It is time for another chapter of Medieval Cohesion, and this time, it involves the second half and the conclusion to my escape from Jibanon. You know - it is strange how things work out sometimes. When you face the darkest hour of your life, the support might come from the most unthinkable places. You'll see what I mean once you have read this chapter. As always, I hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. And please - do leave a comment! ♥

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Chapter 62 – Undead Diversion

Our escape was finally at hand and there was no time to waste. Zephyr’s condition was getting worse by every passing minute, leaving me convinced that we’d have to get out of this hostile environment before he lost consciousness. I offered him my shoulder for support, but Zephyr stubbornly insisted on handling himself, even though he was barely strong enough to stand up straight. The escape through the gloomy corridors of the prison went smooth but slow. I attempted to stay in front of Zephyr at all times, acknowledging myself as the less vulnerable of us at the time. My heart was pounding so wildly and out of rhythm that I could almost see my chest vibrate. It had been consumed by fear. I didn’t trust that all the guards were left occupied by the rowdy criminals having gone on the rampage. Judged by his degraded condition, it was to be expected that Zephyr wouldn’t be able to survive another hostile encounter with an enemy capable of focusing his attacks on him. He had succumbed so much to his wounds already that it wouldn’t even take a skilled or experienced enemy to take him down, and there was little I could do to assist him in combat. I was still left unarmed and my spiritual magic had no effect on the living. Zephyr informed me that he had already found the exit, so he was directing me while I attempted to keep him in the back. Every time we passed through a corner leading us into a new corridor, I expected enemies to leap out of the shadows to strike. But all we found were heaps of fallen guards and criminals, assumedly having been killed in a fight that took place less than half an hour ago. It was impossible to predict which side came out victorious, and the survivors were nowhere to be seen. I heard series of rough coughs and Zephyr suddenly dropped down onto his knee behind me. Instinctively, I reacted by immediately rushing to his aid and helping him back up. The hand he covered his mouth with was stained by dark blood. His eyes flickered, unable to focus. The cuts on his chest were really deep. I really hoped that he didn’t suffer from a punctured lung or similar internal injuries. Holding tightly onto him, I shook him lightly to have him snap out of it and remain conscious.

Sinqularis: Hey! Stay with me, Zephyr. Can you hear me? Talk to me!
Zephyr: Calm down, I’m here. I’m here…
Sinqularis: You really startled me there. Do you need us to take a break?
Zephyr: No, we… must keep going. There is…
Sinqularis: Shush! I think someone is coming.
Zephyr: You’re right, I hear it too. Step aside; I’ll deal with it,
Sinqularis: Oh no, you won’t! Not in that condition. You’ll leave that to me.

The wounded fruit bat snorted in disappointment but obeyed, keeping himself out of harm’s way. Even on the verge of death, he’d leap right back into the fray if I didn’t force him to consider discretion. I sensed motion behind the wooden door along the western wall. The doorknob turned slowly. My ears caught the sound of a rattling chainmail on the other side. It had to be another one of those bothersome guards scheming to interfere with our escape. The entire situation escalated over a matter of seconds, so there was little time for consideration. I didn’t exactly have a plan for how to confront this approaching enemy, nor would I have had any clue about how to deal with it if he had brought company. It sounded like a lone guard similar to the repulsive one that Zephyr just killed, but I could be mistaken. I pressed my back against the wall next to the door, keeping myself out of sight to reap the benefit of surprise. There wasn’t much else available to offer me an advantage during this encounter. I glanced towards Zephyr to ensure that he kept his unspoken promise of not meddling, but he was clearly prepared to support me if the situation got out of hand. His eyes revealed that he didn’t have much faith in me handling this by myself. The door finally swung open. It felt like I had a thick lump in my throat that was nearly impossible to swallow. It was now or never. Without leaving time to gain eye contact with my foe, I made my presence known by stepping in front of the approaching guard, to take initiative and attack before he’d know what hit him. It was quickly proven that the guard didn’t anticipate my attack at all, because when I raised my fist to unleash a punch, my knuckle connected with his jaw and knocked him down effectively. This one was a lot smaller and easier to topple than the last one. But before making my next move to finish my opponent off, I glanced over the fallen man and grit my teeth in embarrassment, as I stared into the eyes of a familiar face. The target for my assault was no other than Paul Drakemyre, and he did not seem pleased by the unexpected punch to the face. He sat up and grabbed onto his own jaw, massaging it gently as if he was making sure that it hadn’t become disjointed.

