The ground shook and rumbled. Dust fell with every breath of the mysterious man. Everything convulsed, invisible to the sight of normal people. The cave felt alive, mana and air circulated through the empty halls. Brilliance of the orb fluctuated as if the eye of the unknown peered outwards and inwards.

“Forfeit my life?” He chuckled. His face was weird, something humans would probably describe as ugly or freakish, with white eyes, long, convoluted nose and a smile so sharp even a ghoul would get jealous. “And they say the dead have no sense of humor.”

Magus could not tell if the man was living or not. He was simply… nothing. Not even the smell of undeath stuck to his ancient robe, nor the liveliness of his people. He was as alive and dead as a piece of rock on a roadside.

“Not once has anyone dared joke about my life; forfeiting above all. I’d say you’ve gone out of your mind to utter but a single word in my presence, but you’re undead after all. You’ve lived a fair share of life as well, have you not?”

Magus knew nothing of what he spoke. The undead did not joke, he was unable to go out of his mind, and he definitely has not ‘lived’, fair share or not. What was sure, was that the man was confident and eager in face of him.

He tapped his staff three times and the rocks tremored even more. Like snapping bones, the blue gems cracked, falling down and shattering into thousand pieces. With a fourth tap the dust began to gather, swirling and compressing into what looked like a giant of gems.

The undead too jumped to act. He poured more power into the already hovering fireballs and ordered for his guards to defend with their all, orc excluded. It was sent forwards with a single order, ‘kill all in your path’.

“I wonder what knowledge you’ve gathered through the ages in that skull of yours.” Chieftain charged with all its inhuman weight and power, almost flying from the sheer leg strength it could produce. “I’m sure Gleaner will be more than happy to investigate.”

The gem golem crashed into the orc, as if mimicking its moves, and the pale man retreated, carried by the shifting rock beneath his feet. Magus did not let the chance slip, seeing that no minion could shield the mysterious man, and sent all three of his fireballs towards him.

Just as they were about to reach the pale man, with a disappointed murmur under his breath, three stone spikes crawled their way to shield him, each shattering against the fire but stopping it completely.

“Have I underestimated you? But the presence. . . surely?”

Sighing heavily as the gem golem and orc duked it out in the middle of the room, the pale man stalled his retreat and raised the black staff. The red gem lit itself on fire, strange runes and mysterious particles spinning around it.

“Let me show you true magic, the Dead One. [Insolo Fluctus]”

Suddenly the room turned red, terrifying to anyone but the undead. A wave of molten rock, twenty meters high if not more, flew towards him. He sent a fireball at it, the largest he’s ever made, but the Red consumed it like a fresh snack before supper.

Chieftain perished in an instant, the gem golem falling soon after. Magus hurried to dodge out of the way, his puppets closely tailing his back as if their bodies could protect from the glowing magma.

Unable to outrun its width in time the attack burned everything in its path, stopping but a few meters away from the research area. Metal fused with indistinguishable remains was all that was left of Magus’ minions, he himself surprisingly safe, though the new boots and silver mask gone forever.

Was it the robe or was it his own self that protected him? There was no time to wonder as the undead felt a danger to his own being. He had a job, one that could not be passed to anyone else. It was not an option. He shall not expire, he shouldn’t.

Without stopping he jumped to his bare skeletal feet and, for the first time in his existence, ran away. Gems cracking behind him, probably the pale man creating more of his rock minions, the undead ran as fast as his undeath allowed, scanning the perfect memory for the right exit.

The sapphire below his feet glimmered, the eye of nothingness followed. Halls behind him crashed, shattered like windpipes. A disgusting crunch.

Unfathomable, absurd and foolish, he felt like a waste of space, no better than a buried corpse. All his minions fell like it was nothing. All the time went to nothing. Equipment, time and material – destroyed by some mole-man just because of his insatiable curiosity. There was no need to delve below. His task was done. The son was dealt with. He only needed to return and reap the fruits of this hard work.

The bone feet clanked against the rock as he ran, mental clock spinning in consideration.

No. Not all is lost. He only needs to make it back. A few corpses and items? Easily replenishable. Time? He’s eternal. The hatred? Payback juicy and imminent.

