The Book of End's End: Fighting Dogs - Chapter 19-20.0 (Patreon)

Chapter 19

Unity found himself overcome by the shockingly strong urge to kill the sun. It almost seemed the celestial body had taken a particular disliking to him, with how thoroughly it cast its glare for the past quarter hour.

Like so many in Unix, if not its nobility, Unity was of pale skin. Ordinarily it paired with his blue eyes to draw favourable comparisons to the ever-illustrious Menzas. Before the burning bitch above him, it was merely a hindrance.

A drying, papery, burn-sensitive hindrance.

The scorching heat was almost enough to make him grateful for his slate’s incessant alerts, small distraction that they were.

Fucking piece of shit scrying slate. As if I’d gain anything from finding whichever simpletons I’ve been tethered to this time around.

Even as he murmured to himself, Unity’s thoughts turned to the previous stage.

He began to wonder about Crow, imagining where the boy might have found himself. Doubtless they’d been paired together, after his display.

Unity turned his attention again to the vibrating of his slate, wondering whether it was the blonde boy’s approach being conveyed to him through the effect.

No. Much more likely he was trying to cut his own path through the stage, too fearful of wasting time to take such measures as consolidating with his team. It occurred to Unity that he was little different. Stayed by laziness, in place of haste.

A sudden shudder took him, involuntary and mindless. As if his body thought it might shake free the heat racking every inch of it. Unity allowed himself a moment of anger at the idiocy of his flesh.

The emotion faded as more sound reached him from the base of his perch. Water sizzling to steam, scraping and pattering as sand rained down from the air. Grunts of exertion and cries of alarm.

He rolled over, shifting his head to peer over the edge of the drop. A hundred yards separated him from the sight below, but he could still just about make it out.

Five mystics locked in battle with a creature that struck fear into him even from the distance between them.

Twice a horse’s length and three times its bulk, he’d recognised the scaled exterior and bundled muscle of a lusomorph instantly.

Four beady eyes glared outward from all sides of its head, barely visible beneath a great calcic protrusion jutting from the base of the skull. Shaped like a flat hammer and basking its face in shadow.

In the minutes since first seeing the beast, much had changed.

Unity didn’t miss the ugly gashes across its back and sides. Deep wounds that left the area around them glistening in the sun with slick, wet ichor. They were, he knew, only possible through the use of mysticism.

Lusomorphs were magical beasts as much as physical, and the arcane energies within their flesh and bones made them fiercely durable. Seeing the creature still thrash so energetically in spite of its wounds reinforced Unity’s confidence that he’d made the right decision in waiting for it to fight the rival team.

A halberd-wielding girl lunged, or at least Unity thought she did. The motion was so swift he barely caught it in his eye, only seeing her retreat as blood stained the sand.

He wondered where she’d found the weapon, then dismissed the curiosity and focused on drawing out his magic as yet more attacks began to rain on the creature.

Lusomorphs were sturdy, but the one below was clearly weakening. It grew slower, limbs heavier. As if liquefied strength were pouring from its wounds.

Unity’s opportunity would come soon, he didn’t intend to miss it.

Seconds passed in a sickening tension as the struggling monster grew ever more enfeebled. Unity began to fear it would fall before his magic came to him, but the arcane rush banished such thoughts.

He leapt from the plateau, grinning at the sensation of wind sweeping his hair and raking his body. It snagged his clothes, drawing loose fabric to flap in his wake and dragging his shirt up to expose his stomach. After fifteen minutes of being scorched by the sun, it was exquisite.

Sand retreated from his feet as they struck the ground like meteors. With satisfaction, he noticed each of the mystics had paused to stare at him.

Good. Their hesitation was just the weapon he needed.

Before any could overcome it, Unity ran. Slow for a mystic, slower still for one of his talents, yet quick enough to make use of the momentary stupefaction.

The lusomorph shifted to face him, great bony crest turning like a tower shield. Pain and fatigue dragged at the movement like stones on a hanged man’s feet, and in an instant he was on its back. Magic burned in his hands.

He felt the compulsive rush of Atirstam, tempered by the alien apathy of Manamis and the steadfast surety of Utalis. An emotional concoction to rival the intensity of the very magic that mixed it.

Beneath him the lusomorph thrashed with a fury redoubled. As if the dull creature could sense what was about to happen, drawing on untapped strength to stave off the end.

Unity touched his hands to its neck, waiting for his building magic to reach its peak, then releasing.

It took barely a few moments for the red discharge to act; dancing along the creature’s skin like the tentative steps of a thief, erratic and rapid as it kissed one point and then another.