Sinqularis: Oh no…
Paul: Well, I’m happy to see you too.
Sinqularis: Please forgive me. I thought you were one of the guards!
Paul: Don’t worry about it. I know far too many who would’ve punched me on purpose. You are stronger than you look.
Sinqularis: Even a shaman like me would benefit from having acquired at least some physical prowess, or I’d never be able to discipline the young sprouts of my tribe when they get rowdy. Here, take my hand.

As a friendly attempt to compensate for my earlier mistake, I reached a hand out and helped Paul back up on his feet. Zephyr slowly emerged from the shadows.

Paul: Blimey! Have you singlehandedly been taking on the demonic armies of Kalibarr during my absence? You look like a mess.
Zephyr: No. I was just left in the hands of a very sadistic interrogator.
Paul: You need help. Here, let me offer you my shoulder…
Zephyr: I can walk on my own.
Paul: That is crazy talk. Come on, I…
Zephyr: Touch me, and you’ll have two blind eyes.
Paul: Bah! That dignity of yours will be the death of you one day. But have it your way. Have any of you guys seen Wesley?
Sinqularis: Not yet. I escaped from my cell just a moment ago.
Zephyr: Yep. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be standing here now. He used his remaining energy to heal my wounds and draw me out of a critical condition.
Paul: Splendid! So he is still alive. Where’d he go?
Zephyr: He, Raksasha and Gary escaped the prison. I decided to postpone my own retreat and come back for the shaman. That is all I know.
Paul: Gary!? Surely you jest. I thought we finally got rid of that pest for good. Once I get my hands on him, I’ll have his ugly mug mounted on my wall.
Zephyr: He helped Wesley escape.
Paul: Good gracious, poor soul. It seems like the injuries are getting to your head. We’d better find a way out of here and bring you somewhere safe.
Zephyr: Actually, I…
Sinqularis: Agreed. We’ve already wasted enough time as it is. Let’s get out of here while we still can. Zephyr, you found the exit. Please direct us.
Zephyr: Chéz, ashka ba…

The battered fruit bat raised his arm and pointed down the corridor that we were about to traverse, before Paul appeared and interrupted our escape. As the only armed warrior in good health, our newly found companion volunteered to take the lead with his flail in hand, keeping Zephyr and I in the back for support. Despite the risk of running into more trouble during our escape, I felt a sensation of relief, knowing that we had a versatile fighter to protect not only me but also my dying guardian. But even though I didn’t comment or question it, I did notice that Zephyr had begun slipping back to speaking his native tongue. This really concerned me, because even though he was an introverted type who’d keep thoughts and feelings to himself, I had known him for so long that he had become transparent to me. I had taught myself to decipher the pattern of his behavior. He was clearly yearning to get out of this so-called sophisticated kingdom and return to the harmonic forests of Niévahna. Who could blame him? His first experiences made in this new and foreign environment have left nothing to be desired. All he can relate to this dark world outside our home is pain, torture and suppression. Now that I had witnessed what cruelty these people are capable of, even I were tempted to just bring Zephyr home and never set foot outside our forest again. But despite of this horrifying occurrence, we’d have to keep our primary goal with this journey in mind and overcome the challenge of not judging the entire kingdom on whichever atrocities Jibanon is responsible for. In order to resist these deceptive assumptions manifesting in my mind, I thought about Wesley and even Paul. They were both loyal and devoted to this daunting kingdom, but noble at heart, and willing to risk their lives for the greater good. There had got to be more decent people like them out there, even if Jibanon wasn’t the most convenient place to represent the kingdom. My motivation to persevere depended on that theory. I could only hope that Zephyr was clinging on to the same conviction, because this journey had taught me that without him, I wouldn’t have come this far.

