As soon as the color and the noise came back, I plunged my dagger into the soft spot between his achilles tendon and the ankle.

  Despite the thick skin, I punctured his ankle.

  The creature roared.

  I wrenched the dagger back with two hands, sawing through a tendon as thick as my arm.

  The club started coming down in my direction, but there was a snap.

  No more tendon meant no more balance.

  The creature roared a second time, this time with pain and confusion instead of rage.

  He couldn't stop his swing or his club. His overreach caused him to overbalance, and he dropped to the ground.

  I was on him in an instant, plunging my dagger into the back of his neck, right at the base of his massive skull. I could get it started in his skin, but I couldn't push it any farther in.

  The gray-skinned monster started pushing himself up. Even with one working leg, if he got up, he'd easily crush me in one of his giant hands.

  I stomped on the hilt of the dagger, driving it all the way through the neck and severing the spinal column.

  The monster's muscles immediately went loose, and the big beast just slumped on the ground.

  GG! You’ve killed a Cave Ogre (Lvl 33 Brute Thug)

  You’ve earned 3000 xp! What a mighty hero you are!

  Ogres. Huh.

  47

  The ogre’s death gave me room to breathe for a second, since after that showing, the little goblins weren’t exactly eager to engage with me.

  The hobgoblins, on the other hand, spread out, preparing to attack me in numbers. Looking beyond the hobgoblins into the Gloom, I could see that this was the bulk of their force. Which once again made me think this was all an attempt to close the gates, not necessarily overrun Gloomguard. But their efforts were, so far, somewhat successful, what with plenty of ogres actually making progress on the doors, getting some of the chains pulled off of the left door.

  I reached for another dagger.

  Nothing.

  I bent down and tried the dagger lodged in the ogre's head.

  Stuck tight.

  So I stood up straight and stared at the hobgoblins, doing my best to let the fear show in my face. To make them think that I was out of tricks, that I had overplayed my hand. Which, in part, was true. I had not thought this far ahead. Nor had I figured out how to best a group of hobgoblins who looked like they really knew how to fight.

  Some of the hobgoblins smiled, picking up what I was putting down.

  I took a quick peek at my mana bar and saw that I was mostly okay. Shadow step is still a heavy drain, but if things went south, I could still cast it at least twice. I snuck a glance over my shoulder. For the moment, the goblins were still pressing their attacks on the wall, leaving me to the hobgoblins in the rear.

  Naturally, as soon as I'd looked behind me, the hobgoblins attacked.

  My left leg buckled under me, and I dropped to a knee. A sword whistled over my head, a heavy blow that would have most definitely taken a good chunk of my scalp with it.

  Without me even realizing it, my left fist fired up, punching into the soft, unarmored spot under the hobgoblin's arm. And a horrible pain radiated from my left forearm as a pointy bone tore through my forearm and plunged deep into the hobgoblin. Almost like a stiletto. Hot blood shot forth from the hobgoblin, and his monstrous face went rigid with shock and pain.

  I stared at the waiting hobgoblins, and shoved their dying comrade to the side.

  A dark thought came in my head, and made me grin. I cast vicious wrench on the hobgoblin and tore all his hand bones from his arm. Which helpfully brought the sword with it, so I could snatch the sword from the air.

  I gave it a little flourish like I'd seen Jørn do, certainly not with as much panache, and then I took a ready stance.

  "Come on," I sneered at them.

  They hesitated, each one seeing what the others were going to do, which one would be brave enough to attack me first and chance being killed, now that they knew I wasn't an easy target. And we waited.

  GG! You’ve killed a hobgoblin (Lvl 22 warrior)

  You’ve earned 2500 xp! What a mighty hero you are!

  There went the one I’d wrenched.

  I lunged forward a few feet. Not enough to actually engage, but several of the hobgoblins flinched. They were ready to break — I just needed to give them a reason.

  So I cast acid glob at two of them at once. The glowing green goo soared through the air and splashed on their armor, sizzling every surface it struck.

  One of them tried to brush the acid off, which only caused the acid to get on his gauntlets and start smoking.

  The hobgoblins screamed, and immediately panicked, trying to get their armor off.

  I took their distraction as an opportunity, and stabbed one through the neck. His eyes went wide, and he dropped to the ground.

  The one right next to him sprinted away.

  One running meant a few more followed.

  I flared my goblin slayer indicium, and I saw the eyes of the hobgoblins around me go wide. Every one of them bolted. It was a full-on retreat.

  After a raucous few minutes, it was just me standing on the far side of the wall, surrounded by the dead goblinoids.

  I dropped the goblin's sword and walked toward the portcullis.

  With the battle adrenaline gone, I just felt a weariness that I hadn't in a long, long time.

  I ignored everyone around me, the people trying to congratulate me, to say nice things. I needed to sleep.

  48

  Some people like sleep, some people don't. I used to at least appreciate what sleep offered. Reprieve from the world. A chance to rest. Even just a bit of something different.

  But ever since my joining with the corpse king, all my positive feelings toward sleep disappeared.

