The second lunge was much easier to dodge since Sunday knew it was coming. However, the slippery ground made moving a challenge. Still, his undead body was a thing of wonder. It helped that the alligator was also struggling with finding proper support. Its massive mouth could probably fit half of Sunday in one gulp, but its body weighed it down.

Each short movement was followed by a few wheezes from the crooked horn. Sunday’s adrenaline, or whatever the equivalent for the undead was, slowly retreated. The alligator tried for the third time but the mud proved to be a challenging factor. Sunday chalked it up to the massive body of the thing and its apparent weakness.

It had to be as wide as a car and maybe even longer. However, a lot of its mass was concentrated around the mid-section giving it a rounded, almost fatty appearance. As if the beast had swallowed a balloon or had recently feasted until it was about to burst.

Sunday had seen videos of alligators running at fast speeds, but he couldn’t imagine this particular representative of the species was capable of anything like that. The slight slope between the river and the mud lands was enough to stop its advance.

Was it just a glutton?

It wheezed again and stared Sunday down, daring him to come close. Maybe throw himself into its mouth, if it was convenient too. Sunday returned the gaze, then chuckled.

“You’re just a greedy glutton, eh? I’ve met your kind, but they were human. Eating till they couldn’t eat anymore,” he said and shook his head in derision.

Sunday waited a few seconds, just in case the alligator could talk, and then stepped closer. He stabbed his spear into the ground, leaving it there to use as a crutch if the mud made him slip. It sank deep. The alligator looked surprised, which was an accomplishment in and of itself. Sunday was surprised by himself too, mostly about how little he cared about the beast after the initial startle. However, the only way the lizard could get him on land was if he slipped and fell into its open mouth.

The alligator wheezed. Sunday could swear he saw shock pass through the creature’s eyes, as a vengeful palm traveled through the air. Small front limbs tried to push backward, but they were weak and the belly was heavy.

The slap landed on its nose and Sunday felt his hand sting. There was a crack. It felt good. The whole process of the slap was fluid, pleasurable, and enlightening. The angle could use work. The weight distribution wasn’t as perfect as it had to be. And the slap had no malice in it. No feeling.

There was a roar as the alligator thrashed its large head and clicked with its fearsome teeth. Sunday retreated in a hurry, staring at his palm. The reaction of the lizard was more exaggerated than he’d expected. He doubted the slap had hurt it. It was more to make a statement than anything – a payback for being startled.

The alligator turned its head toward Sunday and it was Sunday’s turn to be shocked. The beast’s crooked horn nose was now straight. As it took another breath and as its massive body swelled further it seemed to realize it too. Its eyes tried to come together and focus on the fixed appendage to the best of their ability, but whatever step of evolution was responsible for their placement got in the way.

Sunday looked at his hand, and then at the alligator. His mind struggled to grasp what had happened.

Did I fix it?! I wanted to hurt it! What kind of shitty ass talent is this! Martial my ass.

The alligator took a deep breath. Sunday felt the air as it was dragged into the newly straightened nasal paths.

“Don’t try to eat me now. I helped you.” Even if I didn’t mean to.

Again, he received no response from the beast, but it also didn’t seem as agitated anymore. It wiggled its massive body and strained, taking a few large slow steps forward and making Sunday retreat. Its mouth opened to take a bite of the bank itself, aiming for whatever rocks it found. Then, with the grace of a blob, it turned and half rolled half slid back into the waters. Large bubbles broke the surface once the alligator’s head sank beneath. Sunday took that as an expression of peace and contentment.

It was a pretty underwhelming fight, but he wasn’t about to complain. No limbs had been lost. He created some distance from the river – just enough to have some buffer between himself and any other hungry things living in it, and kept going against the current. He often glanced at the opposite bank.

As the sun once again started coming down from the sky, preparing for slumber, the flat swamp became a rolling field of mounds and puddles. Bushes and weeds of all varieties took whatever unconquered ground was left, however, the many trees thinned out in turn, allowing Sunday to finally fully see the sky. It was blue, with few clouds milling on their way. There were no signs of storms or bad weather. Pity he couldn’t appreciate the quality of the air in his current state. It felt good to breathe occasionally, but he was getting the hang of not doing it at all.

The small mounds of dirt looked almost unnatural in their randomness, and the pools of water between them were dirty and filled with stale water and clouds of bugs. Sunday saw a few spells among them, but they gave off the same feeling as the rock and the firefly. The feeling of weak and faint magic. He left them alone for now. He didn’t need to know what each weak spell did, and it would take too much time to catch them all.

He would make an exception for any frog-shaped spells though.

Walking against the current was decided on a whim, but it was also Sunday’s only way to keep advancing without keeping the map open at all times. He still didn’t know if others could see the golden page, and it was like a beacon in the dark with its strong glow. Plus, he hoped higher ground meant the retreat of the swamp, and walking against the current was walking toward high ground in his mind.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The world changed its coat once again as darkness descended. The stars above were a fascinating sight and Sunday often found himself distracted by trying to draw imaginary lines between the different clusters. The swamp remained the same as it had been and the sounds of the night washed over him once again.

He saw a few more horned alligators near the riverbed but kept his distance. They were smaller than the fatty, and possibly much faster. There was no point in bothering the beasts.