With Zephyr’s guidance, it didn’t take long for us to navigate through the various corridors and make our way to the exit. We did not encounter any more enemies. Everyone left behind in the corridors of the prison was dead, and judged by the vulgar wounds and hideous stains of blood on the walls, the battle had been fierce. Most of the corpses lining the floor were of escaped convicts who had been fighting towards their freedom with anything that could be used as a weapon, but it seemed like they had overwhelmed the guards by numbers, so that the few survivors could flee into the city through a dense massacre. But once we left the prison and stepped out into the open, we plunged into an unexpected chaos that greatly surpassed the events taking place in the prison. It seemed like Jibanon was under attack – not by the escaped convicts, but by undead minions. Guards and armored soldiers had gathered in the streets to protect the defenseless citizen against the dark forces of death. Some buildings were lit on fire. A woman was screaming in the distance, panicking, crying out for help. The amount of skeletal units having infiltrated the city was surprisingly small, and even if they were solid fighters in battle, I would’ve expected many more to be present if this was an attack initiated by the dark emperor. A sense of intuition made me suspect that things were not like they seemed. You’d expect that the city would be invaded by a foul reek of death with those undead lingering in the streets, but that was not the case. My theory was that the undead had been raised from corpses so old that the process of decomposition had been finished long ago. But where would any necromantic individual find skeletal remains that had been left undisturbed for so long? I wasn’t left to my speculation for long before the answer was coincidentally delivered by fate. The three of us had cautiously advanced into the city and a minor squad of guards passed us by. They were far too occupied to be any problem for us and they were seemingly rushing towards a vulnerable part of the city that was being breached by the undead. Although they showed no hostility towards us, we pulled off a vague attempt to remain hidden in the shadows, to avoid having attention drawn towards us. The captain of the small squad yelled out to his men.

Captain: Quick! The monstrosities are pouring out of the cemetery!
Guards: Yes sir!

Sinqularis: So that is where they are coming from. But who is responsible for this? I don’t see any necromancers around. They must be manipulated by someone…
Zephyr: Who cares? We can use this to our advantage.
Paul: Exactly. This is the perfect diversion to secure our escape. Let’s keep moving!

It was not unusual to interpret me as a liability during stressful events, because my mind was prone to be distracted by a desire to grasp the full context of the situation before moving on. This delayed my natural reaction to danger, yet I had no choice but to follow the pace to avoid falling behind. We snuck through the streets affected by the mayhem of battle, doing our best to stay out of the fray and avoid being absorbed into the dramatic conflict, which turned out to be a lot easier than I had anticipated. The guards were trapped in combat with the undead forces, and for unknown reasons, the undead showed absolutely no interest in attacking us at all. During the confusion and chaos, we were briefly drawn into a smaller crowd of skeletal menaces that passed us by on both sides, but neither of them left as much as a scratch behind on us. Perhaps they had identified us as a low threat compared to the guards enforcing the defense of the city, but it seemed uncommon for such hideous spawns of darkness to coordinate their assaults so strategically. Undead minions are like puppets guided by their master’s intentions, and with a malevolent necromancer hiding in the shadows to pull the invisible strings, you’d expect the minions to murder everything in sight. There was a noticeable deviation in the undead behavior and it bothered me immensely that I couldn’t determine the reason behind this fractured pattern. The citizens had fled into their humble residences, barricading the doors as crude attempts to protect their own families. It was somewhat thought provoking to watch. They refer to us as “savages”, primitive beings of the wild. But once the alarms go off and everyone is overwhelmed by fear, we all take shape of frightened animals that flee from the source of danger. Even the most sophisticated nobleman submits himself to his ancient instinct of survival, marking it as the primary priority to save his own hide. But once this mist of peril has been lifted, this behavior will be wiped from everyone’s memory and they’ll enter a state of denial - Pathetic and predictable. However, the undead did not express any hostility towards the unarmed citizens, nor did they barge into the rickety houses where they were hiding. Their attacks were focused on the opposing guards, and once a guard had become wounded or somehow unable to fight, the undead left them alone and directed their attention towards someone else. If I didn’t know better, then I would’ve thought that the undead was intentionally attempting to minimize the amount of casualties and avoid delivering fatal blows. But that didn’t make any sense when you compared it to the undead raids that had taken place in the past. What was the purpose behind this commotion?