  This night was no different.

  I dropped into my bed, still in my armor and covered in more blood and guts than was ever proper, and slipped into sleep as soon as my eyes closed.

  For the barest of moments, there was beautiful blackness. Genuine rest.

  Then, the dreams came.

  Once again, it felt like getting ripped through time and space. Lights and colors raced past me, visions zipping by in little more than a confusing blur, until I stumbled into another reality.

  I was standing in the ruins of a city where the undead walked around aimlessly, shambling from spot to spot with no clear purpose. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, heavy and threatening.

  A man strode through the crowds of undead, unbothered by them. Someone I recognized all too well. The prince-turned-king-turned-necromancer. His clothes and armor were remarkably beautiful, even by modern standards, but he had ashen skin and his hair was a greasy yellow. He moved jerkily, like he didn't quite have full control over his body. Worse than before. He coughed every now and again, pausing to spit out globs of black mucus and coagulated blood. He was even more disgusting than any of the undead.

  He ventured into a building. I could hear him tearing apart the inside. One of the windows broke as a chair came crashing out. I got closer and watched him stomp upstairs. More furniture breaking.

  "I know you are here!" he screamed, sounding as if he was more than happy to tear his vocal cords just to be loud. "Come out and I may prove merciful. Hide and it will be—”

  He started coughing. Kind of ruined his threat.

  A moment later, he stormed into the street again, and shoved a zombie out of his way. The zombie tumbled to the ground and struggled to stand back up.

  The king continued down the street. At each new building, he’d go inside and tear around for a while, breaking things more often than not. Smashing out windows, throwing furniture into the street, occasionally striking his own undead. It wasn’t the most impressive display of power. Or, well, anything. Mostly the guy looked like he was having a tantrum.

  Then, while he was going crazy in one house, I saw a young woman rush across from an alleyway into one of the previously searched buildings, somehow evading all the various undead nearby.

  But this time, when the king reappeared, he knew something had happened. He quietly began ordering his undead around with practiced ease. And with purpose. His troops stood shoulder to shoulder around the building the woman had run into, blocking any conceivable escape. More undead seemed to have been called from around the city, until the streets outside were quite literally packed with bodies. Eerily quiet and still bodies, all waiting for their master to give them some order, happy to remain standing perfectly straight until that moment. No fidgeting. No coughing or scratching. No movement or noise of any type.

  I hated every second of it.

  The king moved through the crowd without issue, the undead knowing exactly when and how to edge aside to let their maker through.

  I felt the urge to follow, and when I didn't move fast enough, I was pulled through the crowd until I was inside the building with the king.

  The interior looked like it had, at one time, been a clothing shop. But everything was in tatters now, including the shelves, which were broken into barely recognizable scraps. Lanterns were shattered across the floor, with bits of wrought iron tossed into corners. The destruction didn't seem like the result of the king's tantrum though. This had happened a long time ago. Insects and rodents had moved in, and there was plenty of noise as they skittered through the walls seeking some sort of safety. The king strolled through, at least as best he could considering his condition.

  He took a position on the stairs, standing with one leg raised like he was about to deliver an oration.

  "There is no escape from here," the king said softly. His voice was hoarse from his prior screaming. “My people will tear down this whole block just to get to you. You have done better than some, and perhaps that is something to be proud of, but—”

  "Why did you do this?" a voice cried out from upstairs. "You monster!"

  The king just sighed. He trudged up the stairs.

  As before, I was pulled along with him.

  The stairs creaked loudly as he went up, so much so it felt like he was doing it to be dramatic. He paused at the top, and I could tell he was smiling his sickly smile.

  We were in the sewing area. Large high tables, now broken, had been placed throughout the middle, with shorter sewing tables on the edges. Bolts of fabric in various states of rot lined one wall. A door was in the center of that wall — well, half of it still was. The other half had been torn off its hinges and tossed at the opposite wall.

  A small shoe peeked out from under a large pile of fabric. Sobs came from that same pile.

  Undead streamed up and around the king, surrounding the pile first before filling the entire floor. So many came in that I could hear the house's beams groaning under the weight.

  Whoever the girl was, the king wasn't taking any chances.

  The king glided through all the zombies, skeletons, and other nightmares until he stood at the edge of the fabric. Slowly, he knelt down and started pulling scraps of fabric off the pile. One at a time. The king was drawing things out, enjoying the palpable fear of the girl underneath.

  Finally, mercifully, she tried to make a break for it, shoving the fabric aside and bursting forth, only to come face to face with a veritable wall of undead.

  She screamed.

  The undead reached for her with their decaying hands, bones poking through greying flesh, some dripping a liquid substance that made me gag. Instantly, she was restrained, held tight by countless hands.

  She tried to struggle, but the undead just gripped tighter. Her clothes were rags, tied on with rough string, and they barely covered her. She had real shoes on, but that was the extent of proper clothing. Her hair was short, her skin was filthy, and she had the crazed look of a caught animal.

  The king stood up and smiled at her. He looked both patronizing and terrifying.

