AWKWARD ZOMBIE

Yeah, all of that happened by chance. God I love dorf fort.

Whoops that should be "Most of the immediate area was ocean."

spoony what's your job again

For now I wash dishes, but soon I'll be going back to working at a call center. Good times.

You could do both at the same time, you know.

Interesting.

She lay on the barren ground on her side; the stench of a million rotting corpses filling her nostrils, unable to move without unimaginable pain coursing through her body.

Debris and shrapnel filled what once was her home town, dust and radiation hovering in the air heavily. The humidity was always omnipresent in her town, making the whole situation even worse as everything felt even heavier.

Her body was sore and felt like it was on fire; she could see burns on her body, pus oozing out of injuries caused by an unnecessary act by a war-torn world.

She heard footsteps approaching her. Her eyebrows furrowed as she tried to figure out who would still be alive after the attack.

The footsteps stopped, and she could feel a looming shadow over her. Humming slightly, she lifted her eyes up slightly.

His tanned face looked no different from the last time she saw him, except his eyes looked blanker and with less emotion than what they usually carried.

“This isn’t like you to give up.” He said, a bit of an amused tone in his voice.

“I suppose it’s not like me to be able to see the dead as well.” She retorted back, a cruel sparkle of glee in her eye.

“That…is a good point.” He kneeled down to her level so she wouldn’t have to strain to look up to his level, “Then again you’ll probably be joining me soon.” A small smile made its way to his face.

“Mhm. I suppose you should be smiling at being able to get me back. I am not too fond of meeting end’s fate, however.”

“It’s not so bad.” He muttered, “It definitely takes some getting used to, but once you adapt, it’s not so bad.” He grinned cheekily.

She closed her eyes, humming softly. Her stomach rumbled angrily, and she forced herself up onto her hands and knees to vomit. Nigel’s eyebrows rose as he watched her empty stomach acid onto the ground.

“I wish I could hold back your hair.”

She smiled weakly at him before throwing up once more, stray wisps of light brown hair getting in her blank, gray eyes as she did.

She collapsed on the opposite side of her bile, not wanting any of it to get in her burn wounds, and lay on her back.

“Our anniversary would have been in two weeks, too.” He mused, “Of course, then there was the car crash and if that didn’t happen to kill me I figure this probably would have.” He smiled nervously, attempting to lighten the mood.

She stared at the sun, a dim light in the distance as the dust and clouds covered it. Almost a beacon of hope in the monstrosity that surrounded them.

“I’m going to die soon, aren’t I?”

Nigel did not answer.

“I have so many things I wanted to do, Nige. I wanted to be a mother. I was so close to my Master’s in Physics. We could’ve had a home with a white goddamn picket fence and a dog named Spot and we could’ve had it all but then…” she closed her eyes, “then you got hit. And war was on the horizon anyway. I…I wasn’t meant to have a life like that and I guess I figured it out the hard way.” A stray tear made its way down her pale face.

“Say, Nige-.”

She looked over to her right and saw nobody.

A hallucination…

Her eyes widened as the realization hit her that she was dying. And she was dying alone.

I don’t want to die.

She turned back to face the sun, but what she saw was her beacon blocked by clouds. Her light put out.

She gave a dry laugh and closed her eyes, and joined her town, as well as half or more of the world, in death.

"The humidity was always omnipresent in her town, making the whole situation even worse as everything felt even heavier."

I'm not sure if the humidity being "always omnipresent" is technically redundant, but it sort of seems like it might be. I'm also not sure why everything would feel heavier due to humidity.

"injuries caused by an unnecessary act by a war-torn world. "

Even if it's true, calling it an "unnecessary act" seems sort of strange considering the situation. Maybe try stronger language?

"Humming slightly, she lifted her eyes up slightly."

Try changing one of the Slightly's, also why is she humming? Or is it the guy that's humming?