Flesh was peeled back like the skin of a fruit, then charred black and sizzling before breaking down to ash and being snatched away by the wind. Blood boiled, bone split and gristle burst free as shredded pulp. He barely leapt back in time to avoid being drenched in the viscera.

Unable to bear the strain of such terrible wounds, the Lusomorph fell. Craterous carnage steaming hot and visceral in its back.

Unity turned to his slate, grinning as he took in the words crawling across its face.

Current points: One thousand.

Unity had recognised the lusomorph as a fearsome enemy, as well as one that, proportionally, would yield no small reward upon its defeat. That he’d been right to assume the killing blow determined point distribution was worth the sun.

“Excuse me?”

Unity turned to the voice’s source, already feeling the elation burn in him like coals in an engine. He tempered the feeling, barely.

Staring at him were all five of the mystics; four girls and a boy. Muddy, dirty, disheaveled and marked in scores of places by bruises or streaked blood. None seemed to notice their abrasions, the anger sizzling behind their stares swallowing all else.

“Sorry,” Unity answered, “Did I interrupt something?”

The hate in them was almost physical, and Unity didn’t bother fighting the smile it pushed to his lips. It was better than the sight of their sickening cooperation by far.

“Don’t play coy.” One of the girls cut in, stepping forwards and tightening her hands. “You know what you did.”

“Help you out?” Unity asked, almost giggling.

Another girl spoke before the first, clutching a knife tightly in each hand.

“Jump in to land the finishing blow, stealing our points without putting a lick of work in.”

Unity blinked, injecting feigned confusion onto his face. Only a fool would have fallen for the act. Fortunately, most naturals were a dozen paces beyond mere foolishness.

“You think that’s what I did?” He asked, letting a smidge of horror mingle with his uncertainty. It worked well, filling all eyes upon him with doubt.

For a moment he said nothing more, simply waited. Let the emotion simmer.

Then Unity stopped holding his grin back, let amusement warp his face as he sneered.

“Surprisingly astute, for the pack of morons who let me do it so easily in the first place.”

Anger returned in an instant, but by the time the mystics had all taken a step, Unity had already turned and made the first three of his sprint.

The mystics called after Unity with jeering fury, seemingly unaware their rage was honey on his lips.

Unity ignored the cries, not wanting to risk losing pace in his laughter. Focusing only on running.

Not for the first time, he cursed his body. Cursed its sickliness, cursed its weakness. Cursed that it was so fragile as to cripple even the magic he directed to strengthening it. As if he were a luminar.

Cursed, above all, the failing mysticism which had been wielded in the efforts of making it. Producing perhaps the greatest error possible from a pair of Deities giving their lives to a task.

Moments later Unity heard footsteps nearing him from behind. He diverted focus enough to hate those as well.

Over the orchestra ringing around him; wind, scraping sand, panting breaths from his own mouth, Unity was unable to tell how far behind his persuers were. Closer than was ideal, he knew.

He was drawn again to the slate at his wrist, not missing the sharp jab as it snatched his focus.

Whichever of my teammates is nearest, they’re growing nearer still.

It irked Unity that he had no way of gauging distance from the sensation of his slate’s shaking. Irked him more that he had no way of estimating his teammate’s pace or trajectory.

He pushed the disquietment down, forcing his speed to heighten once more. He’d not intended on meeting them, but suddenly the thought seemed an appealing one. If nothing else he’d have an idiot to leave behind and buy time while he fled.

The sound of footfalls at his back grew louder even in spite of his best efforts. Of course they did. It was Unity’s fault for relying on his wretched body.

Come on. He urged his worthless legs. Work faster. For once in your fucking lives, don’t fail me.

He could feel the calling of his slate grow stronger by the heartbeat, every step bringing with it a new moment of hope- even certainty- that he’d reunite with whichever mystic he’d been paired with.

Each one ended with disappointment, changing nothing but the volume of footfalls nearing him from behind. Without even time enough for despair, Unity simply ran. Hoping and sprinting.

Louder. Louder. Louder still, came his pursuers. The sounds of their rage had long since died out, replaced by a silent and cold fury he knew to be more dangerous by far.

He had barely a moment to dwell on the sensation before strong fingers closed around his shoulder, snagging his trailing shirt. The fabric was no match for a mystic’s strength, nor their momentum, tearing in an instant with barely enough resistance to slow Unity’s pace.

It was enough.

