The whispers had returned with a vengeance.

The voices haunted the passages formed of meat and sinew, filling every nook and cranny of the fifth floor of the Imperial Library with their malevolent presence.

That did not improve Oak’s already abysmal mood. The mess with the tentacles had left him unsure of where it was safe to tread. Walking too close to the tunnel walls did not feel good, since if something burst through the flesh to attack him, he would have no time to react.

The other option available was not much better. Walking in the middle of the hallway left Oak feeling exposed, because now a tentacle could reach him from either side.

I love dilemmas, and they love me. You get through one and what do you know? There is always another waiting around the corner.

They reached an intersection of hallways. Oak was just about to poke his head around the corner, and have a look around before crossing, when something moved in the corner of his vision. He spun around, ready to defend himself from an emerging tentacle. There was nothing there.

Every hair on Oak’s neck stood on end as he stared at the wall of flesh in front of him.

“I could swear something moved,” he said.

Ur-Namma shrugged. The elf had clearly not seen anything. Geezer also seemed none the wiser. Since the route towards the entrance to the southern tower was once again blocked by a wall of flesh, Oak led his companions straight through the intersection towards the center of the fifth floor.

The ceiling on the fifth floor was not as high as it had been on the floors below and as Oak walked along the tunnel, the distance between the top of his head and the flesh covered ceiling kept narrowing. All around him, the layer of flesh was thickening, filling up the hallway. The tunnel of meat they were walking in was narrowing, just like the charnel pit in his dream the other night.

I hope this ends differently, he thought, and shook himself. It was a bad time to lose focus.

A flash of movement inside the wall of flesh on his left made Oak flinch, and he spun towards it, sword raised to find whatever he had seen long gone. There was no sign of anything preparing to burst through the wall. The red glow of the cursed flesh revealed only the faces of his companions and the shaking point of his falchion.

The whispers intensified. It felt like they were mocking him.

Oak let out a shaky breath. “Now there definitely was movement inside the flesh,” he said. “If there wasn’t, I’m really seeing things.”

Ur-Namma shook his head. “Take heart. You are not losing your mind. This time I saw it too, though I did not perceive the nature of our adversary.”

“It is very comforting to know that the monster stalking us inside the walls is real,” Oak said in a deadpan manner.

“Ain’t it?” Ur-Namma asked and fingered the hilt of his longsword. “Be ready for anything, my friend.”

“I was born ready,” Oak said with more confidence than he truly felt, and started walking again.

The ghastly sights, sounds and smells of their surroundings were getting to him. He stirred up the anger in his heart as he walked, feeding the flames of his murderous rage. Oak had always found it hard to be angry and scared at the same time. Anger was such an all-encompassing emotion to him that there was no room left for being afraid.

Despite the furnace of rage Oak was carefully stoking inside his chest, he still screamed like a little girl, when a skeletal hand broke the surface of the wall of flesh on his left and tried to rip out his throat. He dodged the fingers, trying to close around his windpipe, with barely any room to spare.

The failure of their ambush did not deter the owner of the hand. A skeleton burst through the thick layer of red flesh covering the wall of the hallway, and lunged at Oak with its arms spread wide. Since he could not bring up his sword in time, he kicked the skeleton in the chest instead, and sent it flying backwards.

The undead tumbled a bit before he came to a stop and righted himself. By the height and look of the skeleton, Oak was pretty sure they had found an undead dwarf. The revenant had seen better days. All flesh and skin had been stripped from his frame, and he was missing half of his teeth and two ribs from the right side of his ribcage.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The revenant cocked his head and looked at Oak. The two balls of blue flame in place of the undead's eyes stared right into his own peepers, and Oak got the feeling the undead dwarf was sizing him up.

Oak sized the undead up in turn. Maybe the revenant’s condition was not too bad, considering the fact that the bastard had been literally crawling inside the walls. He was no expert on the matter, but that did not seem like an ideal environment for corpse preservation. Mausoleums were dry to a fault, and this was the exact opposite.

Not that it was all bad. There wasn’t a speck of dust inside the fifth floor.

“Right. Let’s dance, Bony,” Oak said and charged the undead dwarf.