  "Your efforts have been in vain," the king said. "There is no hope for escape now. I know not why you chose to remain in the city--"

  "You have killed everything!" the woman cried. "There's nowhere left to run!"

  "Nonsense! I saw several people leaving."

  "You had them all killed."

  "I wouldn't say I had them killed. They were killed because they ran."

  "I didn't run, and now—”

  "Have I killed you?"

  “I—”

  "The answer is no. I have not. I have discovered you. Found you. After you were still roving about my city and destroying my creations. Now, if I were to destroy your things, wouldn't you think you deserved to punish me?"

  "I've done nothing but put down the zombies that hunted me!"

  "They are mine, so they are royal zombies. They belong to the crown, and the punishment for—”

  "Who are you king of? There is no one left! There is nothing left! You have destroyed everything—”

  "Your ceaseless accusations are tiresome. And incorrect. This is my country to do with as I wish. I have used its resources how--"

  "Your country doesn't exist any longer—”

  "I think you'll find that—”

  "Just stop talking!" the woman screamed. "Stop! I don't care what you have to say--"

  The king seemed shocked that anyone would dare speak to him that way. He slapped her.

  "I am the king," he said. "You will not speak that way to the king. I am the king!"

  "You are the king of nothing."

  He took a few deep breaths, and then put his head up and his shoulders out. Once again, the picture of royalty. If, you know, you ignored all the decaying flesh around him and the ruined sewing room he presided over. Also his yellowing eyes, the missing teeth, and all that.

  "I am not without mercy," the king said. “Perhaps some of what you say is correct. I believe it would be best if those who remained, those still alive, were to leave the city."

  "You only say that to get me to lead you to them."

  "Not true! I am saying that because it is so. I merely request but one favor before you go."

  "A favor," she said sarcastically, but a flicker of hope springing into her eyes.

  "A small one. A kindness that is, perhaps, not due, but one I ask for. In return, I will corral my creations to my estate. There will be no wandering hordes. Nothing to hunt the living."

  "For how long?"

  "A week? How long would you require?"

  "A week. That would be enough. And outside the walls—”

  "Clearly there is a limit as to what I can do outside this city, but there will be no creations of mine out there either. I swear this."

  "What is this kindness I have to do?"

  The king waved his hand a little, and the various undead released the woman and moved back, giving the two living beings some space.

  "There is a poem I love," the king said, pulling a slim volume from his robes. "But my eyes are not what they were, and sadly none of my creations have yet learned to read. Or speak. I would hear this poem one more time. Then, you will be free."

  She reached out with trembling hands. I noticed how ragged her nails were, that she had likely been digging somewhere in her desperate bid for survival.

  "I am not the best reader," she said, "but if you swear—”

  "I swear," the king said, one hand going up and one going across his heart, "after this reading, you will be free to go."

  That seemed to mollify the girl, and she began reading.

  As she did, I could feel power moving about the room, and almost instinctually I slipped into magesight.

  Arcane energy was pulled around, swirling in complex patterns all about the girl and the king. Tethers attached the two and magic poured from the king in a torrent.

  Oh no, I thought, recognizing what was happening.

  The girl, however, seemed not to notice. She just continued to read, her small voice clear and bright, an odd spot of beauty amidst so much horror.

  As she said the last word, her eyes went wide. She felt the magic.

  There was a brilliant flash, something likely only visible in magesight, and the spell was complete.

  The king looked around, confused, his body sagging. The girl, meanwhile, took in a deep breath and let a smile spread wide across her face. She looked at her hands and feet, and then moved around like she had been trapped for years, exultant and dancing.

  "Wha—” the king started, but then grabbed at his throat in obvious pain.

  "You may do with him as you wish," the girl said.

  "Swore—” the king choked out before the undead fell upon him in a feeding frenzy.

  I stayed there a moment longer as the girl slipped through the hordes of the undead, unbothered. She strolled down the street and out the gates of the city.

  The dream ended and I was thrown back into reality.

  Why had I been forced to see this?

  49

  For once, I didn’t wake up everyone else when I came out of my nightmare. I did immediately notice solid funk about the room though.

  It didn't take a genius to realize that it was me. I smelled.

  Sighing, I got up, pulled the sheets and blankets from my bed, and took them and my clothes to the laundry. Clad only in my briefs, I went and put my chit in the box so I could take a late night bath. Or, as I’d begun to think about life in Gloomguard, a bath outside of time. I had to scrub incredibly hard to get the dried blood off, which meant that this time, I had no desire to spend even one more second in the bath than I had to. It was revolting after I was clean.

  I got out, went back to our room to get dressed, and then headed to the cafeteria where there would be, no doubt, another mystery stew waiting.

  Spoiler alert: it was mystery stew!

  As always, it was just tasty enough that you didn't want to actually know the recipe, but also didn't feel bad having eaten it. There was also bread with the meal, so, bonus points me.

  I ate the breakfast stew near a window where I could see the maze. The flames were burning a bright green. I wanted to go in as soon as the rest of the party was up.

 

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