Chapter 19 Yelia’s Night

In the back of the car, Pointy’s ears flared up. Mute snapped her head to the South Gate. All of a sudden, a blanket of cold washed over them. It was unnerving, unnatural - every bone in their bodies shivered.

“The fuck was that?” Roach questioned, easing his foot off the accelerator.

Pointy stared at the dashboard for a moment, the hair on his ears moving wildly. “Stop!” he shouted hastily. Roach obliged his teammate's warning. Exiting out, Pointy looked around the suddenly foggy streets of New London in bewilderment.

“What is it?” Roach repeated his question.

Mute got out of the car next with her blade close by her side. Turning her nose up, she sniffed. Upon her exhale, she gripped her blade tightly.

“That ain’t good,” Goliath grunted in response.

Roach and Goliath slowly exited. The four of them stood before the fog and watched as a figure emerged. It shuffled - one leg was shorter than the other. With every step came a reverberating groan. Pointy brought his bow up to his cheek and fired a single shot. The figure dropped by a street lamp, revealing itself to them.

“Undead,” Roach muttered. “What’s he done?”

Staring blankly at the ground, Pointy recalled his knowledge, “Kronos’s Keep, 2034. A group of Seven Sphere mages and Akira Weslen unleashed a new necromancy spell upon the surrounding settlements. It raised roughly a thousand undead. It’s called Veil of the Undying Mist. A collective spell of the most powerful necromancers.”

“It blocks out the sun from hitting them?” Roach questioned.

“Fuck,” Goliath grunted, “it’s morning in a couple hours too.”

“How many undead are we talking?” Roach wondered.

Pointy, for once, could only give half an answer. “Potentially all the dead in the city.”

“We need to find Spike,” Goliath stated in a low, serious tone.

“Do we like him that much?” Roach asked.

“Get back in - we need to find him,” Goliath ordered them.

“Or what remains of him,” Pointy defeatedly remarked.

“I don’t give a fuck if he’s alive or dead, we never leave a man behind.”

“Elora, we can’t fight this many!” Kara screamed, tears streaming down her face.

Elora Evergrand looked at the thousands of shambling bodies moving in through the South Gate. Dust, blood and cooked flesh covered her and Kara. Weak flames were wrapped around her wrists. She had nothing to say.

For once monsters walked beside men, shuffling down the street, bundling on any poor soul still alive and ripping them apart. It was a gory scene, not one Elora Evergrand should be witnessing.

“We have to go, Elora!” Kara pleaded, pulling at her wrist.

“But what about the people?”

“The wall has fallen,” Kara remarked. “We have to retreat to the Second. Come on - before the swarms get too big.” She coughed aggressively; miasma coming off the undead was entering her lungs.

Elora couldn’t stand to witness the inevitable. Tens of thousands were going to die a horrible death. Devastated, she let Kara drag her down an alleyway.

“Masks on at all times!” Goliath ordered the team as the car swerved through the undead. “It will filter the miasma!”

“Left. Sharp right!” Pointy barked at Roach who was driving blind through the fog. “Watch out!” Roach couldn’t react in time and an undead kobold smashed through the windscreen. With its throat slashed, it still extended out its jaw and clamped its shiny canines into Pointy’s right thigh. A green blade pierced through its heart.

“Gah,” Pointy grunted, clutching at his leg. Shakily, he began drawing runes on the ghastly bite.

“There’s more!” Goliath warned, pointing from the back.

“We’re approaching the gate,” Pointy replied, wincing. “Thousands will be coming in.”

“Fuck,” Goliath grunted as Roach rammed through a fragile one, only to be met with what appeared to be a wall of bodies.

“Brace!” Roach shouted, ploughing through the crowd.

The vehicle ran over the bodies until the tires lost traction and began to smoke.

“Pointy, get us to that tower,” Goliath ordered, kicking the door off and immediately swinging his club. Half a dozen undead were thrown backwards in a bloody pulp.

The team moved swiftly through the undead, guided by Pointy’s senses. The wall had fallen - they were not preventing the Horde anymore, they were getting in and out.

“I can feel him!” Pointy remarked, running over to the rubble.

“Roach and Mute, hold fort,” Goliath barked, running over and dropping his club. The massive man began to move rocks and steel. “Come on come on.”

“Goliath, you want to hurry up?!” Roach warned, slicing down two undead. He was only met with more.

“Spike, can you hear me?” Goliath called to him, throwing chunks of concrete as if they were foam. “Are you sure he’s in there?”