That any had grown near enough to touch him filled Unity with a new vigour, seeming to lighten his body by a stone as he redoubled his efforts. He stumbled for a heartbeat, righted himself, then all was lost to him behind the haze of his frenzied sprint.

He barely had thought enough to aim at the slate, and regretted bothering. It buzzed scarcely harder than it had before. Whichever approaching ally it detected was a long way off.

Too long to help him, in any case. Too long to be worthy of consideration.

One foot in front of another. Don’t think about them. Don’t think about anything, Goddess knows your legs need whatever energy you can spare.

It was no use. Another snag on his clothes led to another heart-freezing rip, but unlike the first Unity was given no reprieve. More hands seized him as he slowed, closing around flesh rather than cloth and pulling him from his feet swiftly enough to throw stars into his vision.

Unity thrashed in the grips, snarling as feral, panicked instincts took him and finding every muscle in his body moving to break the hangman’s noose.

It served him no more than it had the lusomorph, and like the great beast he was quickly stilled. A fist buried itself in his gut, squeezing the air from him and flooding his eyes with tears. Unity gasped, sudden emptiness threatening to swallow him as it grew.

His arms were released, yet Unity found his body still unmoved by its commands. Folding up reflexively from the hollowing blow.

“We should hurry up and leave.” A distant voice said. “We can’t get those points back, and beating contestants doesn’t yield anything. We’re better off focusing on-”

Another voice cut in, deeper. The boy’s. It was a relief to hear, at least, that the mystics were unaccustomed to violence. Righteous anger giving way the moment their quarry was caught.

“We’re better off putting this one down before he can make himself an obstacle later. Do you really think he’ll stop following just because we’ve caught him once?”

Unity tried to assure them that he would, but the words burned his throat like Taikan liquor, threatening to drag bile out in their wake. He fell silent, save for an undignified wheeze.

“Just knocking him out will work, right? Or do we need to go… further?”

There were few things Unity could remember wanting to do more than explain to the bumbling fools that depriving him of consciousness would be enough. Still, though, his pain-racked body betrayed him.

He looked up to see that none of the mystics even held him in their sights, all intently focused on one another instead. It filled him half with amazement, half with fury.

Fucking simpletons, all of them. They saw me tear a lusomorph’s spine in half and they’re still content to turn away from me. Do they think my speed alone indicates the threat I pose?

Whether simple or not, the mystics posed an unacceptable threat. Unity listened only partially to their conversation, dedicating the majority of his faculties to thinking of a way he might escape.

Surrounded on all sides, he found none. Only one scrap of hope was to be wrung from the situation, reminding Unity keenly of its presence with every second it spent tied around his wrist.

“Enough, we’re wasting time just by talking about this. I’ll do it.”

A shadow shifted across Unity as one of the people moved, a girl- tall and broad- raising her foot beside him. There was no hesitation in her eye, no uncertainty in her motions.

The sight filled his veins with fire, pouring cold lightning through his nerves.

Unity rolled as far as he was able, squaring a shoulder to crash into the legs of two other mystics. Shifting feet sent him rolling back, but Unity was already scrambling.

He flooded his hands with magic, splaying arms wide to trail forks of crimson lightning. Too weak to be damaging. The effect was immediate, sending his enemies stumbling backwards and giving him the reprieve he needed.

Scary ability once you’ve seen what it can do, eh?

Forcing himself to turn, Unity lurched in the direction he’d been running before- slate howling in approval.

Every step was slow, dragging through the sand and wasting precious momentum in the scraping of boot leather.

Ten paces separated them, closing to five in heartbeats. Closing to none scarcely after that. For the second time Unity was dragged to the ground, with no hesitant reprieve to be found like the first.

Before he even felt the desert’s touch, boots came down upon him. Unity covered up, tried desperately to make a shield of his arms, but his foes merely made lances of their legs.

Fucking cunts. All of them are fucking cunts.

Unity almost found it amusing that his disgust at the touch of their soles outshone the pain their impacts brought. It was a dim sensation. Blunt. Tolerable.

His enemies, the fools, were in one another’s way. All so eager to crush him underfoot that they pushed forth to do so, too inexperienced to realise they were robbing one another of the space needed to give their attacks any bite.

Agony flared in his shoulder as a particularly well-aimed, or fortunate, kick threatened to flip him almost completely over. Unity cried out despite himself, then cursed as the stamping gained a new energy to it.

They’d heard him, knew he’d felt pain. Smelled blood in the water. Without needing to even glance at one another, through the silent means all frantic, mobbing creatures seemed to possess, they’d moved in together like starved wolves.

