded a pair of stout clubs, one in each enormous paw. He lashed the supposedly two handed weapons about with ease, shattering skulls and turning ribcages into goo with every mighty swipe. He fought with a dogged and furious grace and rage, dealing out retribution against his foes with zealous fury. That marked contrast between the two men struck the dwarf oddly. He would need to contemplate that.

Between those two engines of destruction, he held his own by taking the knees out from any that slipped by and finishing off the creatures that still struggled, beneath their feet.

Farther down the line, Shai sheared through the walking dead with a dancer’s grace and a cold burning fury in her eyes… That woman was terrifying.

Time began to blur as the battle went on, seeming an endless nightmare of blood, bowels and men who died in silence.

Eventually, Gandree hacked down the last of the twitching dead near him and looked around the waterfront for foes… there were none. The mangled wreckage of gaunt, ragged corpses bobbed in the lagoon, stained the beach red and polluted the once clear water horribly...

A noise behind him reminded the dwarf that the battle still raged, drawing him back into the unpleasant, exhausting reality of the day.

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Daisybelle smiled coldly, as the necromage hauled himself out of the muck and shook out of his encumbering robes. “Ahh, not so stupid and silly as most, I see.” The little drum majorette goblin cooed at the sight of his well fitted and no nonsense leather armor. Her smile widened when he produced a naval cutlass and brandished it confidently at her.

She chuckled and pulled her obsidian edged oar shield against her breast in salute, while waving her jagged dagger at his groin suggestively.

“This is a great honor for you…” She burbled happily, as they began to circle and advance together, each one eying the foe with the confident wariness of veteran warriors. “Daisybelle has not slain a necromancer of light yet. You’ll be my first.”

“I’ll not be gentle…” He snarled, gripping his codpiece with his free hand and jumbling his tackle at her just as suggestively. “And when I’m done, you’ll beg to die, with my cock shoved up your little ass.”

As he spoke, the armored zombie that hadn’t been split in half and hammered into the muck, surged at her lunging from the wreckage of its fellow.

Clumsy and slow but mindlessly strong, it lurched from the mire, swinging its iron plated forearms like clubs at the little green monster girl. In counterpoint to that attack, the necromage sprinted forward, slashing for her back with his shining steel cutlass.

Daisybelle ducked low and sprang at the charging necromancer, ignoring his raging minion in favor of facing the mage head on. Steel met sturdy, goblin bewitched oak and obsidian, as she parried his slash and rolled under his follow up cut with a mad, giggling tumble.

An instant later, his own minion crashed headlong into him, driven onto him by the leap of a massive wolfhound.

#

Peony bounced off the dead ones’ back, sending it staggering at the human, disrupting them both. She bounced away, following her mistress’ silent command.

Nightshade pounced from the brush in utter silence, sending the iron plated corpse crashing into its master again, with a satisfying sound of breaking bones. Encouraged by that success, he stuck around for a moment, hoping to finish the thing off, despite Daisybelle’s insistent commands… He growled and shook the nasty wretched thing as he savaged the tough, hickory smoked neck. He ignored Jasmine too, yipping at him in frustration as he took the zombie down to the jungle floor.

His teeth clattered on the armored collar sewn into the thing, gaining no purchase for a bite that would end it. His raking claws did even less, turned by the surprising toughness of the meaty monster.

Furious, he doubled down, breaking a tooth on the damn thing as he growled and tore at it. He was going to eat this thing…

Nightshade heard only Daisybelle’s short, terrible scream, before silence fell.

#

Zach wrenched his cutlass out of the massive wolfhound’s corpse, as his zombie collapsed beneath it, neck finally snapped in the last paroxysm of the wolf’s mighty jaws. He smiled at the goblin’s heartrending scream of despair, as her fleabag kicked one last time.

He flicked the blood from his blade and turned on the sexy little munchkin with a cruel smile. “I promise, I won’t kill you… until I’m done. I’m gonna bend you over your pet’s corpse and just ruin that ass.”

Zach smirked and chuckled, as he backed around the clearing, searching for less muddy ground as he taunted the furious little monster.

“I know, I’ll reanimate the dog and have it rape you to death when I get bored… that’ll be fun!”

The slow, dangerous game began to heat up, as the goblin started scrambling at him, a wild and mindless rage on her green, tear streaked face. She howled a long, mournful note as she rushed through the tall grass at the cutlass wielding necromage.

