What the Shell?, page 15
To be fair, the boy’s words did hold some merit. This was the biggest change he’d ever witnessed, even if not everybody agreed.
Raising his eyes to the sky, Nick took in the sea that stretched to the horizon; the blue sea he’d already sworn to never sail again, as much as he loved it. “Fuck me,” he muttered quietly so that Dom wouldn’t hear it.
Heh, fuck… Phac…
Phac gulped as steps came from behind the door, their sounds irregular as if whoever was climbing the stairs was dead drunk. It had been about an hour since they first came to the room with the prisoners; both he and Oreg were getting impatient, but now, it was showtime.
The door swung open and a dehydrated, black-eyed head slowly came into view. This zombie was male and looked older than the others, with wrinkles and gray hair attesting to its previous age. It also seemed more intact, as there were no obvious injuries suggesting its cause of death.
Rearing its ugly head, the zombie inspected the room with a low growl, resulting in the nervous shuffling of feet behind Phac. From what he’d understood so far, zombies were only dead bodies given the ability to move instinctively and follow commands. It wasn’t inspecting the room; it was actively looking for something.
Even if the zombie had been trying to observe, there wasn’t much to notice. Bare brick walls, only lit up by a single torch hanging from the ceiling, and a mess of colorful debris decorating a wall, probably formed from what was once a bed, judging from the sheet-like material hanging over it.
What was noticeable were the untied prisoners nervously watching the zombie from behind Phac and Oreg, as well as the pieces of thick rope that lay on the floor. The zombie showed no interest in any of those as it stumbled into the room, slowly making its way toward Oreg.
Phac heaved a sigh of relief. It looked like the words of Daryll, the priest, rang true in the end; zombies were too dumb to understand the difference between a tied-up human and one that was not.
As the zombie approached Oreg, a second one appeared by the door. This one was equally well-preserved as the first, its blond hair looking out of place on its undead head—even considering their messiness—and a small, green name tag on his chest read ‘Carlos.’ Inspecting the undead, the same blue screen came up for both.
Zombie
Level: 11
Zombies are undead humanoids brought into being either naturally, through concentrated death energy, or artificially, through a number of taboo processes. A zombie’s true strength lies not in its physical aspects, but in its unyielding ferocity and inability to feel pain. Their habit of destroying themselves in the process of fighting makes zombies notorious as one of the most short-lived creatures in existence.
Equipped with the intelligence levels of a brick, even slightly below Phac-level, they are only able to act according to the most basic instincts or commands.
I’m pretty sure the word ‘slightly’ wasn’t there before… Is Dunce implying I’ve gotten stupider? Wait, I wasn’t stupid to begin with! I have an Intelligence of 10, you self-worshipping asshole! That’s supposed to be average!
More importantly, these zombies are one Level higher than the previous ones. Is it because their bodies are still in good condition, or something else?
According to the plan they’d discussed beforehand, Oreg and Phac would stand in the front to be picked by the zombies. The selection of who was taken was most probably random, dictated by who was closest to the zombie, but it was always exactly two people that were taken away. As for the others, they would stand in the back, and when Oreg and Phac were hauled downstairs, they’d follow the plan everyone had already agreed on.
As predicted, the first zombie stumbled toward Oreg, colliding with the chest piece of his armor in the process. It then awkwardly fumbled around, trying to grab the tall green warrior and failing to find good purchase. It reached behind his back, probably for the ropes that should have been there, and seemed really confused when it failed to find them.
To his honor, Oreg did not make a peep or axe the zombie even once during the process, until it eventually managed to grab his forearm and start pulling him downwards.
“These things looked awfully more dexterous when mincing you,” commented the orc, allowing himself to be pulled. They’d already been told that zombies didn’t mind them speaking, ignoring words and screams all the same, at least when it came from the prisoners.
“I prefer this version. They’re kinda cute, aren’t they?” Phac watched the second zombie, the blond one apparently named Carlos, awkwardly stumble his way.
“Only until you try to attack or escape,” quipped Daryll, the priest, from the side. “Then you’re dragged unconsciously. That’s what’s happened to everyone so far.”
“Cute? This is horrifying!” Maylin, the red-haired girl, yelled in shock.
Phac had to admit that the zombies did look terrifying, what with their black eyes, stiff limbs, and undying lust for brains or whatever magical equivalent was operating them—but when they weren’t trying to kill you, they were extremely awkward, to the point that he was forced to wonder how they’d even managed to climb the stairs. And come on, this one even has a name! With these little guys and our perfect plan, what could possibly go wrong?
No sooner had he had that thought than the blond zombie stilled, as if listening to something. Then, ever so slowly, its head rotated independently of its body and stared at Maylin, who’d just spoken.
“Is that thing staring at me?” she said. Under everyone’s watchful eyes, the zombie turned its body to match the direction of its head as it took a step toward Maylin.
“Crabby, this thing is coming for me—” she took a step back, ”do SOMETHING!”
Frowning, Phac took a slow step to the side, putting himself between the zombie and the ginger girl. The blond undead completely ignored his presence, sidestepping him to head toward Maylin, losing its balance in the process but quickly reacquiring it.