He waited for a moment, steeling himself as the pain grew and the jolts became more targeted, then lashed out with a kick of his own. Heel met knee, throwing a startled yelp into the air.

Unity cursed to himself. He’d meant to break the joint entirely.

A boot caught him under the ribs, seizing his every muscle with a grip of agony. Trying to fight the reflex was folly, Unity couldn’t uncoil even a single limb. It was all he could do to bite down and keep himself from screaming at the skin-crawling sensation as it burrowed through him.

The mystics didn’t wait for his wits to return, they simply kept kicking. Unity barely managed to flip himself over in time to catch the boots on his back and shoulders rather than gut and face, but even there his fragile body strained under the onslaught.

Pain exploded behind each one, air driven from his lungs even as they fought to suck in more. Every motion he began was killed before it could truly start.

This is it then, he realised, thoughts clouded by the bludgeoning torture. Fragile in his own mind. I’ll be getting knocked out here. It could be worse, I suppose.

Even as he thought that, Unity found himself unable to imagine how. His enemies were weak mystics, relative to himself, and the angles from which they could strike him were scarcely better than before. His, he knew, would be a slow and painful defeat.

A fist crunched against Unity temple and scattered his thoughts, followed by an unseen blow to the back of his neck that dimmed the world and rang his ears.

He gasped, tasting sterile sand and iron blood. Waited for the strikes to continue.

Waited longer, only realising something was wrong when his scattered hearing grew coherent enough to register the sounds of a struggle ringing out from all sides around him.

Unity rose shakily, dizziness racking him just to lift his head from the ground. A smile replaced his grimace at the sight that met his eye. Mystics broken back from him, some lying prone and others barely standing under the onslaught of a blonde girl’s fists and an ebony luminar’s magic. All framed by the sudden, deafening silence of his slate. Reinforcements.

It had taken them long enough.

Chapter 20.0

Gem cursed as she flew, acrid words left far behind her by the shrieking winds. As high as she was, as fast as she was, the air still raked cold against her flesh. Even without physical enhancement, she barely felt it.

Rage gave warmth to Gem’s body, burning like a fire and circulating through it along her veins. She was almost grateful for the sensation.

The far end of the map. Far fucking end. Of all the places, all the hot-spots of opposition, they dump me in the stage’s armpit and give everyone else the chance to shine instead.

She tried to extinguish the flames of emotion, seeming only to breathe more life into them.

A thousand feet below, buildings and terrain shifted along like threads in a mill. Green fields, blue lakes and grim rocklands were wiped textureless and undiscernable by distance, rendered no more than coloured patches beneath her eye. Distinguished only by tint.

It was a sight to drop ice into the mental turmoil within, smoothing her temper and replacing fury with a more familiar, comforting sensation.

No other contestant could see what she did, Gem knew. Certainly none whose study of magic had yielded fruit in other areas.

True flight was fiendishly difficult, something even she had failed to master. To counter gravity so perfectly as to navigate the air with any precision was an achievement yet years in her future. She’d not wanted to wait that long.

Gem’s solution had been one of her own making. Clumsy and functional. She didn’t fly, certainly couldn’t move precisely. Merely turned Patais to bending gravity, then threw Cutaris-born energies behind her for additional propulsion. Falling, not flying, but falling in a direction of her choice.

It was close enough to impress, and impressive enough that Gem felt a small thrill whenever she revealed the talent in public.

With or without enemies to best, she was demonstrating her excellence to the world simply through how she traversed it. A smile crept across her face, then disappeared as the cold gale stung exposed teeth.

Gem tried to remember the size of the stage, finding the exact figure elusive. Leagues wide, she thought. Or perhaps square leagues in area. Whichever it was, she knew her journey would be no more than minutes.

From her height, she could already see the destination. A black spire protruding proud and straight, so great in scale as to be clearly visible in spite of the distance.

Crow stared up at the doorway before him, finding the prospect of continuing a frightful one.

Dark wood made the surface's bulk, rimmed with grey metal that seemed melted rather than riveted into place. Looking closely, he could see a crease where two sections met across the median line- double doors closed together. Towering two dozen feet high, they cut a fierce sight.

Realising he’d stood still and static for ten heartbeats, Crow forced himself to step forth. He pressed a hand to the door, pushing to make his way past and finding himself surprised at the great resistance its weight provided.

The wood made no noise as it shifted, defying Crow’s expectation of creaking joints and scattering dust before revealing the way onwards.