His blade flashed at her, striking with swift, sure strokes as he deflected her wild attacks, driving her shield out to the side, creating the opening he was looking for. With a twist of his hips and a sudden lunge, he drove the point of his weapon at her exposed belly with a grin of triumph on his handsome face. ‘A belly wound won’t kill her quickly… My fun might be messier; but a win is a win.’ He thought happily.

#

In a cold, frigid place of pure rage, Daisybelle stalked her prey. She let her emotions run rampant on her face and allowed her body to feel her shame, anger and fury all it wanted… but she had work to do. Her icy command sent Peony and Jasmine back into the jungle, watching her back, while she dealt with this.

The tall, handsome human spoke, spewing some filth or other; she let her ears hear it, just to fuel her rage while she was still calculating his end. Her shattered, fluttering heart urged her to attack, attack, attack…

She stifled that call and continued plotting, one move at a time, in the cold, quiet place where she was right now.

In that frigid mental wasteland, while her body was following her cold, dispassionate instructions with wild, passionate rage; a soft whisper of wind blew across her mind.

A slow, guttural, rumbling sound, the sound of a beast enraged and furious, in defence of her home and young. A shattering clarion call of pure, unadulterated desire for peace rang through her body, mind and soul, demanding her attention… She wanted, needed to heed that call and find that peace. Peace that could only be found in the last breath of this man’s life… in his dying gasp, she would learn the Truth and find her Peace.

#

The necromage had this little monster dancing in the palm of his hand… Her pets were in hiding, but he had a pretty good read on the creature; she wanted to shank him herself. He smiled, confident that he’d be plunging his pork sword into her goblin guts soon…

Zach’s vicious slash met no tender green flesh, as she twisted in a swaying, effortless, dance. Her wide flung shield went flying away; discarded, as her shield hand latched onto the bell guard of his weapon.

Her tiny, strong hand reached inside to confidently share the hilt with him, in a frozen moment of starkly intimate horror. He’d been played… by a goblin girl less than four feet tall.

With a twist and tug, the tiny creature swarmed up under his sword arm like a monkey, driving her obsidian dagger into his armpit to the hilt. With another twist and tug, she pulled her blade from his heart and smiled, as he collapsed beneath her.

“Nightshade never did follow orders… but he was a good good boy…” She whispered, as he slowly fell into the gathering darkness all around.

#

The combined Raggamuffin and Clown-Shoes team fell back, battered, exhausted and half in shock at the relentless, bloodless, mindless intensity of the tough, idiotic zombies.

Their salt cured, leather tanned, mostly dried and jerky-like flesh turned any strike that didn’t have guts and intent behind it, while the iron plates sewn and bolted to their heads, arms and around their necks, made quick endings more difficult.

With gasps of relief audible over the noise of battle all up and down the line, the shore team joined the fray, bringing more heavy hitters and damage dealers into their side of the battle.

Liam’s voice came over the comms, calm and assured. “Clown-Shoes, fall back in order, take a reserve position and rest.” He ordered cooly, as his sword harvested a few limbs from a stubborn knot of zombies. “Ragamuffins, hold tight while we join up.”

As an afterthought, Liam came back in a moment later. “Reserves, watch the shoreline, I smell a trap.”

#

Harry looked down on the field from his perch in the magnolia tree, watching for an opportunity… The last two robed necromancers were hanging back, hiding among the trees, surrounded by a bodyguard of tightly controlled zombies.

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These bore shields and did nothing but stay close to the two mages, who were back to back in the ring of protective meat, metal and bone.

With no shot, he grumbled sourly and put his flute away; there was no neat and tidy blowgun solution for this problem…

He grinned wickedly as he tapped his ear cuff, opening the Clown-Shoes channel.

“I have an angle on the necromancers on shore… but I’ll need backup.” He called to his exhausted teammates, gulping down water and patching up their injuries, deeper behind the family battle line.

“We can’t get there, Harry.” Barry answered sharply. “Hold tight, wait for orders.”

“Yeah… Ok. I’mma watch for my shot though…” The youngest Ward grumbled, deep in enemy territory and literally stuck up a tree. Up a tree and surrounded by dozens of free roaming, hungry, cannibal zombies.

He watched helplessly, as his family fought against a foe his weapons were useless against.

The battle raged on interminably below him, as ground was gained and lost. Zombies continued to trickle out of the forest in ones and twos, belatedly stumbling into the mess and adding to the endless slog of battle, dragging it on and on.

What felt like an hour later, a low, mournful howl drifted up from the jungle, as two more lupine voices picked up the long, sad song.

A moment later, Lindsey’s voice slipped into Harry’s ear with a pained whisper.