The intense pondering was starting to give me a headache, and I really didn’t need any other obstacles capable of reducing my concentration. So I forced myself to forget about it for the moment and join the others in focusing on our escape. Staying closely behind Paul and Zephyr, we plunged into what looked like the central square of Jibanon. There were visible traces of a massive battle having been fought in this location and shoddy tools used for farming were scattered on the ground. This gave me the impression that the peasants might’ve found the courage to challenge the opposing forces in combat by using their primitive tools as weapons. But since the central square was relatively clear of dead bodies and very little blood had been spilled, the peasants had probably been intimidated and seized the opportunity to retreat. Back when we were captured in the field, the guards confiscated the silly stick that I had picked up to replace my broken staff, so I was once again unarmed in the storm of jeopardy. This was becoming an issue since our most threatening adversaries in this area were among the living, and thus, completely immune to my spiritual magic. I needed improved methods of protecting myself, in case if the guards struggling to keep the city safe would attempt to kill or capture us again. But the halberd dropped by the chubby guard inside the prison was much too heavy for me. All those swords, halberds, maces and similar metallic weapons produced in this kingdom were nearly impossible for me to use efficiently. But while Paul and Zephyr were distracted by something else, I kneeled down and grabbed onto the shaft of what I believe the farmers called a “hoe”, a strange tool with dry dirt attached to the metallic piece on the tip. It was clearly not intended for combat, but it was light to swing and kinda resembled a staff. Let’s face it; I was stuck with a severe shortage of options here. Zephyr looked over his shoulder to ensure that I wasn’t falling behind and saw me trying out a few swings and thrusts with my newfound weapon. He just sighed, rolled his eyes and shook his head resignedly at my recurring foolishness.

Very faint footsteps echoed throughout the central square of Jibanon. A heavily wounded individual limbed out of the shadows, with the light of flames reflecting in the dented plates on his chest. The noble attire and torn cape dragged across the streets behind him suggested that he was a unit of high rank, but his armor was wrecked in the heat of battle and his hand clutched onto the hilt of a rapier with a bended blade. He approached the center of the square, possibly yearning for the opportunity to sit down, without having acknowledged our presence at all. We could easily have avoided a conflict with this man being down on his luck, but once he stepped into the light and had his face illuminated by the flames of the houses burning nearby, Zephyr growled and exposed his long fangs. Once I took a closer look at this individual myself, I instantly understood why. It was Edward, that obnoxious commander that captured us in the field. But by the looks of it, he had been exposed to ruthless punishment since the last time we laid eyes on him. Zephyr’s growl drew his attention towards us, causing the bruised commander to release a nervous gasp and face us with his broken blade raised. He was afraid and by no means in condition to fight, but Paul had already placed himself in position to attack, letting the spiked ball of his flail swing gently back and forth to intimidate his foe. Zephyr placed his strong hand on the feisty rabbit’s plated shoulder and shoved him forcefully into the background, stepping forth to approach the wounded commander himself. Paul and I were both eager to keep the injured fruit bat far away from combat, but I knew from experience that it could be potentially dangerous to get in the way of Zephyr when he was possessed by bloodlust. Edward was sagging pathetically as the fruit bat approached him, succumbing to a combination of pain and fear. I was convinced that the injured weasel clad by dented plates had witnessed the last sunrise of his life that night. Zephyr’s injuries were far worse than his, but the commander was in no shape to evade the attack of a long spear aimed at his heart. And yet, once he pulled off a desperate and rather uncoordinated attack at Zephyr, the fruit bat decided to use his free hand to bash the rapier out of Edward’s hand, disarming his foe with ease. Startled by his own vulnerability, the commander turned around and attempted to escape, but Zephyr was quick to grab his torn cape and reel him right back. Paul and I watched from afar as Zephyr grappled the unarmed weasel from behind and held him tight, having one arm pressed against his throat to obstruct his airways. Edward grabbed onto the strong arm choking him, but to no avail.

Edward: A-argh! You putrid animal… stop touching me!
Zephyr: Now why would I want to do that?
Edward: I’m getting your filthy blood all over my attire…Ugh! The stench of beast will never come off. Release me, or I’ll call the guards!
Zephyr: Feel free to do so. I dare you. Your neck would be snapped like a twig before you managed to utter a single shout.
Edward: I hope the dark emperor will rip every piece of meat off your bones when his undead forces capture you…
Zephyr: Oh, like you gave the interrogator permission to do back at the prison? As you can see, he didn’t neglect himself to seize such opportune indulgence.
Edward: You should be dead by now. I told him to slash your throat or arteries once he was done. You should be dead!
Zephyr: Well, I am not, at least not yet. But you have worse things to concern yourself about right now, because I need information and I want it now. Wesley, Gary and Raksasha… where did they head off to? Tell me.
Edward: Bah, sod off. I’m not telling you anything.
Zephyr: Oh yes, you ARE!