In a move that took Oak by complete surprise, the dwarven revenant did not run forth to meet him. The undead ignored him completely, and just calmly walked right at the wall of the hallway. The layer of flesh opened up, and the revenant vanished inside. By the time Oak reached the spot where the revenant had disappeared to and sank his falchion into the cursed flesh in an attempt to harm the bastard, the skeleton was long gone.

Oak was left standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the wall with a stupid look on his face as he tried to process the fact that a dwarf had just abandoned a fight.

“All right. What do you make of that, elf?” he asked once he could get over the impossibility of the situation. “Seems like we found one of those missing dwarves of yours.”

“So it seems. Not a great conversationalist, this one,” Ur-Namma said. “Be on your guard. He might return.”

“I really wanted to introduce the revenant to some elvish steel, but if he wants to leave and never return, that suits me just fine.” Oak sighed. “Either way, this will come to a head soon enough.”

“I couldn't agree more. Let’s hope the head this mess falls upon does not belong to any of us,” Ur-Namma said. The elf had a twinkle in his eyes. “I, for one, would like to keep my skull intact.”

Oak groaned. “Now, who was it that said I tell bad jokes?” he asked, and gave Ur-Namma a pointed look.

“I am above the petty critique of the peasantry, savage.” Ur-Namma scoffed and waved away all criticism towards his royal person. “Lead the way, barbarian.”

“Of course, general.” Oak mocked, but he did as the elf asked. “Ever in your service, my lord.”

All available routes led towards the central ritual chamber, and Oak followed the demands of necessity. His soggy footwraps squelched inside his boots, unraveling a little more with every miserable step he took, bunching up under his toes. The smell of rotting blood clung to him now like a jilted lover with a foot fetish.

Thump, thump, thump. The heartbeat under his feet was growing stronger, and the whispers at the edge of his hearing had quieted down.

Oak could feel it in his bones. The opportunity to commit violence was fast approaching, and he welcomed it with open arms.

***

The heavy double doors of the central ritual chamber stood closed in front of Oak. The sight of them came as a relief. All the way here, the tunnels of flesh they had been traveling through had only gotten smaller and smaller. By now, Oak’s head was brushing against the ceiling, and his shoulders were not far off from rubbing against the walls.

Oak had feared that he might have to fight while crouching down, a prospect he would rather avoid. He did not like small and narrow places.

“Are you up for this?” he asked Ur-Namma.

“No, but the demands of necessity are not easily thwarted. I will fight,” Ur-Namma replied, and drew his longsword. For the first time since the elf had laid his hands upon the blade, it did not shake in his grip.

There was no point in asking Geezer. Oak knew the hellhound was terrified, but when push came to shove, he would fight. Instead, he scratched Geezer behind the ear and ruffled his fur. Dogs needed to know you loved them every once in a while.

“Nothing for it. Fight like hell,” Oak declared, and ripped the doors of the ritual chamber open.

The circular space beyond the entrance was spacious and utterly covered in cursed flesh. Distractedly, Oak noticed that the room had a high ceiling. He would have been relieved, but a tower of turgid flesh standing in the center of the chamber captured his full attention.

He had never encountered such a monstrosity, but it did not take a genius to guess it would be a problem.

At the top of the tower of cursed meat, stood the torso of an armored female elf. Oak figured she was probably fused to the cursed flesh from the waist down. Her arms had been cut off at the shoulder and her beautiful face was turned towards the ceiling in a silent scream of terror.

“Ur-Namma?” Oak whispered.

“She used to be the Head Librarian. The Custodian of the Imperial Library,” Ur-Namma whispered mournfully. “Her name is Nisaba. I used to spar with her when our schedules allowed it.” The elf had that dead-eyed look on his face again. Like all warmth and compassion had bled out of him and only the general remained.

A revenant dressed in a ratty cloak climbed into view and poked his head over Nisaba’s shoulder. The elf woman shuddered. It was a different undead dwarf than the one that had tried to ambush Oak earlier.

“My name is Ticasuk,” the revenant said and wrapped a skeletal hand around Nisaba’s throat. He began to gently stroke the elf’s neck. “Welcome to my humble abode, wayward souls.”