"She retorted back"

Retorted back is redundant

"I am not too fond of meeting end’s fate"

I'm not entirely sure what you mean by end's fate.

I like the way you describe the actions as well as the premise of the story.

So I tried to write an interesting story in a strange world.

HOW DID I DO?

- - -

A man and a blob of liquid metal moved down the dirty road. They were strange to this area. This area was strange to them. There were few places in the world one could go without seeing something strange. The world was a chaotic place. Scientists coexisted with Savages, Mages lived with Robots. It was a world where abnormality was expected. The man and his liquid companion had seen much of it, and still every step managed to surprise.

He took a step forward.

“Watch it!”

The cobblestones he had just stepped on stood up and glared at him. He was looking at a man made out of rocks, which had been lying in the road.

“Well it’s your fault for lying in the streets,” The man said nonchalantly.

“This isn’t the street, you idiot.”

The rocky man stomped away, and laid his stony body down elsewhere.

“It certainly looks like a street,” The man mumbled to himself.

His silver companion beeped. The computer core at the center of the blob rose out of it. The red eye on the core looked up at the man.

“And what do you want?”

The core beeped again.

“Do I need to remind you that you can talk?”

“I was just trying to be robotic,” The core said humbly.

“You aren’t a robot, you’re a blob of liquid with a brain,” The man poked the silver liquid the core was suspended in.

“Well I have a robot’s brain,” The blob said. It pulled away from the man’s finger. “We’ve met a lot of robots, and I think there’s a status quo to be maintained.”

“I just stepped on a talking rock. If there’s a status quo, I have yet to see it.”

The man straightened his hat and looked at the “road” ahead of him. He couldn’t see anything on the horizon. He could ask the rock thing for directions, but he seemed irritable. You never irritated someone with harder fists than you; that was something he knew very well.

“Anyway, Weston, was there something you needed?”

“Well, yes, actually. I’m running a bit low on Bonesilver now, and-“

“I get it, I get it.”

The man held out his hand. Metallic liquid crept its way out of his skeleton and through his pores. It coated his arm before dripping downwards into Weston’s blob of a body. Weston absorbed it happily.

“Ah, yes, much better. I feel optimal now.”

“Stop using optimal as an adjective,” The man grunted. He absorbed the remaining Bonesilver on his arm back into his skeleton. “It’s too robotic.”

Weston’s core vanished into the blob of his body. He continued conversation from inside the blob.

“I don’t know how you can comment on the strangeness of the world when you leak metal from your bones, Sir.”

“I am not letting you talk to any more robots, Weston. Sir was my father’s name.”

“Well you’re a bit cagey about your own name, so I tend to avoid using it.”

The man kicked Weston. His foot slid into the liquid metal and right back out. He ignored the little blob and moved down what he was assuming was the road.

The horizon still looked much too flat. Normally there were towns on these plains, something to break the monotony of the flat landscape. Here there was nothing. The man began to get suspicious.

“Why would no one build a town here? Is there something wrong with this plain?”

Something dropped onto his head. He stopped dead in his tracks. When something fell on your head, it was a good idea not to touch it.

Whatever was on his head moved. He could feel it shifting through the stiff fabric of his hat. It felt thin and fluid. Maybe it was a snake, or a giant worm. Whatever it was, it moved again.

It dropped over the brim of his hat. It was some kind of elastic rope. He grabbed it and tugged on it. It felt like rubber.

“Now why would a rubber rope be hanging from the sky?”

A face appeared from the sky. The man took a startled step back. Some metal came out of his bones in a defensive reaction. He held his metal coated arms above his face.

“Are you stupid?”

The face that had appeared was hanging from the rubber rope. It was a woman’s face, round and dark skinned. She was hanging upside down, hanging onto the rope with her feet.

“No I am not stupid, I am actually very smart.”

The man soaked the metal back into his bones. He crossed his arms in defiance of the woman who had appeared from the sky.