“Crabby, if this thing comes any closer, I swear I’ll burn it to oblivion.” Maylin anxiously backed up to the wall, her hands moving in complicated gestures before shining with red embers. Neville took a step closer to her, while Ximea, the quiet one, crouched in a fighting stance, eyes locked on the undead. Donald had already made himself scarce, his form plastered to the furthest possible wall.
Phac himself was lost for words. Why was the zombie ignoring him? Did it suspect him? Had they been ordered to bring a man and a woman?
Whatever the reason, he couldn’t just attack, or their plan would go to hell. In the corner of his vision, he noticed Oreg tense his body, having almost reached the door by now. The speed at which he was pulled dropped drastically, making the zombie release a threatening growl before pulling with more force—but Oreg was having none of it, pulling right back at the zombie and allowing himself to be moved at only the slowest of speeds. His other hand reached for the greataxe, and his eyes stared straight at Phac’s, a question burning in them. The zombie let out an even more menacing growl, wondering whether Oreg’s actions counted as resistance. It wouldn’t wonder for long.
Knowing that he had to do something, Phac gritted his teeth. The blond zombie’s arms were hanging by its sides, and Phac did the only thing he could think of, slowly grasping the zombie’s hands and pulling them at his own chest. Everyone froze, even the zombie shocked at Phac’s action.
Phac and the zombie were left staring at each other, brown eyes locked with black ones. If it attacks, I attack, he thought, still holding the zombie’s hands to his bare chest and ready to push them away at the slightest sign of hostility. His heart was banging at his temples, his palms were sweaty, knees weak, his arms were heavy. He was beyond nervous, but on the surface, he looked calm and ready.
His eyes were locked with the zombie’s, entire body taut and ready to act.
After a short silence, the zombie decided not to be coerced; pulling its hands from Phac’s grasp, it turned its head back toward Maylin. Before it had time to move, Phac grabbed its hands once more, placing them on his bare chest. “No,” he said patronizingly. “Me.”
Again, the zombie pulled its hands free, unwilling to take Phac, but once again, Phac grabbed its hands gently and led them to his chest. “No. You’re confused,” he told it. “Me. It’s me you want, Carlos. She’s ginger, and has no soul for your master to use.”
If there’s magic, are there souls? And if yes, are they used in necromancy? Phac honestly had no idea, but Daryll’s blank stare told him that he harbored some very inaccurate ideas about souls.
A tense moment of silence passed. Eventually, the zombie forgot about Maylin, or maybe it was convinced by Phac’s flawless rhetoric. It accepted its fate and slowly grabbed Phac by the arms, pulling him toward the door.
Oreg, whose zombie had also been staring intensely at Phac’s altercation, let his body relax again, and his zombie pulled him further toward the open door.
“What the fuck was that?” asked the orc, mouth wide open.
“Something that worked,” replied Phac, shocked at his own success. Stupid or not, if it works… Thank Dunce zombies were as responsive as he’d thought they would be.
“Follow the plan!” he reminded the former prisoners as the zombies took them down the stairs, the door closing by itself as soon as they’d exited. Magic? Phac shrugged.
He’d already seen it a few times. Even Maylin was a fire mage, albeit a weak one. The only reason she couldn’t just burn the ropes and free herself was the requirement of hand gestures, which she couldn’t make with her hands tied. Meh. Phac found giant crabs way more impressive.
With half the plan completed successfully, Phac was confident about their chances. All they had to do now was let the zombies drag them to the necromancer, then kill her. Simple.
Contrary to what one might expect, the zombies had no problem descending the stairs, even while dragging ‘captives.’ Exhibiting a praise-worthy sense of space, they managed to drag both down through multiple floors.
First, they went through the floor they’d already explored before further descending through a dark one, housing a similar corridor with multiple doors at its sides. Finally, the zombies arrived at a landing bordering a brightly illuminated room. There were torches all over the walls while furniture made of dark wood lay strewn all over the place, most of it upturned. Chairs and tables could be seen, along with wooden cups and plates randomly thrown at different sides of the room, most in salvageable condition. Green pillows could also be seen on the floor, most of them torn and empty of whatever wool they might once have had inside.
One impressive element of the room was a silken tapestry seemingly untouched by the years, depicting a sky full of stars. The tapestry’s center was dominated by a cyan half-moon, on which an old man appeared to be sitting, fishing from a lake whose surface reflected the stars above.
Besides all those, there was a single door in the room, suspiciously similar to the door they’d spotted from outside the tower. Two separate sets of stairs were visible, one leading up, from where they’d just come, and one leading down. The room’s position in the tower was difficult to estimate due to a lack of windows, but, given the door and Phac’s intuition, they were probably on the ground floor of the tower. Another factor that assisted Phac’s educated estimation was that the stairs they’d been descending ended on the current floor.
However, what really made him glad for not barging in through the front door were the five zombies littering the room, not including Carlos and his friend. The other zombies did not react in any way as Phac’s and Oreg’s two zombies carried them to the set of descending stairs, and they were almost there when Oreg made an observation.
