Dark Age Year 871
Twenty second day of the Third month
“Drive them back!” one of the villagers shouted as a small group of zombies started to swarm out of the southern gate of the village. Tharos, Cenric, and Rayner reached for their weapons and charged the incoming horde, accompanied by a small group of villagers who had woken from their beds to join them. As they rushed towards the zombies, Tharos instructed the villagers forming behind him, “When fighting undead, aim for the head or chest.” The villagers nodded in agreement and joined the charge. Swords, axes, spears, clubs, and maces made quick work of the undead creatures, cutting and smashing through them like cattle. After several minutes of intense fighting in the heavy rain and sloshing through the mud, the second group of zombies was defeated. Nico, wearing a loose-fitting night robe and mud-covered shoes, hurriedly approached the group. “Is everyone alright?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. Tharos surveyed the group. Aside from a few cuts and scrapes, and being covered in a thin layer of blood and mud that was slowly being washed away by the heavy rain, everyone seemed to be fine.
“Everyone seems fine for now, Nico. I think everyone should get back inside. We don’t know if there will be any more of them.”
“Understood,” Nico said, gesturing for people to return to their homes. But as he was about to do so, several more loud screams were heard through the falling rain. Tharos, Cenric, and Rayner, along with the group of villagers, rushed to the sounds of the screaming, and that’s when they saw more of them, more undead.
It was shaping up to be one of those nights, a night where things didn’t go as planned. Tharos should have expected this. The thought of an attack on the village had crossed his mind, and he sensed danger approaching Aurelia Silva. However, he didn’t anticipate it happening so soon; he thought they had more time. Time to prepare, investigate, and fortify the village. But the threat arrived sooner than he had imagined. While his intuition was correct, he didn’t take pleasure in being right in such dire circumstances. Who would, really? There is a certain satisfaction in being right, a sense of certainty in facing life’s challenges. It’s a confidence that remains unshaken, no matter what obstacles come your way. Despite his proactive measures and efforts to address the threat and mitigate the damage, he couldn’t always prevent the worst outcomes. Despite his proficiency with a blade, his foresight, and planning, there were times when it simply wasn’t enough. This harsh reality was a lesson he had learned repeatedly in his youth, with the most poignant example being his inability to protect his people, the empire, and those closest to his heart when they needed him the most. However, in this new era, he could begin anew.
However, the situation had a rough start. The zombies that attacked the village were just the first wave, as Tharos had suspected. It was a coordinated attack, with one wave advancing from the north gate and another from the south. The necromancer behind this assault showed some tactical understanding. Despite being armed with farm tools and improvised weapons, the three of them, along with some villagers who had joined to defend their homes and families, managed to push back the initial group of zombies.
With the assistance of the villagers, they managed to handle the zombies effectively. However, they were caught off guard by the subsequent horde of undead that emerged from the north gate. Skeletal warriors, wearing rusting or greying armour and shields adorned with faded heraldry whose meanings had been lost to time, wielding blunt blades and spiked bludgeons. Some rode on decaying or skeletal horses armed with lances, along with more zombies and flesh golems. Flesh golems where creatures created by using the flesh of both living and dead creatures alike, and no single flesh golem was the same, as unique as the person who made them. These flesh golem were lean and limber, standing maybe around five feet in height. They were armed with sharp needle-like claws and a bony sharp tail.
There were hundreds of these creatures in total, and while Rayner, Cenric, and he were able to hold their own, the same couldn’t be said for the villagers. Most of the villagers who stood their ground and didn’t run in terror were quickly cut down to the muddy ground. The unfeeling and cold undead, made of rotting bone and flesh, marched forward fueled by dark magic. Heads were split open, limbs butchered, bodies battered, and those not killed immediately found themselves drowning in the mud as the rain and bodies fell upon them in the crush.
As the battle in the village raged on, seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. Tharos found himself wounded and separated not only from his companions but also from the villagers who were now fighting the undead horde with unmatched ferocity and desperation. The primal instinct of the human animal was on full display, emerging in the most desperate times when Civilization’s comfort was unavailable. Tharos watched in awe as his wounds healed as quickly as they were inflicted.
Perhaps Rayner’s and my assessment of their combat prowess was grossly underestimated. There was a unique strength that people exhibited when defending what they cherished most, be it their home, family, or even their ideals. Tharos had nearly forgotten this quality. Despite their lack of combat prowess, he viewed them as mere novices compared to his expertise with a blade. Nevertheless, he admired their courage, as many would flee rather than confront a threat head-on.
After dispatching more undead creatures with a swift swing of his blade, Tharos turned to see Cenric and Rayner surrounded by a thick formation of undead, similar to his own situation. Rayner was efficiently dispatching his foes with powerful sweeps of his axe, showcasing his brutal and relentless fighting style. The undead, driven by base instincts or the commands of their masters, were no match for Rayner’s ferocity. They were mere sheep facing a hungry wolf, easily torn apart by his savage attacks. Meanwhile, Cenric was locked in a fierce battle with a skeletal warrior armed with a rusting bastard sword of unknown make, managing to parry its strikes in a rather clumsy manner that left him vulnerable and off balance. Luckily for him, his undead foe wasn’t taking advantage of his vulnerability, but a new one was about to. Tharos quickly noticed a flesh golem heading towards Cenric and swiftly moved to intercept, cutting down more undead to clear a path to his companions. Tharos shouted, “Cenric, watch out on your left!” He swiftly swung his sword, cutting a flesh golem in half with one strike just as it was about to attack Cenric from the side with its elongated claws. Cenric, unaware of the danger, had his back turned.