The commander released a muffled whine when Zephyr suddenly tightened the grab around his neck, pressing his arm into the frightened weasel’s throat. A grimace of discomfort invaded my face when the strangulation brought forth a disturbing crackling noise, causing me to suspect that Zephyr was carried away and snapped the commander’s neck prematurely. I found myself wondering, did he really care about the information or did he just look for an excuse to prolong the torture of Edward?

Edward: There is… nothing you can do… even if I told you…
Zephyr: I’ll be the judge of that. Now spit it out, you twit!
Edward: They…were last spotted outside Jibanon. Scouts reported that they fled along the coast. I send a squad of soldiers out to annihilate them.
Sinqularis: They’re looking for a way to access the sea.
Paul: Without us!?
Sinqularis: There was no time to regroup.
Edward: Whatever you say, savage. This conversation bores me tremendously. I’ve told you everything I know, so I order you to release me!
Zephyr: You “order”? How amusing. The only mercy I owe you is a swift death at best. But unlike you, I am not a heartless cur. Go on, twit. You are free. Don’t make me regret it.

Despite of all the torment that Edward had forced on Zephyr back in the prison, the severely wounded fruit bat took us all by surprise by releasing the commander and sparing his life. His grab around the weasel’s neck loosened up and he pushed him away, causing Edward to stumble forward and almost lose his balance. Edward wheezed loudly and attempted to breath with his violated airways slowly becoming functional again. The three of us turned our back towards the commander and planned to leave the central square, continuing our search for a way out. But we didn’t even manage to leave the area before Zephyr’s act of mercy was proven to be unrewarded. We heard a high pitched shout from behind, quivering with desperation.

Edward: G-guaaaaaards!
Paul: Okay, that was the last straw. Can I kill him now?
Sinqularis: Too late. Look!

A group of guards roaming the nearby streets had heard his call and rushed to Edward’s aid, entering the central square from all directions and regrouping around their wounded commander. Zephyr snorted contemptuously. The guards kept pouring into the area until there were far too many for our little group to deal with. But neither of us was surprised by this turn of event. The only reason why I didn’t feel intimidated by this situation was because the guards seemed to make it their main priority to protect their commander rather than blocking our potential escape routes, and there was a dark alley right behind us that we could easily use to outrun a squad of heavily armored guards. But once the three of us turned around towards this alley to initiate our retreat, we found the path blocked by a band of skeletal menaces with tattered clothes attached to their bony remains. They approached us slowly from the dark alley with rusted weapons in hand. Edward ordered his men to advance, and they managed to capture us in a dreadful pincer attack. We were trapped between the armed guards and the accursed undead! It’d take more than brawn and a dash of luck to get us through this predicament. The three of us raised our weapons and prepared our bodies and minds for battle, despite that the odds were greatly against us. It didn’t take an enlightened sage to predict that we’d get squashed like bugs and then a battle to the death would erupt between the guards and forces of undead. Zephyr and I faced towards the undead approaching us from the alley while Paul covered our backs by keeping an eye on the armored guards. But even during this moment where the situation seemed pretty grim, it was soon revealed that the worst had yet to come. The three of us heard the deafening sound of heavy metal being dragged across the street. By the looks of it, Edward’s guards were quite unnerved by this intimidating noise as well. I sensed motion behind the band of undead and caught a glimpse of a unit wearing a winged helmet. The group of undead slowly stepped aside and offered space for what seemed like the only armored skeleton in the bunch. He was somewhat taller than the others, and judged by the size of his rusty plate mail, he used to be quite a muscular individual. Once this conspicuous menace stepped out into the open, the source of the noise mentioned before suddenly became apparent, as he was burdened by dragging a gigantic sword behind him that seemed unrealistic for his skeletal form to swing. A shaken and stuttering voice was heard from behind me.

Edward: This is… This can’t be. D-Duke Harlow! But… he is…
Guard: Your orders, Sire?
Edward: There is no other way. Don’t let your actions be swayed by emotions, men. This is not the fine gentleman that you used to know. What you see is nothing more than a lifeless puppet manipulated by one of Zervas’ agents. Strike and kill with no remorse. Destroy those abominations and bring their souls to rest!

