As a symbol, the circle signifies infinity. Eternity. Life flowing into death, and death flowing into life.

You can’t live without making something else die.

You can’t die without first having lived.

The circle is forever spinning, like a wheel.

To mix blood, the greatest of all symbolic representations of LIFE, and to make it spilled blood, the greatest of all representations of DEATH, into the equation…

Well.

Symbolically speaking, that’s like throwing a bar into the spokes of a motorcycle.

There’s going to be a crash.

A nasty one.

And the bigger the wheel…

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Although all intelligent species can vary from size, shape, color, and abilities, there is one thing all beings have in common:

An inordinate interest in bowel movements.

When the dead goblins began to twitch and move again the response from the watching human guards was immediate:

“Aw crap, I knew it!”

When a timer suddenly appeared in his vision, counting down from 10:00 minutes, a certain elf’s response was similar:

“Ah, crap…”

When Blake Bowen, owner and lord of Bowen Village, suddenly looked up to see the floating ghost of his deceased friend Farmer Johnday Evans smiling sadly down at him, his response summed up the feelings of everyone in the room:

“Oh crap.”

On the walls, in the towers, and inside the nipplefort everyone said pretty much the same thing.

But they weren’t really all that scared yet.

Yes, zombies are unnatural, an affront to the laws of men and good and blah blah blah, you’ve probably heard this all before.

However, they were just zombies.

As an attack force the original goblins would have been MUCH more dangerous to deal with.

Goblins are sneaky, underhanded, and practical. Their siege tactics are methodical and long term, and tribes can work with each other if the reward’s great enough.

Zombies are dull, slow, and mindless. Their siege tactics are “eat that over there” and they have no concept of cooperation.

They were also OUTSIDE.

It’s an important distinction.

No, it wasn’t the zombies that posed a problem to the brave men and women of Bowen Village. They had a much worse problem:

The ghosts.

They started flickering into existence, confused, angry, sad, hating.

Most of them were the ghosts of goblins.

But not all of them.

“I’d say ‘boo’ and all tat, but we don’ have te time. Something BIG is being summoned, and whatever it is, you don’ wanna be here when it comes. You hafta leave ta village.”

Johnday Evans looked around the room at the gaping faces.

“Oh come ON! Yeh, yuh surrounded by zombie goblins, and yeh, a bite will make you sicken, die, and come back as anotter zombie, but yuh hav no choice! Raht now tose otter ghosts are confused, but if whoeveh made tem kill temselves controls tem too… Yuh don’ have enough cold iron to fight tem off! An’ when the summoning finishes, you won’ havva chance at all!”

The room was silent.

“Johnday…” Began Lord Bowen, deeply shaken.

“Yeh, Little Blake?” The ghost floated closer to him.

“Did…”

He swallowed loudly.

“Did… Did… being dead screw up your ability to talk?”

The room was silent… except for a few sniggers.

The spirit of Johnday Evans, former farmer of Bowen Village, crossed his arms in a huff.

“Hmph. YOU try coming up with a new hobby when you die and can’t touch anything. I never had any kind of singing voice when I was alive either, so it’s not like I could just join the ‘Choir Invisible’.”

Everybody in the room began to yell catcalls at the deceased man.

The irony that the living was yelling ‘BOO! BOO!’ at a ghost was sadly lost on the participants.

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Heinrich had problems.

Fortunately, he was currently free from the jail and now he can go find his sister and get her the hell away from this place.

Unfortunately they were both in thrall to a freakish elf-looking boy. Even if they got away the kid might pull out another glowy… lighty… pyramid thing… and then all their running would be useless.

Fortunately he’d be MORE than happy to just return all the weapons and armor the little bastard gave him if that was all there was to it.

Unfortunately the village was being invaded by ghosts.

Fortunately his unnatural weapons worked on them. Hey, an unnatural solution to an unnatural problem, right?

Unfortunately the village was also surrounded by zombies, and if the lore still holds, getting bitten by a zombie is NOT good for your long-term health plans.

Fortunately there’s a boy who can handwave away any and all wounds as if they never happened.

Unfortunately he didn’t know if that prevented a zombie curse.

Sigh.

Heinrich had problems.

At least he was in the nipplefort now. His sister would no doubt be on one of the floors in the tower instead of in the outer rings.

A ghost of a pregnant goblin with a gaping hole in its stomach gibbered at him… or, rather, the head it was holding in one hand gibbered at him before trying to claw at his face with the other.