“Thank you,” Cenric replied before swiftly moving away and using his axe to smash open the warrior’s head, causing magical energy to leak out like a black mist. Tharos couldn’t help but feel pleased at this display. Although he still had some ways to go, he was showing signs of improvement. It looks like the training is paying off.
As they both stood there looking at each other for a brief moment, they heard a voice in front of them, “Get out of the way or duck!” Rayner shouted as they both jumped and quickly dodged out of the way. A massive great axe swung above their heads in a wide arc, crashing into a large group of flesh golems about to attack them from behind. The three of them stood back to back, engulfed in a chaotic battle with axes and swords swinging. They were surrounded by death as villagers and undead swirled around them. Even though they were closely packed, they didn’t have much time to talk, other than saying “On your left” or “On your right,” but at least they knew that either one of them was still alive and breathing. It was a whirlwind of sounds and smells—the air filled with the stench of rotting flesh, muddy rain, fear, adrenaline, and the thrill of being alive, knowing their lives hung by a thread as they fought off death. The clash of metal on metal, villagers’ cries, and the squelching of mud underfoot were drowned out by the heavy rain. Tharos heard shouting and turned to see the village elder, Nico, standing at a distance but within earshot. Nico, in his nightwear and a hastily assembled thick tunic to shield from the rain, spoke with a surprisingly loud and commanding voice despite his advanced age.
“Quick, everyone, to the village hall!” he shouted, leading the way himself.
Not a bad idea. Tharos thought to himself. It would be easier to fend off the undead creatures from a defensive position, such as a large building. Tharos swiftly communicated his battle plan to Cenric and Rayner, who both nodded in agreement. Tharos and Cenric would advance towards the village hall, while Rayner would provide cover for their rear.
As they pushed through the mud and past the corpses, old or freshly made, the three of them managed to break through the horde of undead after swinging their axes and swords for several minutes. While running, he heard someone shouting for help. “Help me,” the voice cried in panic. One of the villagers had fallen over and was getting stuck in the mud, about to be swarmed by undead. Tharos glanced at him for a moment, then with a tinge of sadness, looked away and turned his back on the villager, heading toward the large building. He didn’t spare time to save this random villager, and to be honest, he didn’t feel much of a need to help. One single life was insignificant compared to the hundreds of lives hanging in the balance.
As he did so, he caught a golden flash out of the corner of his eye. It was Cenric who rushed over and quickly grabbed the villager out of the mud. “We’ve got to go,” Cenric said to the villager, pulling him in the direction of the other fleeing villagers, with the undead horde closely behind them. Tharos couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for Cenric’s bold act of heroism, while also thinking it was a bit reckless. However, the fine line between bravery and stupidity was always thin, so who was he to judge.
Upon reaching the village hall, several villagers gestured for them to enter. As they did, the door was slammed shut, and the people began to barricade it with whatever they could find. Taking a moment to assess the breach, he looked around the hall and saw a crowd of people, many in their nightwear, splattered with blood, all with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Even outside, he sensed the fear of the villagers barricaded in their homes. He could feel the flickering life force of people, some already gone, and the undead slowly closing in on them.
After watching people catch their breaths, Tharos stood there like he was as fresh as a daisy. Amid the thin layer of blood, mud, and whatever else fell upon them in the chaotic melee, he surveyed his companions. Both were covered in mud and blood, with Cenric sporting a few scratches. The loud crashing and banging at the hall’s door signalled the imminent threat of the undead breaking through. Nico was rallying the frightened group, issuing orders to the able-bodied men. Tharos followed suit, his companions ready and willing. Rayner’s wide smile betrayed his enjoyment of the chaos, while Cenric, though attempting to conceal it, showed signs of fear in his gentle green eyes. His pensive expression exuded a quiet dignity that captivated onlookers, a quality that could make women swoon when viewed in the right light and angle.
As they prepared themselves, the crashing and banging sounds from the hall’s doors grew louder, resembling rolling waves and crashing thunder. Thud, thud, crash, thud, crash, and then a loud scraping noise could be heard. The undead started pounding and shrieking on the doors, causing them to bend and crack. The tension in the air was palpable. Tharos tightened his grip on his sword, anticipating the final push from the undead to break in. Many men of the village stood beside them, readying their weapons, while the children, elderly, and womenfolk took cover behind them. Suddenly, the noises stopped, and silence fell upon the room. Tharos listened intently and heard shuffling noises fading away from the door. As he concentrated, he sensed the undead moving farther from the village. Had they won? Was it a feigned retreat, or did the necromancer decide to regroup with more undead creatures for another attack later? A few tense minutes passed. As everyone in the hall assessed the situation, Tharos heard Nico’s voice call out, “Is it over?”
“I’m not sure,” Tharos replied, motioning for Rayner to clear the barricades as he headed towards the door. The hallway doors creaked open slowly. Peeking through the cracks, Tharos saw a rather shocking scene: numerous bodies, some undead and others villagers, were scattered about like a battle had just taken place. In fact, it was hard to tell if some of the bodies were random villagers so mutilated in the fighting or some of the more recent undead. Tharos sighed deeply as he opened the door wider with Rayner and Cedric following up behind him, he quickly realised he was going to have his work cut out for him once again.