“Daisybelle is coming in, she can help you back to our lines… Peony and Jasmine are with her.” She sobbed, as the comms cut off.

Harry did the math on what went unspoken there, and considered that long, terrible howl.

“Good doggie…” He whispered, fresh anger boiling up from deep inside his bowels.

#

Just beyond that mysterious line of interference, Ambrose and Hiedi huddled behind their wall of armored shield zeds, hoping and wishing that the battle would end…

With two hundred prime armored zombies and the full oardecks of the wrecked ship dumping nearly as many freshly reanimated oar-slave zeds onto the shore, they should have swept the infidels into the sea in minutes…

Instead, Zach was gone, Taylor and Drew were both dead, shredded by their own minions… Brent was out there somewhere, no doubt hiding and controlling his zombies from some dark hole. Ambrose concentrated on keeping the zeds he still controlled on the field, rather than wandering around like idiots.

He left Hiedi in charge of their bodyguards, watching his back as he struggled to regain control of the chaotic mess. He gasped in relief, when twelve fresh, muddy and soggy zombies staggered out of the reeking forest and joined his formation, lining up for a concerted rush at the weary defenders.

Once the fifty intact zeds he’d gathered charged across the invisible barrier they would be out of his control, but headed in the right direction in a mad, hungry group.

“I just saw Brent… he’s got ten more coming our way.” Hiedi called over the clatter and din of battle. “He’s really pulling his weight!”

Ambrose gave a tight and controlled nod, as he gratefully reached out with his Will to take the new troops into his force. There wouldn’t be many more coming out of the woods, he suspected… This island had chewed on their forces pretty aggressively, before they even engaged.

#

Audrey the Rendroot bush was really enjoying herself… but the meal was just too salty for her taste. She gulped another of the ironclad corpses into a flower maw, chomping and mashing him into a wet mess, before the flower withered and collapsed, ruined by the wasting iron burn and wicked salt.

Even so, she was feeling heavy and bloated from so many tasty meals… She slowly reached her vines out and snatched another zombie up into the tree canopy, for another wet, crunching, noisy snack.

She really needed something warm, moist and tasty to cleanse the palate… With no more salty deadies wandering around, she slithered her vines closer to the main battle, in a minor defiance of her master’s command. She was still controlling the jungle… Just at the near edge, where she could help, if papa Liam needed her.

So thirsty… she sent some roots down into the earth seeking groundwater, but she really needed… an unsalted snack.

A short while later, she spotted what she was looking for. Huddled under a bush, in a shallow, shady depression in the soil, a man was hiding.

He was not part of her family, so he was an enemy… But he was a people and papa Liam said no-no to eating peoples… so she watched for a while, thinking.

He constantly mumbled scriptures from a small book, with his attention focused on the battle unfolding on the wide garden of her home… In a sudden flash of insight she realized… People don’t hang around with zombies, that was a known thing. Zombies eat people. So if this human was playing with zombies… He was a human who wasn’t really a people!

She nodded sagely, pleased by her own wisdom and clear thinking. He was just a super fresh zombie… unsalted flavor.

#

Heidi sagged back against Ambrose with a gasp of relief, when Brent sent another seven ironclads her way, stomping up in good order. They were going to turn this battle around, even if the artillery on the blockade ships had stopped. Her relief became fear, when Brent’s troop of zeds lost focus and started wandering randomly.

The last sight she had of the youngest of their teammates was his terrified, screaming face being dragged into the jungle by his feet, halfway cocooned in some kind of vine monster’s tendrils. In an instant a huge, beautiful flower gulped him down entirely; his struggles barely visible through the bloom’s bright pink, leathery petals.

#

Dannyl spent most of the battle on the back corner of the garden, where the armored zombies kept pushing in from the jungle and trying to encircle the defenders. That steady influx of the dead was rapidly drying up, as a larger group began assembling on the open space facing the kids’ combined teams.

He continued his grisly work on the periphery, where his weapon wouldn’t be constrained by friendly targets. That left him a good view of the ongoing conflict, and an angle on the tight knot of heavily armored, sword wielding zombies that were squaring up for a rush.

With alarm he noted that the Clown-Shoes were falling back, as the Dreadnoughts advanced to take their place, leaving the line vulnerable for a few seconds. Liam had the timing down, but it was close…

Dannyl ripped his buzzing chain whip from around his current prey, as it tumbled down to the soil in pieces.

With a mad laugh and a wild battle cry, he turned and vaulted a garden bench, leapt two hedges and plowed right into the close grouped zombie formation.