“By the World Spirit, that’s a lot of the fuckers,” he said, fear creeping its way into his voice, only to receive an unexpected and unwanted answer.
“What? Who’s there!?” came a grating voice as a pale-skinned, hairless, and naked male undead appeared from the stairs leading downwards. In the moment of frozen surprise, Phac Inspected the newly appeared enemy, quickly skimming through the screen that appeared in search of information. Could they poker face their way out of this?
Ghoul (Elite)
Level: 13
Ranked in the lower middle of the undead power spectrum, ghouls are corpse-eaters usually roving wastelands in packs, searching for corpses or soon-to-be ones.
This particular ghoul is an exemplary representative of its species, with an enhanced body and enough intelligence to properly communicate and lead others. Ghouls occasionally serve as shock troops to practitioners of the Dark Arts.
So much for our plan, thought Phac. Then, all at once, everyone blurred into action.
EIGHTEEN
BEING THE VICTIM
The ghoul screeched and the zombies pounced while Phac and Oreg struck with their weapons. The blond zombie with the ‘Carlos’ nametag and the one carrying Oreg were both violently thrown to a wall but stood up again. None were out of the fight.
“The basement!” shouted Phac, as Oreg used his greataxe to block the ghoul’s strike. Its long nails produced a clang when they collided with the red blade, not breaking off as if they, too, were made of metal. With a grunt, Oreg pushed the ghoul aside, opening the path to the descending staircase. “I’ll hold them off!” he yelled as they dashed over. “You kill the fucking necromancer!”
The zombies were already rushing at Phac, who was a little behind the orc, quickly closing in from every direction. He gritted his teeth as the world slowed down, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he exploded in a burst of sideways motion and made for the staircase. Surprised by the peculiar, high-speed motion, the zombies were late to react; Phac bodily smashed into one that tried to block his way, knocking it to the ground but suffering a shoulder bite in return.
As the zombies screeched and wailed, Phac pushed through, throwing their outreached limbs out of his way, stepping over the zombie he’d rammed, and suffering three deep gashes across his right arm and one on his right leg for the trouble. He and Oreg made it to the top of the staircase at the same time, momentarily locking eyes with each other.
With seven zombies and a ghoul rushing at them from all other directions, the two warriors practically dived into the staircase, reaching its bottom in a flash and assaulted by a horrifying stench they had no time to consider.
Before them stretched a short corridor, a closed door to their left, and an open one to their right. However, the most striking sight was straight ahead, an open door that led to a room containing human remains. The room also held two strange forms, one resembling a glaive-wielding, upright goat and the other a woman with two long, sharp ears protruding under her blond hair. She could be called attractive if not for her bloody hands and robes, or the devilish creature accompanying her.
Resting on their shoulders was something like a transparent coffin, but Phac had no time to inspect, rushing at them while shouting at Oreg to “Hold the phacking door!” In the narrow corridor and with his overwhelming strength, the orc warrior should be able to deal with the zombies—or, at least, that’s what Phac hoped.
“What the fuck?” shouted Oreg before taking two steps into the narrow corridor and turning to face the incoming flood of undead, the ghoul having almost reached the bottom of the stairs already. “That’s healer Treya!”
Healer? Phac paused for a moment, and right then, tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. The upright goat growled, bringing both hooved hands on its glaive’s body and letting the coffin drop in the process, the woman clearly unable to hold it by herself. Is she not the necromancer?
“Run, woman!” the thing hissed, its sharp green beard moving with its mouth while its red eyes stared right at Phac, bleating in a goat-like manner. “The Master neeeeeds you still!”
Gritting his teeth, Phac ran straight at the creature, ready to battle, but his mind was racing. Is she not the necromancer? Are we doomed? What Master? And what is she carrying?
Quickly inspecting the creature while running at it, Phac only had time to read the first two rows of the screen before willing it away.
Goatee Devil
Level: 16
Devil!? With his bone sword and the Goatee Devil’s glaive about to clash, he barely saw the woman crying while desperately pulling the coffin toward the back of the laboratory, its speed ever so slow. Then, the devil’s hideous grin filled his sight.
Fuck me, thought Phac, and they clashed.
A few moments earlier,
A sad glint passed through Treya Lebuff’s eyes as she examined the body lying on the bench in front of her, one of the many corpses her abominable creations had brought back from the forest. Plunging her bare hands into its ripped-open belly, she grimaced, thinking back to the first days, when she would cry when doing this; she had changed since then. She had been forced to, for, as much as she hated necromancy, there was no other way. She needed to do this; for him. It is the only way, she repeated to herself.
While her hands went about their gory business, touching and prodding for injured or weak spots, her eyes wandered the familiar room; her laboratory, moist from being built under the swamp. The walls and ceiling were made of rock, while desks and workbenches filled with research paraphernalia or body parts covered most of its surface. A pile of corpses lay in a corner, patiently waiting their turn for examination. With any luck, they would provide new knowledge on how to enhance the zombies.
When Treya had first gotten this godforsaken Class, the zombies were only Level 5. She still remembered all the experiments she’d performed to find out how to best alter their bodies before reanimating them, making them stronger. That was her only chance at leveling up faster, at least as far as she could think.