“I can vouch for that,” Weston said from his blob. “He built me, in fact, and I work fabulously, despite the occasional loss of metal from my blob.”

The woman gave them an inverted frown. She pointed at the dirt path they were standing on.

“If you’re so smart, then do you know what made that path?”

The man looked down at the dirt beneath his feet. His blue eyes examined it for any clues.

“No.”

“Well neither do we,” The woman grunted. “But we know it eats things, and so we stay away from it.”

The man stepped to the left of the path nervously. He looked over his shoulder for the thing that ate things. The woman grabbed him by the shoulders.

“I’ll take you up here where it’s safe.”

“Where is up here?”

The elastic rope contracted violently. If the man hadn’t had metal for bones his arms would have been ripped off. The woman stared blankly ahead as the sky roared past them. Weston was clinging desperately to the man’s leg.

Eventually the roaring stopped, and so did the rope. The man leaned against whatever he put his hand on first and caught his breath. Weston melted into a puddle, as he often did when under stress.

The man gave one last heavy breath and looked up at where he was. He had his hand on a very large insect. He pulled his palm away very quickly. It was covered in metal again.

The insect clicked its jaws calmly. It didn’t appear to have any legs. Instead it had strange tendrils dangling from its carapace. Familiar tendrils.

“I just rode a bug tentacle into the sky,” The man gasped. He looked around for the woman, hoping to gain some context on the situation. She was gone. Dozens of men and women who looked like her, though, had gathered. They were looking curiously at the metal on his hand, which he quickly retracted.

The man looked down at what he was standing on. It was a rock. He must have missed this down on the plains. He was not perturbed. He’d been on flying rocks before.

The people of the rock tilted their heads at him and Weston. He tilted his head right back. His hat fell off. A gentle breeze came by and blew the hat away, past the bug and over the edge of the rock.

“Oh, and I liked that hat.”

A rock-dweller ran past in a blur. He grabbed one of the bug’s tentacles and jumped right off the edge of the rock. He grabbed the hat out of the air, and was snapped right back to the rock by the tentacle. The rock-dweller handed the man his hat with a polite nod.

“Thank you.”

The rock dweller who had saved his hat rejoined his people. The crowd seemed to have lost interest in him anyway.

“I think we might stay a while, Weston.”

It seems interesting. I'd read more of it. I just have a few things I'd like to point out.

The part about Weston acting "more like a robot." If this world is as weird and fantastic as you make it out to be in the beginning, would robots really have a stereotypical way of behaving?

“Stop using optimal as an adjective,”
What else would you use it as?

The word "metal" gets repeated a lot. Not saying you should use it as little as possible, but throwing a few other words in there instead might not be a bad idea.

" If the man hadn’t had metal for bones his arms would have been ripped off."
Sort of awkward; maybe change it to "metal bones" or even just "if the man hadn't been made of stronger stuff" That's all just opinion though.

Thanks for that criticism. A little bit of that is mistakes I didn't erase (like the optimal bit). The metal repetition is a valid point. I can't think of many synonyms for it though.

Maybe not metal synonyms specifically, but stuff like "substance" or "material" might work

Right. Thanks for the help.

Double posting because Odds had a hand in this chapter. She made up Iscthios and I wanted her to see his introduction.

but first, CONTEXT:

Weston you already know, he's a blob of metal with a robot brain. SIR is the man referred to usually as "The man" in that post up above. He's called Sir because he doesn't tell anyone his name (for fear of wizards). His skeleton is liquid metal.

MUURA is Group member number 3. She can walk on walls, kick powerfully, and is fond of running around naked (but Sir doesn't let her.) She comes from the floating rock village we ended the last chapter at. She is very curious and likes to see new things.

KERAK is group member 4. She breaks anything she comes into skin contact with (with limits, of course). That's about it.