His soul Contracted chain whip lashed and spun around his body in a whirlwind of keen edged, ensorceled bronze.

It did little actual damage, as he passed through their crowded lines, but any hungry, reaching hands quickly became useless, ragged nubs within that spinning maelstrom of interlinked ringblades.

He passed unscathed through the clumsy brutes, emerging on the other side of the slow moving ironclads, shaking a few loose fingers out of his hair with a joyous, barking laugh.

#

On the low slung bireme galley, six drifting shadow swordsmen addressed the gathered non commissioned officers with a salute of their shadowy blades. Darkling shreds of their tattered shrouds drifted on an unfelt breeze, as a miasma of darkness gathered in the slowly lengthening evening shadows.

“One chance, skinbags.” Kree called from the bow rail, brandishing her tiny rapier of blackened bronze at the cluster of men and women gathered near the silent aft ballista.

“My shadow minions are fearsome, but I am soft hearted; you get one chance. Jump over the side, alive and swimming… or slip into the depths, cold and silent, to await your next life.”

“By the light and for all mankind! Attack, you filth!” A man bellowed from the closed companionway behind the sailors. “Defend me as I work!”

His orders seemed to snap them from a stupor, as the two, three man crews faced off against six shadow entities and a fluttering pixie.

The sailors fanned out, using their deep familiarity with the vessel’s layout to advantage against the mysterious figures. The forces maneuvered for a few moments, until with a cry, the largest sailor lunged with a steel tipped pike, racing out to skewer the closest shade.

A sword of flickering, dripping shadow turned the thrust with a metallic clang and the hiss of steel on a wooden pikeshaft. The hooded figure slipped to the right, behind the gleaming point, running his black blade down the weapon, shearing off the man’s right hand with a decisive *snick*.

The man screamed and clutched his maimed limb, while his pike clattered to the deck, beside the blackened, oozing hand. As the horrified sailors watched, the hand collapsed into mist and dribbled away to nothing.

A few silent, still moments later, two more weapons clattered to the deck, abandoned by their former owners, who were taking up competitive swimming, rather than culting around any more.

“Hmm… your other ship is running too.” Kree sighed softly at the wounded man and his remaining allies, while her minions moved among the silent, undead rowers. “Looks bad for your side.”

“W… Witchcraft!” The injured man exclaimed, sounding much more bold, suddenly. “Look! It’s a trick!” He held up his intact right hand, showing his allies the pale and wrinkled limb excitedly. “It just feels cold… it’s filthy witchcraft!”

Emboldened, the sailors formed up, facing their shadowy, drifting foes with confidence. “The light is with us! We can defeat these demon spawn!”

A sweet, chiming giggle sounded from Kree’s lips, as she fluttered over and landed in the rigging overhead.

“Yes, their swords can’t kill… but look, look at your shadow… see? No right hand!” She giggled madly.

Sure enough, the man’s shadow ended in a stump, despite his possession of all ten fingies. “Fight my minions if you dare… but if you lose your whole shadow, you will be mine.”

She raised her left hand and snapped her golden armored fingers, signaling her shadows to attack. Darkness swept over the ship, as incorporeal shades dipped and spun around the masts and obstructions with silent grace.

Their swords danced and sang among the sailors, meeting every attack with a net of impenetrable shadow steel, where swords struck, they passed through without effect, unable to cut drifting mists and shade.

As they fought, black steel flashed out again and again from the fast moving shades, striking not at the sailors, but reaping the zombie oarsmen. Bench by bench, they slumped down in their chains, slain without wounds by the darkly flashing shadow blades, finding rest from their labors and suffering at last.

Kree, for her part, flitted delicately onto the unmanned forward ballista and slashed the thick, braided cable with a single swipe of her tiny blade. The heavy, spring steel arms of the terrible weapon shot forward, ripping the assembly apart in a deafening clatter and crash. “Oh, That was satisfying!” She purred in harmony with her buzzing stained glass wings.

The dark figures pressed and swirled in a relentless offence, driving the sailors back toward the companionway and their officers mercilessly. They hammered and slashed at the desperate sailors, pushing them one step at a time toward the companionway and their masters.

Enraged beyond reason, a powerfully built, squat sailor ripped a now useless oar from its mount and brought the long pole bashing through two shadows.

His desperate attempt to fend them off paid surprising dividends, as the blow dispersed both shades into flecks and rags of floating mist, with a soft popping sound and a whiff of something spicy and warm.