A few hours later an almost sharp change in the trees made him pause his seemingly endless journey. Dark, rotten patches of bark marred the trunks and stained the ground where it had fallen off, leaving gaping wounds. There was rotten grass and puddles of thick ichor-like substance that gave off the smell of sick death. It bubbled slowly in places, giving off fumes. A rotten smell carried through the air, making Sunday thankful that breathing it in was purely optional. Yet despite his best efforts whiffs of the stench still reached his senses.

Sunday stepped to the side, finding some cover between the trees, and summoned the map. The newly revealed area was colored in dark green. He had successfully walked in a much straighter path by following the river, even if it curved at times. However, there was no indication of the swamp ending and the rot only made him more certain of that.

I’m not going into the rotting parts of the swamp. No sir. Maybe I can go around.

With no hesitation, he turned away from the river and walked away from it, keeping his distance from any of the rotting vegetation and paying extra attention to his feet. He didn’t move further away as his curiosity was piqued, plus having something to follow ensured he wouldn’t end up randomly changing directions.

Who am I kidding? I should’ve taken my chances with the village people. I could’ve taken a few of them. Maybe grab a kid and extort directions? What sort of second life is this?

Sunday moved carefully, spear at the ready. He was holding it as if it was a bat. He figured poking things with the sharp end was easy, but it was also unfamiliar to him. He was used to swinging bats and pipes.

The darkened and rotting vegetation created something of a border between the different parts of the swamp and he was careful not to cross it. If there were real monsters in this swamp, then they were on the other side.

At one point he found himself lying belly down on the ground before a strange bush, just a few feet over the edge of the sick part of the swamp. A single tiny mote of purple had grabbed his attention. It was as big as his pinky’s nail and was behaving very strangely. It seemed to be falling from the tip of a leaf, before righting itself again midway. There was no rhythm to its strange movements. The purple was an odd color for the swamp, however, the mote was almost translucent, and Sunday only noticed it because he was close and paranoid.

Without thinking further Sunday grabbed it and put it into his spell slot. The spell seemed to resist for a moment before it disappeared and turned into a rush of warmth.

Sunday got up, ready to summon the golden page when he felt something had changed. His mind shook as he realized that the constant chirping of insects and croaking of frogs was coming from further away now. The sounds had been his constant companion, but it was as if they had refused to follow along.

Around him was deathly silence.

A shadow moved to his side and Sunday prepared to flee or protect himself. He was nervous, but also ready to fight. It turned out that lacking the necessary chemistry, or having a completely new one, made being nervous a whole different experience. Almost as if his mind knew how his body should react, but his body refused to follow through. It gave a strange duality to the whole experience, and it was not half bad. It made him more aware.

He felt some fear, but comparing it to the terrors he had felt and the darkness, it was not worth mentioning at all. At worst, he would die again.

A small monkey-like creature walked carefully into his view on four limbs. It came from the direction of the rotting parts of the swamp. Its skin was a smooth mixture of dark greens and browns that blended well with the nearby shrubbery. It walked mostly on its hind legs but used its front ones for support. Sunday paid the most attention to its big yellow eyes and sharp teeth. Its limbs were clawed and despite its small size its body promised speed and savagery.

It’s showing itself, acting like a normal animal. Hasn’t it seen its reflection? Does it think I’ll fall for that?

The oldest trick in the book. Have one of the boys distract the shopkeeper with questions or by acting out some silly scenario, while the rest snuck around and robbed the place. It worked with anyone, except those who had already fallen for it.

Sunday turned on his heel and his spear found the head of another one of the creatures. The spear survived the impact but so did the creature's head from the feel of it. The lightweight spear didn’t pack quite the punch Sunday had hoped for, despite his undead strength. All he achieved was making it roll into a nearby puddle. The monster screeched and stood up, dripping with mud and hissing.

Sunday didn’t care about that. What he cared about was the pack of similar creatures creeping up behind. Some swung on low-hanging tree branches, jumping like apes or crawling on the tree trunks, while others stalked close to the ground, like cats hunting a mouse.

There were too many sets of yellow eyes to count, and Sunday didn’t wait a second longer before bolting in the opposite direction. He swiped at the creature that had been acting as bait, trying to hit it with the sharp end of the spear. It tried to dodge but Sunday lowered his attack and found its ribs. The spear shallowly cut through flesh, but it proved enough.

Without waiting Sunday ran and all hell broke loose behind him.

The swamp became a blur as he jumped over rocks and fallen trunks, weaved between the foliage, and stumbled in the mud sending frogs and larger insects fleeing for dear life. He could hear the creatures rush toward him through the darkness. They were used to such chases and their hollering and growls sounded like pure joy to his ears.

Some of the creatures looked like they separated from the larger group, picking a few different routes and trying to predict his direction and cut him off. Those were easy to dodge or keep away with his spear. He was mostly trying to run in a straight line but the obstacles of the swamp made that a difficult task. Still, those who had guessed wrong fell behind.

However, the number of the monsters chasing him didn’t seem to lessen. More and more of the ghoulish creatures appeared from all corners of the swamp. Weirdly, only the path ahead was barren of enemies, apart from the lone stragglers that managed to anticipate Sunday’s path.

As time passed and the much-expected perspiration and shortness of breath didn’t come, Sunday felt something was wrong. The creatures were adept at traversing the swamp despite its many oddities of terrain, and while he was fast and good at running, he was not better than them. He stumbled and slowed down often. Yet, they only kept up with him, rather than catch up and overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

He wanted to scream. Are they playing with their food, enjoying the thrill of the hunt or are they herding me? Fuck, I’m undead you bastards! I’m probably not even tasty!