He ran up the snaking stairs, already calmer than before, and in record time exited outside. Stars lingered in the white sky, his undeath bleaching everything into day.

No one chased him even though he lost. The limbless orc snored loudly, for some reason ignorant to his bug-like fate. Two of the women were alive, rest had died. Raising them felt wasteful, he needed power right now, not numbers. Goblins weak, other humans mangled, there was no one to choose from.

He turned towards the place he left Levi expecting to see a corpse, but the man was not there. Sharp lines in the dirt and snow marked where he went, dragged by someone. Following it, somewhat surprised that the man survived with those injuries, the drag marks led to the forest of stick and rare pine.

“Sir, sir! Wake up, sir!”

Magus was worried it might’ve been a beast taking a snack, but it seems it was human after all. One of his arms was mangled while the other desperately tried to shake Levi to life. Both of them were very much alive, unfortunately.

The scout shook the body a few more times. Seeing that his Lord was not keen on living, he rummaged through the leather pouch in search of something. Soon he took out a gold-etched vial of red liquid.

“Sir, drink this!” He said, lifting the bloodied face of the body.

The undead wasn’t planning on letting anything happen. It was quite obvious the liquid would do something beneficial, if not outright saving the dimming life of the foolish son. Loudly, he barged through the pine from which he watched up until now.

“W-who is it?!” Turned the scout.

For a second his face looked happy, the eyes spotting distinct red, but then he noticed the face under the cowl. It wasn’t dark enough it seems.

“It’s just me,” the undead quickened his step and reached for the blade under his cloak. It was gone, as everything else.

“Stay away!” Screamed the scout and then grabbed his spear. Seeing that there was no way to fool his way out of this, the undead chose to not act any further and broke into a sprint.

Spear extended, the man braced desperately against the soft snow. Magus did not stop as he ran. Soon a thrust came his way from the terrified man. It went to his empty gut, barely poking a hole in the cloth as the bone hands grasped the neck. Like that of a chicken he wrung it dead.

The human wiggled like a maggot under his grasp, bashing at the white skull with the remaining arm, throwing the crimson cowl open and dooming himself to an even worse last sight. Blood smeared on the white as the man snapped his nails in hope of achieving something. His throat clogged, chest burned, the shadows began to creep around him. Piercing gold shone from the sockets, soothing and peaceful, they led him from life to death in a moment that lasted for eternity. He succumbed, body falling like a sack of grain and heart stopping its Sisyphean task.

With the hatred somewhat eased, the undead let go of the body. It was still fun to take matters into his own hands, even though it was inefficient, and the laurels were simply the best.

He seized the scout’s boots, Levi’s pouches and everything else that he could. Unfortunately, the vial broke during the wrestle, but he did gain a masterfully forged dagger. It’s golden handle quickly ended up inside the bony grasp as the undead scoffed at its design. Extremely pointy, round and not meant to cut, it was unique and interesting, but unfitting for the current task.

Now that he has lost his minions, the undead could not carry the whole body back. Levi’s sword was nowhere to be seen, thus Magus only shrugged and removed the metal helmet from the head. It took twenty stabs for the neck to loosen just enough to pull the head off. A dirty business, less so for a red-robed man.

Tying the dripping head with a shirt and rope scavenged from the corpses near the pit, Magus grudgingly raised the scout. It was not ideal to have an armless zombie, but it was strong enough to lift and carry the orc’s torso. That’s all he needed right now.

After spending a couple more precious moments to sort a few things out, such as hiding the important bodies away to not attract any hungry pests and ending the life of the two women – even for the undead it was creepy how they did not react to anything -, he marched into the wild, backtracking the steps the group previously took.

In a jog he managed to beat the distance to the gorge in half the time. There, two of the stationed guards sat by a campfire next to the wagon. They were roasting meat, chatting about something and drinking wine. The undead found it hilarious that they were so unaware of their own fate and lost comrades.

Wasting no further thought, he ordered the undead scout to throw itself at them, he himself also getting close and personal with the rondel he had acquired. Getting a good stab in was tough, but at least the surprise didn’t let the men grab their weapons.