“Wooden weapons!” The man shouted, grabbing an oak belaying pin in each hand and hurling them at the nearest spook. “Wood can hit them!”

“Very good! Yes! Steel and iron were never alive and so they can’t touch them! Not a good match! Wood was once alive and can strike their forms… clever, clever!” Kree giggled, as she drifted down to land on the aft artillery piece. “Can you suss out their other secret, before it’s too late?”

Whatever they might have said in reply was lost in the thunderous destruction of the second heavy weapon. She sheathed her little sword with a showy display and then bowed to the battered and bedraggled defenders, infuriating them even further.

The emboldened sailors charged, swinging oars, belaying pins and a three legged stool with admirable courage. The remaining shades met them head on, dark blades ringing against the improvised weapons. The shouts and cries of men were the only sounds, as they battled the drifting, ominous shadows.

A shade on the left of the scrum slipped forward in a smooth, deceptive glide, driving the broken oar in the man’s hands to the side…

Black steel sang a single sharp note, as the man’s head fell to the deck, becoming a drifting smudge of mist a moment later.

The man slumped down to the deck; his head still on his shoulders, but slack jawed and staring out at the world with wide open, dead eyes.

“Do you see?” Kree giggled, taunting the beleaguered defenders, as her shades circled and advanced on the rapidly shrinking opposition. “No more rowers, no escape, no hope for you!”

The burly man with the oar shouted in rage and leapt forward, slashing at the shadows with his long clumsy weapon in a frantic, desperate assault. One shade stepped aside, dodging with grace and fluidity, while the remaining two vanished in a cloud of mist.

“No… too bad, not smart enough. So sorry.” The bug giggled, as she pranced across a spar, thrusting her little bronze rapier through the heart of an imagined foe.

“I only have one minion. That’s the secret!” She giggled, as the remaining shadow swept at the sailors in a flood of ringing blades and cries of agony.

Two more sailors lay on the deck, when the shadow withdrew a few smooth, dance-like steps and saluted the last two defenders with his sword upraised.

“He can’t concentrate on too many shadows at once. He’s best with just one, now that the zombies are all double dead.”

Kree ducked a hurled belaying pin, fluttering over to land on the rail behind her shadow swordsman.

“He’s impressed with how well you’re doing. He expected to just wipe the floor with you… Or should I say, swab the decks?”

Inexorably, the dark figure advanced; his shadow blade dipping and swaying to the rhythm of music only the swordsman heard, ominous and slow.

“What do you mean, times up?” The bug girl asked her shadow.

From the closed hatch the sailors guarded, a pair of voices rose in a chant, rising to a shouted crescendo.

Spartoi!

Coagulous!

Homunculous Rex!

The shadow turned and leapt at the insect girl, as the sound of breaking glass shook the ship. The bug took to the sky the instant her minion vanished into her tiny shadow, flying for shore at a terrifying speed; leaving the two standing sailors nonplussed and triumphant.

#

Heidi and Ambrose were getting desperate… The field was strewn with body parts and weapons, a few zeds were wandering undirected by the far end of the lagoon, and they had seventy ironclads in addition to their bodyguard…

The flagship was in full retreat… and had been since the start of the battle, rowing for Port city at full speed.

#

No one had noticed or shown any signs of pursuit, but how could they? The two young necromancers embraced on the deck, surrounded by their tireless crew of undead slaves and breathed a sigh of relief.

“This is our chance, Jermik.” Addie sighed in his arms. “We can start a new life, a clean break from the cult, just like we dreamed.”

“We can find a small town somewhere, set up a little home and raid the local graveyard for labor, until we can start a new cult.” The young man sighed.

“We should have reanimated Dale, I suppose… That was wasteful, in hindsight.”

“We can swing by Port city, just kidnap a few live ones to get us by, in the chaos of the invasion.” Addie suggested eagerly. “I prefer living servants… but they can always become unliving, if you tire of them.”

“I love you baby…” He sighed, dreams of a slave harem dancing in his head.

“Wine, sexy slaves… We can live like bishops!” He crowed in triumph; just before the world erupted in a deafening, monstrous roar from the dark skies and a storm of flying, flaming bone shards.

#

“Nice one, Necro!” Ghnash cheered; as pale, ghostly, dragon flames devoured the light cult’s slave galley.

His cheers redoubled when something exploded below decks, launching a spray of brilliant fireworks into the darkening skies.

Glittering fountains of sparks and colors that continued flying up from the depths, even long after the ship’s hulk sank below the waves, while the storm on the horizon grew in strength.

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