Our group has just left a town called Fierel. LET'S WATCH

- - - - -

Sir pushed his way through the gates with a loud sigh. He was glad to be out of that crowd. He checked behind him to make sure Kerak and Muura were still in step. They were close behind, thankfully. Sir shut the gates by himself.

“Goobye Fierel,” Muura shouted melodramatically. “So many of your wonders shall never be mine! Goodbye, my abandoned gem, my unopened treasure!”

Kerak grabbed her by the harness of her shirt and dragged her along the road. Muura gave up, lazily allowing herself to be dragged away from the city walls. Kerak only tolerated it for so long before she put Muura back on her feet and forced her to walk.

They came to a fork in the road. Kerak and Sir stopped to have a small council.

“Do you have any particular destination in mind?”

“I just want to go somewhere I haven’t been before,” Sir said. “I’m sure Muura would like that as well.”

Muura nodded happily. Weston was almost shaken off her shoulder by the nod.

Kerak examined the road signs. She mentally recorded the places she had already visited. Sir did the same thing. They indicated to each other where they had been, and where they had yet to go.

“They act like they’ve been travelling together for a while,” Muura mumbled, feeling a bit left out.

“Well, they are both professional wanderers, so to speak. They probably know a lot of the same things. Not to mention they kind of have the same personality.”

“We’ve only known Kerak for a few moments,” Muura grumbled. “How can you tell?”

“I’m a robot, in case you forgot,” Weston said indignantly. “I have all sorts of special cameras and sensors to pick up on body language.”

Muura held up Weston’s core and stared into the red eye. Weston’s eye shrank humbly.

“Alright, maybe I’ve only got a few cameras, and none of them are special. But I am very good at reading body language.”

“Oh really? What does my body say?”

“A lot, considering how much of it you show,” Weston said jokingly. Muura gave him a slap that nearly dislodged his circuits.

Sir and Kerak came to an agreement on a town. They both pointed down the path that led to their chosen destination.

“That’s a good spot. I haven’t visited a river town in a while!”

“I don’t like river towns,” Sir sighed. “But I’ll go along with it.”

“What?” Kerak gave him a malicious smile. “Cant swim?”

“Metal bones,” He replied, holding up his hands. “I sink.”

Kerak dropped her smile with a nervous laugh. Sir put his hands back where they belonged.

“So, that way it is.”

They set off on the chosen trail. It was clearly marked with stones, so they never lost their way, although Sir did stop to check for talking rockmen every once in a while.

After a while the stone started sinking deeper and deeper into the ground, until they were barely visible. Kerak examined them.

“Must be the water from the river,” she said. “I’ll bet the river floods occasionally, and the rocks sink into the wet ground. We must be getting close.”

Sir nodded in agreement. They continued down the rapidly sinking stone path. Eventually the river and a small group of shacks came into view. It was not the city they were looking for, but it was a place to rest for a while.

A man was sitting by the dock, fishing and whistling cheerily. He had his feet in the water. Sir tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, how far away is the Port city from here?”

The fisherman pulled his straw hat farther down on his face, covering it in shadow. He curled his hands as tightly around his fishing pole as he could.

“It’s just around a few miles that way,” he mumbled. There was an odd bubbling quality to his voice. “You’d better keep going, keep going.”

The fisherman was twitching nervously. Sir decided it would be better not to bug him in this state.

“Is there anywhere in the village we could buy a bag?”

“Oh no, no one in the village. It’s empty.”

“Empty? Why?”

The fisherman sighed and released his grip on the fishing pole. He held up two fingers. Two scaly, green fingers.

“Two reasons.”

“First, there’s me,” The fisherman stood up and removed his hat. His head was as scaly as his the rest of him, although a patch of brown hair remained on top. Gills rippled just below his ears. He blinked nervously at Sir and his group.

“I’m Iscthios. I used to just live in this village, but then I started growing these scales and these gills, it was all rather sudden.” Iscthios’s fingers twitched nervously as they gripped the brim of his hat. “Eventually people got sick of living with a monster like me and moved away.”