The scuffle took a long time, maybe an hour or two, he couldn’t tell as the watch unfortunately melted with his other important stuff. At least humans had limited stamina and with time, and a few good hits, the two perished. Magus raised them immediately, then blessed the donkey with unlife as well and loaded the orc into the cart, spilling a few sacks of grain in the process.

Going at full sprint, the undead caravan reached the ruined village in no time. Magus figured he couldn’t just bring the orc to the town, although it was still a long way away, so he chose to leave it here, with the zombies guarding the place. For a moment he even considered raising the woman-kebab, but didn’t. Even if a few uses have returned throughout the day, wasting it still felt unwise.

He did not want anyone nearing this place, especially finding the entrance to the pit. If someone ended the Pale One without him, well, that would be the best, but incredibly unpleasant. He will take revenge, scrap the man for all his worth and seize the magnificent laboratory for himself.

It will be glorious and further hasten his plans. Humanity won’t go extinct on its own after all… Though it might, now that he thinks about it. The apes just knew how to get into trouble so well it was practically their second nature.

He threw everything off the cart and sat down, resting the dripping sack next to him and ordering the donkey to let loose with all its power and unending stamina. Froset awaited.

***

Torch fire blazed and danced to the tune of minstrels and their flowing moves. A maddening play boomed behind their backs, lutes and drums battling one another for space, flutes staying as a background rhythm satisfied and calm in the space given to them.

Six tables filled the enormous room, one at the front and the back, four sticking to the walls. They encased the band in eyes, or at least that’s how it should have been. The highborn paid them no attention. Busy drinking, cheering and gossiping, there was no point in looking towards the source of the tune, as if their ears were more than enough of attention for the commoners. Naturally, once the frolicking women came into play even their eyes struggled not to look, peripheral sight mastered to the core.

Knights with the mayor and his assistants sat closest to the front, a single empty table cutting them off from the entrance door. Although no guests sat at it, food was readily placed and replaced, as if waiting for someone who might come at any moment.

A whole roast pig mocked the nobility of the lowest importance that feasted on the leftovers of their overlords. Derailed sausages, a leg or two of chicken, roasted potatoes and few spices satisfied them enough. To them it was merely a matter of rank and nothing else. Being able to eat something a lowborn couldn’t, leftovers or not, was an adequate response they expected.

Further up the line of tables sat viscounts and counts. These men and women formed most of the power the Duke of Jaetia controlled, thus naturally they sat closer to him as a sign of respect and equality. This was also a reason why barons weren’t invited. It was simply pointless to do so as they weren’t direct vassals of the Duke. The man himself felt no kinship to his subjects, nor did they to him. All of this was just a large, organized act which lasted for all (hopefully) of their lifetime.

Their tables were stuffed full of dishes. From the most tender of steaks and the rarest of spice to whole swans and peacocks of sugar or jelly, anything one’s desire could ask would be brought. Beef and pork was hauled all the way here from the country in farthest of reaches of the continent, Asculum. One could still smell the salt of the ocean stuck to the boxes of the mouthwatering spice of Caratia. Incredibly elaborate sweets shone better than silver, the Veronian craftsmanship of its dwarves proved to once more have mastered a yet another art. The tastiest red wine from the Holy Land splashed around inside the golden goblets of mere men.

The best part of all this was the smell. Spices, meat, fat, sugar, alcohol. Everything mixed and matched. Before one could even get hold of what their nostrils experienced, a different smell would emerge and send their minds to work again.

Iphis sat at the main table, overlooking the people below as her senses tempted her mind to partake as well. Sitting next to the Duke was even worse, in a way, as the tender veal on his silver plate had so much spice it managed to hold against the smell of the whole room.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and sipped on the wine… It was mind-bogglingly good. Even an unbeliever like her could not describe the taste in any other word but ‘holy’.

“I’d give away my soul for something like this…”

“For monks that don’t drink they sure know their stuff,” laughed the host of the sense-numbing feast.

Against all odds and days of coldness, he invited her to sit by his side today. With all the rumors spreading – she and Magus were mostly at fault for them – the man likely gave up on hiding her alleged background. Every noble and their nephew now had their suspicions confirmed. In other words, this banquet was the final nail in the coffin of the undead’s plan, and probably Viktor’s life as well.