“He’s here somewhere,” Pointy explained, caressing the tops of his ears.

No answer came from the rubble. Goliath became flustered, getting angrier with each passing moment. He couldn’t lose one of his team - not yet anyway.

“His hand!” Pointy exclaimed.

Without a second thought, Goliath yanked him up from underneath the rubble. His body was covered in cuts and fresh blood that was soaked up by dust. Goliath carefully laid him down and put a thick hand around his neck. “He’s got a pulse. Will he survive?”

“He will,” Pointy reassured the giant man. “He’s knocked out. Blood loss is minimal. I’ll heal him on the way. We need to go. Now.” His eyes drifted to the hundreds more undead making their way to him.

“We’re moving! Mute, take lead!”

Goliath slung the unconscious bard over his shoulder and the team darted down a back alley. As they got to the end, Roach looked back to see dozens of soulless eyes looking at them.

“Are we heading to the second wall?” Pointy questioned.

“We have no other choice

The radio in their ears crackled back to life. “West Gate has fallen. I repeat: West Gate has Fallen! Fall back to the Second Wall!”

Roach paused as the rest of the team continued running.

“Undead are making their way to the second wall. All Boroughs in the outer edge will be overrun,” the radio repeated.

All of a sudden, Roach ran perpendicular to the team. Pointy stopped as he noticed Roach wasn’t with them.

“Where’s Roach?” Goliath questioned, looking back.

Then Pointy realised. “Don’t worry, just keep moving.”

Suddenly, Mute stopped dead and placed her right hand flat against her hip. The team, knowing what this meant, followed suit, shuffling behind her against the alleyway.

Mute approached an intersection where two alleys connected. She crept to the side of a wooden house and placed her blade an inch away from the edge. Running footsteps could be heard - a set of them, and they didn’t sound undead.

She flicked out her blade when the footsteps came within metres of the intersection.

A squeal came from around the corner. Mute quickly pulled her blade away when she realised who it was.

“Elora?” Goliath questioned.

Roach had found a working vehicle and was racing through the streets of New London, trying his best to avoid the undead from slowing him down. The city was in chaos, far greater than he had seen before. Monsters had only made it through twice, but even then they were quickly dealt with. It was in ruins; the buildings were swarmed, and their residents were dragged onto the streets and eaten alive.

He didn’t care; he needed to get home.

“We need to get to the Second Wall,” Goliath told the two frightened women. “Are you coming?”

Elora and Kara frantically nodded.

“Where is Roach going?” Goliath questioned Pointy again.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Pointy didn’t know how to answer. But he quickly thought of something when he noticed Elora was opening her mouth. “He’s looking after his dog.”

“He’s got a dog?” Goliath questioned, ignoring the impending doom. “How do you know he’s got a dog?”

“Long story—”

A limp body fell from a tiled roof above and landed on its head. With its head bent backwards, it groaned.

“Time is of the essence, Goliath,” Pointy reminded him him, looking back at the alleyway they were just in. It was crowded with bodies now, belonging to monsters and men. They were all shambling towards them with arms outstretched and mouths agape.

“Stay behind me,” Goliath ordered.

“We will,” Elora said, grabbing Kara’s wrist.

Roach was nearing his home; the undead were everpresent, even more so than the South. As he was driving, he noticed undead flinging themselves off the First Wall in droves and climbing up the Second.”

It only made him worry more. His heart was racing and sweat trickled down his neck. He eventually came to the gates of his community. They were bent open, with undead entering - some had impaled themselves on the spikes above. Roach didn’t hesitate and rammed the gate, smashing it open and allowing more inside.

He sped through the wonderful streets, past flourishing trees and green grass illumanted by the Black Moon. The undead were breaking down doors and invading his neighbours. He didn’t stop and help, just kept driving. He swerved around a corner and slammed the handbrake on; the car skidded to his front door, sending stones flying into undead that were heading inside.

His worst nightmare had come true. He ran inside, firing the rest of his bullets at them. He couldn’t count how many there were - it all became a blur. With his blade gripped tightly, he slashed like a madman through them, disregarding bites and cuts deep into his skin. Screams came from the kitchen which only field him more.

Blood covered him and the mist on his face turned a dark red. Rugby tackling two undead, he landed in the kitchen and sprung to his feet. The wall had been torn away in the pantry and the bottom corner of the bunker door was pried up an inch. The lock too was close to coming off.