From what I could tell, Edward and the guards recognized this skeletal champion as someone they had known in life, and he was seemingly a person of great import. None of this mattered to us; our only concern was to get out of the way before we became crushed between these opposing forces. Despite of Duke Harlow’s ominous presence, I determined that we’d have the highest rate of success by fighting our way through the bunch of undead because of them being fewer in numbers. Having signaled for the others to follow my lead and back me up, I held onto the wooden shaft of the shoddy hoe that I picked up earlier, darting into the fray at high speed. None of the undead units seemed intimidated or in any way affected by my sudden attack, especially not Duke Harlow himself who was chosen as my target. Most of the undead units seemed like common citizens having been raised from their graves, which made the Duke himself a far superior adversary, who should be taken down quick and efficiently before he had the chance to raise that terrifying behemoth of a sword. I spun around with my entire body and swung the hoe in a circular motion, with the intention of bashing the Duke from the right with all my might. If only I could separate him from his oversized blade, he should be considerably less challenging for Zephyr or Paul to finish off. Unfortunately, the old walking corpse was much faster than I had anticipated. He raised his free hand and grabbed the shaft of my hoe before it was able to land a hit, stopping my attack instantly. His skeletal fist clenched around the wooden shaft and held it tight, and no matter how hard I tried to pull it out of his grasp, my efforts were futile. I looked into his empty eye sockets, staring directly into the infernal glow found where his eyeballs used to be. He seemed surprisingly calm and placid. Instead of retaliating or taking advantage of my inability to protect myself, he shook his head slowly, as if trying to say that my expressed hostility was uncalled for. Once he sensed that I had calmed down, he released the hoe from his grasp and let me reclaim my weapon. There was no end to my confusion at that point, but if this mysterious group of undead had no interest in fighting us, then I saw no reason to challenge them. Duke Harlow raised his skeletal hand and made a strained attempt of pointing down a dark alley to the east, his exposed bones rattling with every motion. My eyes curiously followed his guidance. By the end of that particular alley, the city wall had been torn down, providing us with a potential escape route. The wall might’ve been damaged during a past raid of undead forces and the citizens of Jibanon had neglected to repair it until now.

Paul: Can anyone tell me what the heck is going on here?
Sinqularis: I think he wants us to escape.
Paul: Yeah, right! They’ll strike us down from behind as we go.
Sinqularis: He could’ve killed me easily right here and now, but he didn’t.
Paul: That may be, but I’m not convinced that they can be trusted just like that.
Zephyr: Oh, for goodness sake. Shut up and MOVE!

Zephyr raised his foot and used it to shove Paul forcefully down the dark alley, refusing to let the skeptic and rebellious rabbit delay us any further. I followed closely behind. Edward noticed that we were about to exploit this convenient opportunity to escape the city, and in fear of losing control of the situation, he instantly changed his sense of priority. His men were ordered to capture us before destroying the band of undead, but once the armored guards had the chance to chase us down the alley, the unthinkable happened. Duke Harlow raised the giant sword and rested it on his plated shoulder, sagging as if he carried the heaviest burden of the world. Then he charged fearlessly into the fray and blocked the guards attempting to catch us, swinging the humongous blade over his head and slamming it into the ground. The ground shattered underneath the powerful sword and cracks arched across the street, forcing the targeted guards to throw themselves out of harm’s way before being crushed by Harlow’s sudden attack. The toppled guards slowly recovered and regrouped, but once they were ready to retaliate, the lesser undead units had gathered around Duke Harlow to back him up. Their undead hands clutched onto crude weapons that were in far worse shape than what Edward’s men brought into battle, and some of the walking corpses were so heavily degraded by decay that they wouldn’t be able to withstand a single blow. But regardless of the odds being against them, the undead insisted on holding Edward’s forces back as long as they could manage, knowing only too well that it’d lead to their own demise. But why? That question still lingered in the back of my mind as I climbed the rubble of the broken wall, only seconds away from claiming my freedom. The battle had begun in the alley and the zeal of the undead didn’t decrease no matter how many of them were struck down. The confusion left me unable to tell friend from foe for a brief moment. But then while climbing the rubble and trying my best not to lose my foothold, I looked over my shoulder and fixed my eyes on a shadowy figure standing on the roof of a nearby house, observing the battle from above. His body was obscured by the darkness, but the unholy glowing light in his eye sockets revealed that he was among the dead, possibly the necromancer or lich behind this raid of undead. Once he noticed that I had seen him, he stepped back and vanished in the shadows. The last thing I saw was a short glimpse of a familiar tome held in his skeletal hand, still shimmering lightly with dark energy from usage. Could it be…?