He didn’t even feel the contact as he sliced it into screaming, mist-like pieces… which all vanished like consumed flash paper.

+90 XP

He didn’t notice the little signs that kept popping up when he killed something as much anymore.

Why didn’t it throw the head?

That was his only idle thought about it.

Truth be told if anyone had told him a week ago that he would be casually slaughtering ghosts, which needed either a magical sword (good luck finding one of those) or one made of cold iron (pfft, who uses IRON to make swords?) to even have a CHANCE of hitting, he would have asked what you were smoking and quietly led Sheila away from you.

He hadn’t noticed yet, but his leveling up was changing him, and his dependence on those “unnatural weapons”, and the boy who gave them to him, was growing.

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“A-N-Y-W-A-Y-S!” Yelled the ghost, floating up into the air so he could (literally) take the high ground.

The crowd quieted down.

“Anyways, you CAN’T fight the ghosts, you CAN’T fight whatever is coming, but you CAN fight zombies. It’s your only chance.”

Once more, the crowd was silent.

All eyes turned to look at Lord Blake.

One word from him, and the exodus would begin.

Nobody wanted to think about the likely toll moving that many people into a forced march towards the nearest town (which was weeks away) would have.

There would be monsters.

Disease.

Starvation.

Even if they made it safely to one of the bigger cities, they would be treated as refugees.

Perhaps even as slave labor.

There would be hardships.

...

Suddenly a voice spoke up.

“I can fight ghosts.”

In the doorway was a blond man with a scruffy beard. His clothes looked tattered but his leather armor looked unblemished and brand new, tailor-made to fit just him.

Lord Bowen frowned.

“Who the devil are you?”

“Devil?” The stranger chuckled to himself.

I’m in a contract with one. You’ve met him already. Elf boy, kinda short? Teleports people into towns with glowy pyramid things?

“The name’s Heinrich Ellis. You should already know my sister Sheila. These weapons can slay ghosts.”

With that he unsheathed a sword and a dagger made of a strange, silver-like metal. The dagger even had lightning(!) constantly crawling across its blade.

Both of them looked almost brand new.

“Talk to the kid. He can probably get you more.”

“Did someone say ‘WEAPONS’?”

An elf boy of amazing beauty and pure-white clothes glided elegantly past a flustered Heinrich and entered the room. Without another word he went to the main table, upon which the map of the village was spread, along with a number of spell scrolls, wands, and potions.

“Inventory.”

*Kathunk* *Clunk* *Bam* *Clunk* *Clatter* *Klong*

Weapon after weapon appeared from nowhere, piling on top of each other.

Bows.

Swords.

Hammers and maces.

Wands.

A number of the weapons glowed blue, or white. At least one glowed red. A couple were on fire, yet not consuming the weapon or the table it was lying on.

Finally the elf boy turned around.

“Now,” he began, giving the entire room the most beautiful, cheerful, and saintly smile anyone had ever seen. It was as if the room suddenly got brighter, such was the power of that smile.

“Let’s talk BUSINESS.”

I wish I had enough money to retire. Then I wouldn't be forced to travel with a guy named Rich who would just explode into half-hour long rants about former co-workers who quit at least FOUR YEARS AGO at the drop of anything resembling a cue:

"So Rich, do you prefer classic Trek or Next Gen?"

"Ah that B***H Jen! She didn't know how to do ANYTHING!"

"Let it GO, Rich. It's been--"

"I was the one who had to teach how to run the machines, and what did she say? 'I just don't geeeeet iiiiiiit!' Dumb broad, I don't know HOW she got hired in the first--"

"Oh for CRYING OUT LOUD, Rich! Do you have to mark--"

"MARK! That b******d was just as bad as JEN! Why, I had--"

"You know what? I'm going to start wearing headphones while I drive."

"That f***ing moron couldn't tell which side was UP with both hands..."

[Continue and repeat until sundown]

The worst part of it is, Rich actually wants to quit the company and move to New York. He's received THREE pay raises already to make him want to stay a bit longer. He may actually stay the entire year now.

I HATE real life.

You know, one of these days I'm going to have to write a short story about an idiot named Rich who gets devoured by the ghosts of Christmas Past and Present, and pooped out again by Future. I think I'll call it "A Christm*sshole Carol."

"AH, CAROL! THAT B****! That MORON could never tell which ribbon was supposed to be RED and which one was supposed to be GREEN!"

If it gets turned into a movie it'll run for at least eight hours. Bring a diaper.