Roach stabbed wildly, taking off limbs and severing heads with every swing. Inside, his sisters were screaming. He hated those screams; pure fear and the dread of what came with it.

When every undead in the room was dismembered and unmoving, he dropped to his knees and gasped silently for air.

“They’ve stopped,” June whispered.

Roach got up and looked down the hallway. It was clear, but for how long, he didn’t know. Glancing behind him at the vault, he was torn. Family always came before the job; he couldn’t leave.

Storming to the vault door, he unlocked it and it swung open. There his sisters saw him. They saw his tallies, his blood-covered body and the mist on his face. They were holding each other in the far corner. He paused for a minute.

Eventually, he shouted, “Stay in here!” in a deep voice not his own.

Slamming the door closed again, he began hitting the dented door back into place, not caring he was breaking his knuckles in the process. He spun the lock into place and pressed his back against it, sliding down slowly into exhaustion.

It was close - too close.

9 Years Ago

In the Underground, Solomon was walking through the desolate and dysfunctional streets. A few lamposts hung over him, many of them not working or flickering on and off. Beneath his bare feet was half a foot of mud - each step he took he had to watch for needles.

He turned right down an alleyway that was void of any light. Taking exactly ten steps down, he turned to face the blackness and knocked twice on a wooden door. A peephole was immediately opened.

“It’s the kid,” a rough and deep voice told another behind the door.

“Open it up,” a Cockney accent instructed.

The peephole was promptly shut and two bolts were unlocked. The door was swung open and lighted entered the muddy alley. Standing in the doorway was a Kobold three times his size. “What you got, kid?”

Solomon jingled his pockets.

“He’s getting better,” the Cockney voice chuckled. “Let him in.”

The kobold stepped aside and Solomon stepped in, dragging in the mud on his feet. Inside, however, was a thick plastic sheet that led to a desk where the voice was sitting. There was a fire crackling to one side and a leather sofa pushed into a corner. This was the pinnacle of life in the Underground.

The voice in question had his feet up on it. A cigarette was pursued between his lips which he puffed at relentlessly. Angled light cut off his eyes from the bowler hat he wore.

“Whatcha got, boy?” the man asked.

Solomon walked along the plastic sheet, careful not to step on the clean floorboards with his numbed feet. Once he got to the desk, he pulled what he had out of his pocket onto a mat.

The man behind the desk pulled a large hunting knife out of his jacket and began sifting through the stolen goods.

“Fake,” the man told him, holding up a Rolex. “See the sharp ridges here - easy to spot that one.”

Solomon paid attention.

“This is one: good replica. I’ll take it.”

The man continued to go through jewellery, telling Solomon what was real and what wasn’t. For a young boy who had no teacher, it was his saving grace.

After the man had sifted through the lot, he smiled. “Good haul.”

Solomon nodded. “Thank you.”

“Look at me, kid,” the man said, stepping into the light, and revealing his eyes.

Slowly, Solomon raised his head and complied. “How much?”

“Thirteen silver.”

“What? I’ve brought more than last time. That necklace is at least 15 carrots—”

The man held his fist up and Solomon was quiet. “First thing you should know, is that when you sell in quantity, you settle for less. Do you understand that?”

Solomon nodded.

“Do you understand that boy?”

“Yes,” he solemnly said, eyes locked onto the floorboards.

“So take these.” He slid over thirteen silver. “And get out.”

Solomon didn’t take the silver.

“Take it or Bones over here will throw you out regardless,” the man told him sternly.

It was ten seconds before Solomon spoke up. “I will take fifteen silver,” he told the man, hesitancy in his tone.

The man chuckled. “Bargaining, with me?”

“I am a source of income for you. If you don’t pay I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

The kobold, named Bones, stormed over to Solomon and picked him up by the back of his neck. Solomon didn’t flinch or wince. “Killing me would only hurt your income.”

“And you don’t think I can spare 13 silver every few days?”

“You can, but you don’t want to,” Solomon countered, trying to hold a poker face.

With a swish of his hand, the kobold dropped him. Solomon fell onto the ground but quickly got to his feet to face the man.

“So you want fifteen then?”

“Yes.”

“What’s stopping me from putting a slave crest on your stomach?” the man wondered, pointing at him.

“You want a starving boy as a slave?”

“We got a fearless one here, Bones,” the man joked, slapping his leg. “You’ve got a fight in ya.” He reached into a draw and pulled out another two silver. But when he was going to drop it in his hands, he paused and said, “Talking like that to the wrong person will get you killed. Are you willing to die for a couple of shiny coins?”

