Once you were struck once or twice by destiny, you’d start to think that shots in the dark landed more often than not. Truth was, you just couldn’t see the deluge of would-haves or what-ifs that scraped by your fated path. Blindly, you could believe narrative fiat guided your life, thinking every last-chance save was proof the gods watched over you. Nobody expected their story to be at an end when they lay twitching in the cold mud with broken bones and blood in their lungs. Where was the Great Storyteller then?

For any expectation that the mass of zombies might just keel over and evaporate upon the death of the necromancer, we were about to learn things were never that easy. If I were to be honest - I had enough of being a mentor for the day and wished to cancel any further lessons.

The undead, now instead of dispersing, were converging on our presence, and their groans and shuffled footsteps could be heard echoing down the dirt passageways.

Four of them in total. The one we came down, and three others.

“Should we go back out?” Florence narrowed her eyes, worry mixing with the pain she still held over her arm.

That would be a suitable idea - unless they broke through the gate and began blockading the stairs. With undead pouring into this room, we’d be quickly surrounded in a tight space that we couldn’t easily escape from.

As if in agreement with me, the rattled pang of the welded joint bursting open vibrated down from that entrance.

“Shit,” the Mage whispered, eyes now darting around the room for any hidden exit or stroke of luck we could grasp onto.

“Can you cast, Florence?” I glared at her. Panic would be our killer if it began to take root.

“I can.” She nodded and flexed her gloved fingers. There was clearly discomfort there; I could see it in her face, as much as she tried to hide it.

“You will need to hold Fire Wall over one of the doorways.” I moved to one of the stone tables and grunted, trying to shift it.

Hells damn my lack of strength. How I had cursed myself to this fragile form. My veins bulged as my muscles strained - moving the heavy rock furniture about two inches. That was time lost. I turned to see the yellow eyes of the first zombies glinting down the dark tunnel.

Jakob threw his bear trap down in our original passageway, the metal object whirring and setting itself open as if it were clockwork. Another thing to bring up, and he caught my look - turning his eyes away sheepishly as he began to draw an arrow.

Not the worst position to be in. The only issue was three people to four entrances. There was too much space between each for me to clear two of them - it would allow too many to push and filter into the room. We wanted to keep them in the right tunnels but keep our freedom of movement.

“Florence - take the one on the far right. You will need to keep it burning until we can clog at least one of the other tunnels up - understand?”

She nodded, and a stoic determination returned to her face, burning behind her eyes.

“Jakob - Second tunnel, try and kill them as far back as you can, in the same place.”

“I’m on it.” He moved down and climbed atop one of the tables into a crouch with an arrow leveled.

What would I do? For their safety, the best thing would be to fight the zombies at the mouths of the corridors. Keep myself within their reach in case one of the tunnels became undefendable. The other option would be to barrel into one of the dark mouths of this foul place and try to get them clogged up with corpses as soon as possible.

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My indecision was a decision of its own. Not only did it feel like I couldn’t abandon the Party, even briefly, but in the short period of rumination, the zombies had already gotten to us. Surprising, but that was how zombies got you, in the end.

Jakob began firing off arrows, the blazing green streaking through the chill air as soon as he started to see the yellow glow of their eyes.

A burst of amber flame signaled that Florence had lit her wall of fire - and she had angled it vertically instead of horizontally so that it fit a good ten feet down the zombie-laden path to ensure none could pass through with only light damage.

My sword illuminated as I ran towards the first zombie close to our chamber, in the third tunnel. With a lunged stab, I plunged the blade through its mouth and cleaved the top of the rotted head from the lower. With a kick, I sent the body tumbling back into the next opponent, staggering it briefly and enabling the follow-up to decapitate them too.

There was no room to swing my sword properly in the tunnels, and in looking up and seeing the dozens of pairs of yellow eyes staring back - it burned me up inside that I could not surge forth and end them. Instead, patiently I waited for the next.

Perhaps I had wholly underestimated how many bodies it would take to prevent movement down the dirt corridors.

For minutes we continued to burn, pierce, and slash at the unrelenting number of undead filtering down toward us. The first chamber was sparser in enemies - enough to where Jakob could drop the occasional undead - but he was fast running out of arrows, and there was only a matter of time before it became as busy as the next one.

“Status?” I growled, flicking mushed flesh away from me, blood and grime painting my body in long lines.

“Handful left.” The Rangers reply came, cold and confident.

“I’m… running low…” Florence sounded pained, and I shot a glance back to see her gripping her extended arm with the other. Burning undead flesh and cracking bones came from her tunnel.

We would have to make a run for it. As much as I hated the idea, killing zombies forever until you ran out of resources and were overwhelmed appealed to me less. The timing would have to be right, though - despite the dead now restricting the undead - the walking ones were inevitable. Any brief pause for combat or distracted glances and they’d be upon us. Being trapped among the dirt with no resources wasn’t great. Terrible, in fact. I had no intention of this foul place becoming my tomb.

As I worked my jaw in anticipation of the right move to make, a strange sound came to my ears. A deep thrum - almost like singing or chanting. The undead weren't known too well for that, some exceptions aside, so the sudden appearance had me on edge. Maybe the Villain hadn’t been alone? Their accomplices or juniors could be marching on down to help the zombies that had us pinned. I hoped to survive so that I could crack the two monks' head’s together.

There was an energy too. Something familiar from an old-time - but that could be anything. With all that I had seen and known… The thrum paused for a few seconds before renewing slightly louder.

“Something - or someone, coming down passage one,” Jakob reported, still sending the last of his arrows down number two. It had slowed, and he hadnt need to expend shots as often as the start.

But things were getting tense.

“Not sure if I can hold it much longer.” Florence had dropped to her knees in the struggle to maintain the spell.

The voice was nearer and definitely a deep chant. No - it was some kind of ability. I could feel it now; the energy came in a pulse every so often - when the chanting had stopped. That they were progressing closer meant they were either allied with the undead - or destroying them along the way. I’m not sure which option seemed most beneficial to us.

But where did I know it from? The specific skill I couldn’t place, but the magic used - it wasn’t necessarily arcane… it was from a deity but didn’t feel holy. A radiant spellcaster may prove to be more of a literal headache for me than a savior - but it wasn’t that.

As we continued to slay zombies, the sound of footsteps came down the passageway, accompanied by an idle humming. Jakob held a pensive arrow, awaiting my order. My jaw worked in anticipation. From where I stood, I could see little in that hallway.

The footsteps stopped, and then the bear trap was kicked into the room. As I skewered another zombie and pushed them back to tumble amongst the rest, I turned my head to watch the figure enter the room.

Clad in an ivory armor detailed with silver swirls, a man in his middle ages entered, hands idly clasped behind his back. A sharp chinstrap beard sat below a wry grin, and his pale bald head reflected the candlelight even more than my own. His piercing grey eyes glanced around us before he cast an ability.

[Neutral Ground]

A dome of grey lines bloomed around us, encircling us all within and blocking off the tunnel entrances.

He tilted his head to regard me.

I sighed, and my shoulders sagged, recognizing who now stood before me.

“Ah, fuck me,” he said as he beamed, looking proud of himself. “So the rumors were true. The ol’ dick’s back up an’ workin’ again.”