“What about the people who didn’t move away?”

“Oh, they got eaten.”

Iscthos pushed against Sir’s shoulders, knocking him off the docks and onto dry land. A flash of red scales swooped over the docks and took Iscthios with it. The red blur vanished into the water.

Sir leaned over the water, but not too far. There was a shadow in the water. It was not the shadow they were looking for.

“Umm, I know we just met and all,” Iscthios said from the right. “But I think there’s a moral obligation to not let people get eaten, right?”

Iscthios was trapped in the jaws of a large red fish. He was holding it's mouth open with his scaly arms. The fish looked very intent on making sure the jaws got closed.

“It’s in the water, I can’t do anything about it!” Sir shook his arms helplessly.

“That rules me out as well,” Weston added. He rolled away and hid behind a bush.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Kerak.” Muura stepped forward with dramatic bravado. Kerak sighed and removed her gloves.

Muura ran into the water and swam towards the fish. The red fish swerved out of her way and whacked her with its tailfin. She flew out of the water like a ragdoll.

“I never liked fish,” Kerak rumbled under her breath. The fish swam around in the water, holding Iscthios slightly above the surface. He was pleading for help quietly.

“I’m going to break this thing in half!” Kerak jumped off the dock and landed on the fishes back. She grabbed it with both her hands, hoping her natural ability broke what she needed to break.

The fish failed to snap; instead it shook violently and launched her off.

“Cartilage,” Kerak mumbled. “Its skeleton is cartilage. It’s too soft to crack.”

Sir clenched his jaw and frowned widely.

“Are you telling me that our entire group is being thwarted by a FISH!?”

The fish swam close to the docks in response to Sir’s loud yell. Sir stomped his way to the end of the wooden platform, and stared the fish in the eye. It met his challenge and swam closer.

“This is a bloody FISH!”

He pounded the fishes head with a strong blow. It rolled over in pain.

“I am not going to get killed by something that falls for a worm on a hook!”

He kicked the fish in its lower jaw, dislocating the jaw with a snap. Iscthios crept out of the mouth, dashed to shore, and cowered behind Kerak. Sir stayed on the docks, staring at the defeated fish.

“What kind of stupid fish keeps its head above the water?”

“You answered yourself,” Kerak said. “A stupid one.”

The fish rolled over. Its yellow eyes rolled in confusion. Sir grabbed it by the gills.

“No.”

He whipped the titanic fish out of the water and flung it onto land. It flopped in panic and thrashed around. Iscthios scooted slightly to the left, farther away from it. Muura ran up and yelled at it.
“
You’re disgusting! Going around eating things that aren’t even in the water!”

“Uhh, Muura,” Kerak said. “It’s a fish, it doesn’t talk.”

Muura kicked the fish in the middle of its flopping body.

There was a very loud snapping sound as the fishes cartilage skeleton broke in half. The fish vomited out a few of its own organs from the blow. It stopped flopping immediately, broken into a flat ‘v’ shape. Muura stared at with wide eyes.

“Did I do that?”

Iscthios wandered up to the dead fish. He placed his webbed palm on the beast’s bloodied head. He closed his eyes and focused for a while.

“Yep. It’s dead.”

“Any idiot could tell you that, Fishy,” Sir groaned. “It just puked out half its organs.”

He pointed to the pile of intestines lining the beach. Iscthios waved him off.

“You never know. Life’s crazy underwater. Some fish actually do that,” He pointed to the pile of organs. “On purpose to distract predators.”

Iscthios examined the red fishes eyeballs. He prodded the yellow orbs with his green fingers. Muura and Kerak let out a disgusted groan.

“So, you’re travelers, right? No one comes here much anymore, this town is kind of out of the way.”

“What are you talking about?” Sir pointed back at Fierel, which was out of sight. “It’s right between two major cities.”