Light spilled into the building, banishing darkness from all but the corners. Crow took in the sight of grim stone and swirling debris for just a few moments before pressing forth. Time deemed more important than caution.

His footsteps echoed, sound announcing Crow’s presence as it disappeared into the spire’s bowels. More unnerving, almost, than the great doors swinging shut behind him.

Crow’s physical enhancement offered no boon to his sensory prowess, and there were few times in his life he’d regretted that fact half so much as he did when the curtains of shadow closed around him.

The darkness seemed to have substance, slowing his every step as though he were taking them through water rather than air. He felt shivers run down his spine, frantic worries sparking and dying in his thoughts like flashes of gunpowder meeting a flame.

It was impossible to tell how long he spent blind to the world, but by the time his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom his fear was enough to leave him close to tears with relief.

Even with widened pupils and a focused gaze, little caught his eye. Crow might have lost his courage and fled, were it not for the touch of his precognition.

Neramis and Manamis gave him steadiness, yet even that paled next to the surety that he’d be warned of any attacks.

Unless they’re too fast for me to react to. He thought, finding ice and fear as a reward. He moved on, battling his own cowardice with every step.

Just as it all seemed on the brink of being too much- the creeping silence, the obfuscating shadows, the thundering of his own heart- Crow saw a distant sight to give him hope. Light.

It beckoned to him from the gloom like a diamond among coal. Dim and feeble even in the darkness that surrounded it, yet more radiant to his eyes than a thousand suns. He hurried to answer the call, feet slipping and sliding on the moist stone below.

Crow reached the light in moments, soon seeing from where the glow came.

A wall lay before him, reaching from the corridor’s floor to its ceiling. As wide as the hall that housed it, and made of cracked, dying stone across every inch. One glance would have told Crow it was a dead end, were it not for the single crack he saw near its centre.

The crack from which his precious illumination spilled. A single stream, thin and fragile, yet filling his eyes all the same. Like a thing of magic.

Is this it? Am I at the end?

Crow felt himself casting a glance over his shoulder, suddenly aware he’d backed himself to a corner. Cautious of a trap. The corridor yielded no more detail to his eye than it had before, and Crow turned back to the damaged wall with nothing but a disquieting shiver.

No. It can’t be over, surely. This is another test. It must be…

He almost cursed himself aloud, stumbling on the obvious with his usual tardiness.

He rolled his shoulders, easing away their tension and adjusting his footing before releasing his precognition- eager to extend his stamina in the first stage’s wake.

Crow punched with every scrap of magical and physical strength he could muster, locking his body and pressing its entire weight behind the blow. The stone gave only so far as the falling of chipped fragments and spitting of dust.

Ignoring the ache of his fist, Crow struck again. Twice, thrice. Ten times he battered the stone, gritting his teeth at the sensation of rock turning aside his arm. Hand-sized chunks fell from it before long, spurring him on.

A dozen blows, then a dozen more. Crow had lost count of how many times he’d struck the stone when the cracks finally ran deep enough to spill free more light.

He redoubled his efforts, continuing to erode the rock one punch at a time.

Fractures spread, chips fell, dust began to drift from the score of widening gaps as though the obstacle were exhaling. Crow felt minutes slip by as he fell into a mindless rhythm. He hardly even noticed at first when his hand broke through the wall, meeting cool air on the other side.

He peered through the gap, finding his eye blocked by swirling debris. Crow struck at its outsides to widen the space.

It didn’t take long before he’d knocked and scraped away enough to add two hands’ width in all directions.

Eying the opening, he found himself given pause.

Cutaris writhed in his veins, a foaming ocean storm within the deathly calm of his surroundings. There was strength in the wildness, yet a great weakness too. The thought of finding tight walls about him made Crow sick.

He started forwards, forcing the convulsive shivers to stop as his nerves made their disquiet known.

The gap scraped him on all sides as he dragged himself through, snagging fabric and grinding jagged stone against his skin. Were it not for the magic toughening him, it would surely have drawn blood.

Crow landed in a heap, scrambling up and taking in the sights around him- aware of just how perfect an opportunity his entrance had presented for any attack.

None came, but he didn’t let himself relax. He swept a gaze across his surroundings, taking in as much as he could.

Stone made the bulk of what he saw, as with the hall, yet rather than dull and wet, it was dry and carefully chiselled. The curved walls, ceiling and floor all bore patterns, great sigils with no meaning Crow could grasp.

Torches burned in sconces, numerous enough to banish all shadow from the room and render it a sterile mirror of the hallway’s darkness. Air clear in spite of their smoke. Tentatively, he stepped further into the cylindrical chamber.

