The world was cold. The forge fires of the north were no longer fueled. The life that had once been so abundant had just been extinguished. The great machine worked in silence, noting the last plant on the surface had ended. The last of the cultists had died nearly one hundred of years prior. Their dessicated bodies littered the caves many still in the formations that had drained them of their lives. Others had died as they tried to keep the dying alive for as long as possible. Their spell formations had been successful at their task. The machine’s own existence stood as a monument of their accomplishment. It wouldn’t be much longer before the machine started using other sources to fuel its relentless pursuit of its own purpose. It had no choice. It would continue until it finished.
——
Corin stood over the man in his tent. The man should, by all accounts, be dead. Corin had even driven his own blade into the man multiple times. Corin kicked the writhing form at his feet. It was a sold hit. Corin had put a good deal of power into the blow. The man groaned and continued to roll around in his spot.
“What did you do to me?” Corin growled quietly.
His men were already scared, and Corin didn’t want to add to their fears. He could feel the liquid building up underneath his fingernails still. He looked at his hand, curling his fingers in such a way that the substance pooled in his palm. Corin sneered and shook his hand dry. The liquid sizzled and evaporated upon contact with the floor of his tent. He kicked the undying man again before crouching to stare into the man’s eyes. There had been a pop, maybe a crunch. Corin ignored it.
“What did you do?” Corin hissed.
The man continued to groan. Corin stood up and paced around the tent, watching the man. It didn’t take the man long to recover from multiple wounds. All Corin had to do was wait for the man’s chest to reform. Whatever had been broken below the skin would restore itself. He walked to the front of the tent and pushed aside the flap.
“Amil, Torch.” Corin said.
One of his men ran to fetch it. If it had been ten years ago he would have laughed at the thought of calling this group his men. Corin sighed. He pulled the man back from the ground and seated him in one of the chairs.
“I’ll need you to sit still this time.” Corin said.
The man started to grin. His bruises and other injuries seemed to have mostly healed by the time Corin had him situated on the chair.
“I’m sure of it now,” the man said gleefully. “You’re the one I’ve been looking for.”
“Why were you looking for me?” Corin asked.
The man laughed with glee. Corin punched him a couple of times, but the man continued to laugh.
“I’m on a mission from god,” The man said while spitting out a tooth.
Amil came back to the tent. Corin gestured for the brazier to be lit and Amil complied. Corin shooed him out of the tent and focused his attention back to the man in the chair.
“What mission would that be?” Corin growled as he stalked close.
“I have to forge a petty bandit to a wa—”
The man was cut off by another fist, driving the air out of his lungs.
“The Venerated Razors are not some petty band of bandits,” Corin spat.
He knocked the man out of the chair with a series of blows. The punches turned into kicks when the man reached the ground. When Corin was finished he stood breathing hard and sweating. The warmth of the brazier helped get rid of night’s cold. Despite this, Corin still felt a slight chill from his sweat.
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When the man’s injuries healed themselves, he pulled himself back onto the chair.
“I see I have hit a sore spot,” the man said, “we all fall on hard times occasionally.”
Corin sat down in the chair opposite of the man.
“I am growing tired of this,” Corin said.
“I understand your frustration,” the man said, “I know you’re a good person.”
Corin stared at the man.
“If it weren’t for the city ignoring your contract, you would be out fighting the elves.”
Corin had to fight the urge to spit on the ground at the word.
The man continued, “I know the only reason you targeted my caravan was to get back at the council.”
“Instead of the money to pay my men, all I received was you and a few hundred corpses.”
“You also received my gift,” The man smiled again, his tooth having regrown, “You’re the right person at the right time.”
“What is this gift?” Corin asked.
The man started talking. At first Corin half listened as the man described various rituals. Corin had never been gifted with magic, but thanks to his upbringing he was able to recognize the importance of it in a fight. Once the man in the chair had it in his head to talk, he talked. Corin had Amil fetch the few battle mages to copy down the formulas that had been described. Their eyes lit up with how simple yet effective the spell forms were. The unnamed man gleefully went over many of the more complicated parts. When he was done talking, the battle mages had burned through most of their writing supplies that would have been used for making both offensive scrolls. The spell forms and formulas discussed by the man had just rendered them obsolete. The night had come and it was nearing morning when the battle mages returned to their tents. Corin still eyed the man suspiciously.
“I don’t know what to make of you.” Corin admitted.
The man smiled, “You will be the warlord to unite all of humanity.”
“Is this your mission from god?” Corin asked as he leaned back in his chair.
“I just have one more task to finish here,” the man said.
“And what is that?” asked Corin.
“Please call in Amil, and I’ll show you.”
Corin obliged the man and Amil made his way back into the tent. The man was tired, and had only a fews hours of rest. Corin watched his head bob and his body sway as he tried to stand still.
“I’ll need you to watch carefully,” stated the man.
Amil turned to look at the man as he spoke, but was unprepared for the assault that followed. Dripping claws had formed at the end of the man’s fingers and he leapt upon Amil. Amil had started to shout, but a claw to his throat ended the noise with a gurgle. Corin tried to shout and move off his chair, but he was silenced and bound by some form of magic.
“You won’t be able to move until the end,” the man said as he worked open Amil’s shirt.
There was a pulse of something and the man’s next words felt heavy and Corin was forced to focus. The man demonstrated a series of symbols that were to be carved into Amil’s skin. Against his will Corin memorized both the exact placement and purpose of each symbol. Blood stained the floor of the tent as it flowed freely from Amil. While waiting for the process the man grabbed a few sheets of the paper that had been left over.
“I don’t have the time to personally show you everything else,” the man sighed as he wrote furiously, “I should have been more decisive in the beginning.”
The man spoke more of the heavy words that tugged at something just out of Corin’s perception.
“Memorize this, and only share it with those you trust,” the man said as he forced Corin to hold the stack of papers tight.
Corin scowled at the man. The man smiled at Corin.
He walked over to the brazier and held his arm over the flame. He carved a symbol into his arm with one of his claws and looked to Corin.
“It will take the dead three hours to rise and the living three days to change,” The man added, “You’ll need to take care of Amil until he rises again.”
He opened his mouth to say something more but decided against it. He held up his arm and deliberate cut into the artery. He winced with the pain. When the blood started to flow he held his arm over the brazier where it immediately caught fire and raced up and his body was alight. The man died soundlessly. When it was no longer physically possible for the body to stand it toppled over. The heat from the burning corpse was enough to start the tent on fire. Corin found himself able to move once more. He could feel the weight of the words spoken by the man to pull the body from danger. Once he was confident Amil’s body was safe he went back into the tent and saved what he could, but what he cared for was the stack of papers given to him from the man. They felt more important than any thing else at the moment. Corin saved what he could. When it was no longer safe to enter the tent he collapsed by Amil’s body.
The rest of the camp had broken into activity as the alarm spread. After some time the band had managed to put out the flames while Corin watched. They helped gather all the various materials that had been salvaged. Corin wasn’t concerned and zealously kept everyone from Amil’s body. He reluctantly accepted help with pulling the body of Amil to his own tent. Corin found it was impossible to leave the body’s side. No matter how much he tried, his own mind would force him to focus on the man’s body. On the third hour Amil rose. The nearly competent youth was gone and something else seemed to live within his skin.