“Well yeah, but this isn’t the best route to take,” Iscthios said. He waved his finger back and forth in an “s” pattern. “The river curves around this area a lot. It’s hard to travel easily.”

He then held his green hand towards the empty village.

“And with the only village gone, there’s nowhere to stop and recuperate safely.”

Sir stepped onto the dock and looked at the village. It looked like there were holes in every building.

“So an entire village died because you looked a little gross? I’ve seen uglier in almost every town.”

“Oh, they didn’t leave because I look weird.”

Iscthios spat on the docks. A large puddle of black bile from his throat began to eat away at the wood. Sir stepped away from the rapidly advancing hole.

“They left because of that.”

Iscthios sat down on the docks, ignoring the pool of acid still devouring it. He dipped his webbed feet in the water and splashed around.

“It’s kind of silly, me staying here, but I do it anyway. Just don’t have the heart to leave.”

Iscthios put his most pitiful expression on his face.

“Okay then, bye.”

Iscthios hopped up with panicked agility. He watched Sir and his companions look for a safe place to cross the river.

“HELLO! Aren’t you going to offer to take me with you?”

“You said you didn’t want to leave.”

Iscthios dashed down the riverbank to where Sir was standing. His webbed feet did not make it very easy on him. He tripped and fell flat on his face in front of Sir. He pulled himself up to beg.

“Please? I would like to leave this place, really, but I can’t do it myself! It’s dangerous out there!”

“Fierel is just a few dozen miles that way,” Sir said, pointing the direction they had come from. “There’s no real danger between here and there.”

“I don’t want to stay in one place,” Iscthios whined. “There’s a lot of things to see in this world, and I kind of want to see them.”

Muura smiled happily, sensing a kindred spirit. Weston’s metal eye rolled when he saw her face. Kerak and Sir examined the scaled newcomer. They retreated to confer amongst themselves.
“
Should we let him come with us? We have enough trouble with Muura already.”

“I can’t see a reason not to,” Sir said. “He said there were a lot of rivers in this area, having a strong swimmer can’t help.”

“True. He can probably get us some fish to eat as well.”

Sir stepped back to Iscthios. She interrupted Muura, who was telling him about all the wonderful things she had seen since leaving her village. Iscthios looked up at Sir with the most pleading look his scaled face could manage.

“You can come with,” Sir grunted. “Until you get sick of us, of course.”

Muura was already working her way across the river. Iscthios nodded to Sir and swam out behind her. He was much faster, and caught up to her in no time.

“Well I see Muura doesn’t care about her clothing,” Kerak said disdainfully. “So how do you and I get across? You can’t swim and I don’t want to get all these clothes wet.”

Sir walked up to the dock and judged the distance between the wooden platform and the opposite shore. He held his thumb up for comparison, and nodded when he had finished his judgement.

“Muura!”

Muura swam back across the river. Iscthios waited with Weston on the other side.

“Yes? What is it, Sir?”

“Kick me in the chest.”

Muura raised an eyebrow.

“Do it.”

Muura nodded and raised her foot. She slammed it into Sir’s chest forcefully.

The impact sent Sir flying across the river, creating a crater as he hit the other side of the bank. Iscthios was pelted with a sudden rain of debris from the impact.

“Oh my,” Muura whispered to herself.

“I’m all right,” Sir groaned. He popped his bones back into place as he rose from the crater. “Metal skeleton, nothing to worry about.”

He moved a rib back where it belonged and felt his liver slide back into place. He shuddered involuntarily.

“Lovely,” Kerak shouted. “Now what about me? I’m not made of metal!”

“I guess you’re swimming,” Sir shouted back.

“But my clothes, I can’t-“ Kerak gave a silent scream. She started removing her gloves.

“Iscthios can swim your clothes across later!” Sir said, with just a hint of amusement in his voice. “You wait in that hut over there, and we’ll stay over here!”