Something was wrong with it, Crow knew. An oddity subtle enough that it couldn’t be seen, only felt. It rekindled the adrenal fire of battle in his gut. A voice from nowhere nearly wrenched the heart from his chest with shock.

“I was wondering what that scraping was, thought a rat must have nested in the Alliance’s pretty little stage. Seems I was wrong, it’s only just arrived here.”

Crow turned, then turned again. He stared in all directions, scrutinising every corner of the chamber as he desperately searched for the speaker. It was a futile effort, the rounded walls seemed to cast every word at him from all sides at once.

“Oh look at you go. Not a particularly steadfast one, are we boy? Tell me, did you face nothing worse than a sourceless voice to get here?”

For a moment Crow thought he was shaking with terror, realising instead his slate had begun to prod his thoughts, almost buzzing. The knowledge of approaching help was of little comfort.

Comfort? I need comforting now? Whatever the pit’s speaking has a point, I have faced worse than it to get here.

“Tell me.” He called back, feeling wrathful defiance displace fear. “Why do you hide yourself away to taunt me? Have you faced nothing worse than a fifteen year-old boy?”

Laughter met his words, high and mocking. It touched him like a whisper against the back of his neck, urging him to spin and search yet more.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to goad if I were you, little rat. You already made the mistake of coming to challenge me. There’s no need to hasten your demise.”

Demise. Could I die here? Surely not.

“You’re wrong.” He snapped back. “I’m here to win. Whoever you are, whatever you are, you’re standing in my way. Hurry up and get out from wherever you’re hiding, because the more of my time you waste with talk, the harder I’ll find it to crush you fast enough to leave this stage with the reward.”

Crow found strength in his own words, turning his thoughts past the stage, past even the Sieve. He thought of Galad, thought of what he’d entered Udrebam to do, feeling fear driven from him by the certainty of his purpose.

More laughter, leaching the steel from Crow and sending a great trembling through him- this time undoubtedly real. Thrice as strong as that of his slate.

“Such words can be woven in times like this by two kinds of men. The truly brave and the truly stupid.”

“Care to find out which I am?” Crow snarled.

“Oh, you misunderstand me boy. You’re neither, for you are no man at all. Stupidity is to be expected in one so young as you.”

“Talk is cheap.”

Crow barely heard the low, whistling chuckle over the sound of his own heart.

“On that, at least, we can agree. Very well boy. Prepare yourself.”

Suddenly aware of what he’d done, Crow stumbled back to press himself against a wall as he tempered his nerves to meet whatever attack would come. Touching magic and weaving it to his precognition.

Seeing a thin, viscous cloud of green gas begin to seep into the room from all walls left him equal parts wary and uncertain.

He stared it, stilled by caution as he watched the gas shift. Billowing clouds began to convene on the room’s centre, and Crow’s eyes followed them every inch.

Like water drops joining on a washboard, the gas was drawn together. In moments it formed a single mass in the heart of the chamber, and in only moments more gravity seemed to take hold and drag it downwards.

It seeped through the stone as though it were cloth, disappearing from sight before Crow’s very eyes and leaving the chamber bare once more.

The floor cracked a second later, shifting and sprouting hair-thin fissures running arm-lengths across its face. Another sudden shift, the grinding of rock against rock, and the damage worsened.

Crow heard the third impact for what it was- a blow delivered from within the ground. By the sixth, he’d steeled himself for what was coming.

Stone split entirely on the seventh impact, and before the air had even cleared of debris his enemy lurched through it.

Of a man’s size and shape, it was clearly humanoid. Yet any more similarities Crow might have found were fragile indeed.

There was no flesh to pick up dust from the air, no eyes to be stung. No lungs to be choked as the creature rounded on him amid the coiling detritus. Crow saw only bones; thin and gnarled like branches, yellowed by age and grinding against one another with every move.

It was, he realised, a human skeleton. Like a diagram straight from a book.

Hollow sockets turned to him, empty and lifeless save for the arcane glow of green gas billowing within. Even eyeless, its gaze felt hard against him. Crow felt panic swell as it doubled, tripled and multiplied further with the emergence of yet more undead.

“Are you quite sure you don’t want to wait before we begin, boy?” Rang the voice. A dozen skeletal jaws shifted and moved in time with it, giving the illusion of speech even without the lips or tongues that made words possible. Their aged jaws clattered and creaked.

He tightened his hands into fists, readying himself.

“Stop toying with me.”