“Believe it or not, I am,” Solomon told him, looking up and meeting his eyes under the shadow of his bowler hat.

The man didn’t say anything, only dropped the two silver into his hands. Solomon quickly scooped the rest off the table without scratching the wood. He hurried past the kobold and jumped into the mud outside.

His feet sunk a foot in the mud and he made his way onto the main street.

Trudging through the murky labyrinth of streets for what seemed like an hour, he found himself before a ramshackle cluster of wooden huts, precariously stacked one over the other. The faint, flickering glow of a handful of lanterns illuminated the rickety staircase. Taking the arduous journey up to the fourth floor, he knocked thrice in different areas of a wooden door. The handle turned and before him was a small girl.

“Hi, Sol.”

“Hi June, you ok?”

June nodded. Even though her face was dirty, she had shoes on and three layers of clothes. “How was work?”

“Really good, June,” he told her, stepping into the room and ruffling her head. Inside the wooden hut were two rooms. One room had a table inside with a stove and a wooden hole in the floor. The other had three beds inside, two of which had blankets and pillows, while the last one only had a skimpy mattress. On the floor were three bowls of warm, lumpy soup. Kneeling by the soup was another girl a few inches shorter than himself. She was dirty too but wore two layers with pink plimsolls on her feet.

“I made food,” the girl told him with half a smile.

“Thanks, May,” he replied, smiling at her with dirty teeth.

And so, the trio sat down on the wooden floor and ate their soup together. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.

9 Years Later

“Roach, where the fuck are you?!” the radio crackled in his ear.

Roach calmed his breathing and looked up at the bloody kitchen. Organs and limbs were scattered throughout; the stench and sight was overwhelming.

“Roach!!!”

“Hello?” June’s muffled voice said through the bunker door. “Are you there?”

Roach didn’t respond - he could only catch his breath. He had made it just in time.

“Please don’t leave us,” June pleaded, “whoever you are.”

Roach silently got up and looked at the undead on the floor, looking for any movements or groans. It was silent except for the distant sounds of chaos. He walked carefully out into the hallway and emerged outside. On either side of him, the undead were entering his neighbour’s houses. Screams of terrible deaths echoed across the night sky.

Pulling the mist from his face, Roach closed the broken front door and sat against it. With a blank expression on his face, he lit a cigarette and stared into nothing. Just then, a slither of orange sunlight broke over the sky. It didn’t penetrate the mist but it meant Yelia’s night was over.

For the rest of the morning, Roach stood as a sentinel to his sisters; watching, waiting and protecting, killing all undead that shambled towards him. He couldn’t leave them, not yet anyway.

Until Roach felt enough time had passed, he opened the front door and crept upstairs. Once inside his room, he went to his wardrobe at the back and put on his Horde armour; chains mail, thick leather boots and a helm with House Bramwell’s emblem at the the side. He removed the mist from his face and looked at himself in the mirror. Breathing out, he began to knick his armour in places, re-creating bite wounds and claw slashes. When he felt it was sufficient enough to fool June, he bolted down the stairs in a hurry. He picked up an undead and even brushed the bloody corpse over himself. He dirtied his hands and even cut wounds on his face.

“June! May!” he shouted, pretending to run through for the first time.

“Sol!” his two sisters cried.

Roach hastily rushed to the bunker door. “Are you alright?”

“We’re fine. They broke in but someone saved us.”

Crocodile tears poured down Roach’s face. “I’m going to get you out, I just need to clean all this up first, ok?”

“Ok,” May wept.

Roach spent the next hour dragging all the bodies out, scrubbing down the walls and making sure his sisters saw no horror they didn’t need to.

When he felt it was all spotless, he undid the bunker door and ran in. He embraced his two sisters and hugged them tightly; tears streamed down his body and nails dug into his skin.

“I thought you were dead,” June sobbed, shoving her head deep into his chest.

“What happened?”

“Undead—” May cried, “they got in and someone—”

“Who?” Roach questioned innocently.

“We don’t know,” June replied. “He bent the door back into position. He saved us, Sol.”

“Perhaps there are some good people in this world,” Roach stated, hugging them tighter. “It’s safe to come out now, the sun’s risen. Whatever you do though, don’t go or look outside, ok? Keep the blinds closed and stay in the lounge until all undead have been dealt with.”