Iscthios led the way into an abandoned hut. Muura said one thing before he closed the door behind them.

“Lucky.”

fsjal

I probably ought to stop getting stories from the vidya, but meh.


Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string. Kray learned that one the hard way. He had the eye-patch to prove it. It wasn't like he hadn't been concentrating at the time; he just didn't have any idea what he was doing. How was he supposed to? You don't pick up much know-how on projectile weaponry working the wheat fields.

There was some rustling coming from a bush way off. Kray didn't see too well these days, but his hearing was as fine as it had ever been. He whipped around and took a shot at a bush before ducking back behind the wall. Skeletons. It was always skeletons up this way. They'd been advancing on the gate for a fair while now. Not that there was anything much behind it right now. Some empty buildings, a few forlorn streets, and Kray, all alone again.

Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string. Not that he minded being alone. Not when he thought about the kind of company he had around these parts. The kids called them Frostlings. They were dark, short, fast, horrible backstabbing monsters. They’d kill you and eat you in a second without another thought. Kray didn't know anything much about them past that, and he didn't care to. They were giving him some coin, and that was where his interest ended.

He jumped up and took another shot, at the same bush. It didn't hit anything. That one was long gone. Kray had counted about a dozen when he first spotted them. He was never too great with numbers, but it took even more thinking than it used to. Frostbite. It'd claimed three fingers now, and a few toes as well. There was definitely no going back to the farms after that. It would have been a low blow, if he was still entertaining any notions of going back. Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string.

There wasn't anything to gain from contemplating that again. Nothing good came from heading down that road. More movement. They were getting closer. There were some scratching noises nearby. Kray chanced a peek. One of the cheeky bastards was trying to climb up some rocks next to the wall. An arrow smacked the wall right next to Kray’s head. He dropped backward a few feet onto the ground before crawling along the wall some.

The shooter was next to a tree maybe fifty paces from the gate. Kray had spotted him as he fell back. He snapped up above the wall and sent a bolt flying. The bastard's skull went spinning off in the distance. One down. He didn't derive any pleasure from it. Never, not even from the get go. Not that he had much say in the matter now. He'd lost the right quite some time ago.

Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string. He was hungry. He was always hungry. There was never enough food to go around, and good luck getting some more. The others... he didn't even speak their language, but he didn't need to. There's not a lot that gets lost in translation when you spit in somebody's face. God forbid he mention that he used to farm. One glance at the frozen wasteland around them and you'd see how practical that would be.

They all hated him. It probaly didn't help that he was still calling them Frostlings, but Kray was beyond caring. It didn't matter, it was the same no matter how far he went. Nothing changed. Rapid footsteps. One of them was making a break for the gate. He sprang up mechanically, and took the shot. Miss. The bastard was smashing at the gate over and over. Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string.

Kray wasn't rushing. He didn't see the point. There wasn't anything left for him to be rushing to. He leaned over the wall slightly and took another shot. Smack on target. Two down. That left another ten by his count. Those weren't great odds. He'd be worried about now, if he still had anything left to worry about. Well, he did have something, but that was back home, away from this frozen hell.

Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string. She wasn't his anyway. Not anymore. Kray wanted to put as much distance as he could between them. He didn't deserve a world with her in it. His hands were shaking, and he put down his crossbow in a lapse of judgement. A small picture materialised from one of the many folds in his torn old jerkin. A fair face shone up at him. Little Emily.

He wept. The same tears as always, every time he looked at it. He was weeping uncontrolably, rocking back and forth next to the wall. An arrow grazed him across the back, but he didn't even care. He just fell to the ground, shaking and crying like a madman. Two of them had reached the gate now. They started bashing at it like crazy. Kray stopped, dead still. He picked up his crossbow, slowly placed himself above the wall and sent another skull flying. Point it away, load the bolt, pull the string. Tears come later.

The gate wasn't holding well. It hadn't been in great condition to begin with, same as everything else in these parts, but it wasn't going to keep them out much longer. None of this would have been a problem if the rest of them hadn't left him on his own, but Kray had come to expect that by now. At least they'd had the decency to take the townsfolk with them this time, wherever the other soldiers ran off to at times like this. Nobody around to make distractions. Just him, a handful of undead, and his thoughts.

Just his thoughts.

Not now.

Tears come later.

Kray shot the other one, still swinging at the gate. Four down, now. Frankly he was surprised the gate hadn't just fallen over in the wind. He was half hoping it would. At least everything would be over quicker that way. Carefully, he stuck his head over the wall for another glance. He couldn't see any of them, not even the fucker that had caught him on the back. He crouched back down again. Point it away, load the bolt, pull the stri-

He fell to the ground spitting blood. The skeleton that had been climbing up the rocks next to the wall had caught up with him. Kray had caught a plank of wood to the back of the head. Just avoiding another swing, he rolled out of the way and pulled a hammer off his belt. There was no point in grabbing his knife, creatures made entirely of bone didn’t slow down much from stab wounds.

It ran at him for another swing. Kray stepped swiftly to the side, and smacked its forearm straight off. The fuckers were usually pretty brittle. It stumbled forwards, and he swang at the back of its legs. It flipped over in an instant, its head crashing down on the ground. Kray just jumped on top of it, beating it again and again and again. He started screaming, louder and louder. Its skull had already been obliterated, and it was long past whatever un-life or un-death it had possessed.

Kray stopped dead.

They’d kicked him out of the Inn. He’d been at the sauce hard. Again. He needed it. They were always staring at him. Laughing at him. Judging him. Lording over him. The fuckers. They knew it, too. All day long he tried. He wasn’t great at it, but it was just farming. It wasn’t something you’d get elitist about. Well, apparently it was. Kray was just no good.

They’d fired him that night. He didn’t know why. Well, he did. They hated him. Just one mistake big enough, and bang, he was out the door. Then he went straight to the Inn, to waste what little coin he had left on getting drunk enough to forget about it. That hadn’t even worked. Now he was just plain mad.

Somehow he’d managed to stumble home again. Cursing the whole way there. He fumbled his clothes for the key, but he couldn’t find it. Must have left it at the bar. Kray started kicking the door. Then he was pounding it with his shoulder until it gave way and fell in. He barged his way through. She was standing at the top of the stairs. Sarah. She was just standing, with her arms folded and the same look of utter disappointment. She wasn’t angry, she was sad. Sad that he was getting this worked up.

Kray didn’t see Sarah though. She was looking at him with those eyes of disappointment, and he saw all the others. The ones that judged him. The ones that had been laughing all these years. The ones that had fired him. He ran up the stairs, yelling and screaming. Sarah shrieked and tried to move back, but he was already at the top, and he tackled her to the ground. Tears were running down both of their eyes. Kray was beating her; striking her in the face over and over, both of them crying and screaming.

He couldn’t say how long they were there for. Eventually he started to slow down, and he looked at his wife’s face. The woman he’d loved. The woman he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with. There was a lot of blood. Quite a lot. More blood than there should have been. How long had he been hitting her for, exactly? He looked up. Little Emily was standing in her doorway, completely frozen. She was just staring, with her mouth open. Not making any noise. Kray looked back at Sarah, then at Emily again.

The banging stopped. The door had collapsed. The skeleton had managed its way through. Now it was running up the stairs next to the gate, straight for him. He'd been weeping and shaking on the floor again. Quickly he got to his feet, roaring with hellish fury. Then he fell. Straight to the ground. An arrow had caught him clean in the neck. Dead.

The Frostlings came by the next day. All the buildings had been torched to the ground. Everything had been stolen or destroyed. All they found amidst the rubble was that one pathetic mercenary’s corpse. He didn’t even have anything on him. Just a picture of a little girl with “I love you” written on the back.