Nobles were like rats, grabbing every leftover for themselves and going as far as to consume one another. There were already two attempts to bring her to their side. Offering money and support in the fight for the throne, the greasy bastards were as tempting as a devil. She refused them all of course.

Because of the undead’s meddling, she and Lucy sat at both sides of Viktor. Iphis on the left, Lucy on the right. One of these spots should’ve belonged to his son, count Levi Anworth, who was missing. He left unannounced with a small army of his own and no one knew where they went. The demoness had a suspicion that the little child knew. She was the only one pent up on avenging three lowborn, where they likely went.

Was it not for her cursed companion, she would’ve ran as soon as possible. This was the perfect time. There was no way a demon would last on the throne. Even if the undead was on her side, once someone finds out she’ll get wiped out. Not even dust of her will remain. Such were the zealots of the human world.

Ignoring her inner struggles, overall, it was a nice change of air to not have death right behind her, minus the undead guard who was so persistent even now it stood behind her chair. If not for the atmosphere, she worried that some fool would come and try to move it along, to which the murder machine would kill them. Probably.

Songs strong and dances flowing, the sense of time was lost among the people and no undead guard pissed off on a murder rampage. Drinking mead and wine, eating more than some commoners did in their lifetime, men let their guards down. Drunk to the point of falling, they chattered with their mouths open, speaking of things that should be kept behind closed doors.

“Granum has fallen. . . “

“Aye, the dragon took it. . .“

“Ate the king. . .“

“Army garrisoned in a town. . .“

“Peasant levies out of control. . .“

“My spy almost got raped. . .”

“They won’t last, will they?”

“Princess took command. . .”

“Which?”

“The Fallen. . .”

“Pf. There’s no hope for them is there.”

“Comes spring and they’re gone. . .”

Midnight soon came and the shambling guests rushed outside. There, in the courtyard, stood a massive wooden statue. At first, as it was being built, the frame was all over the place and all you could tell was that it was a person, but now that it was finished Iphis couldn’t help but gasp at the beauty of it.

A beautiful woman, a true goddess. With a scroll in her left hand and a star in another, she looked dignified and divine. The petite face, round nose and incredibly realistic eyes were carved so diligently and intricately it was hard to believe it was not the Woodland Queen of the Demon Territories.

The fattest of nobles admired the sight, blabbering about capital this, capital that, but Iphis didn’t listen in. She simply couldn’t as the sight which happened once a year took priority.

When True Midnight came, the dark sky turned pitch back – all the stars seemed to have disappeared – and the moon turned gold. Servants of the castle hurried to kiss the ground and mutter about dreams and hopes. Nobles humbly bent their backs, silently asking for something good as well. Knights leaned against their swords and stared at the sky not in awe but greed. They knew no better for killers had no future.

Iphis wondered if a deity of humans would listen to her request as well. Likely not, as she was commited to a different being already. When she thought of it, a demon like her being here, a somewhat sacred ground, was bound to bring bad luck.

The golden moon only lasted for a minute, after which it slowly dissipated until only stars filled the sky above. Everyone returned inside the warm and fragrant castle. It took three days for it to be heated up so much.

Duke Viktor, already seated, was busy talking with his daughter Lucy. Iphis hurried to sit next to him, but it was too late for her to hear anything except denial and refusal. He probably pestered her about his son.

The banquet continued unimpeded for another eternity. By this point half of the guests were passed out, the others shambling to the point of doing so. The Duke was fine as he mostly drank mead and not wine. He stared at the door constantly, only nodding and mhm’ing to everyone trying to start a conversation.

Seemingly in a different world he waited for someone. One hour. Two hours. Nothing came. Being cheerless in drunk jubilance he was about to leave for his quarters.

That’s when the front door crashed open and a crimson-clad person stormed inside. A devil’s mask lingered under the cowl, fitting for the person beneath. Some of the nobles began screaming, having suddenly seen a devil in their drunken stupor, while knights scrambled to unsheath their blades only to notice that they rested in between the bosom of some passed out wench.

Ignorant to the atmosphere, Magus walked up to the closest table and thwacked a soggy sack on it.

“’tis f’r the dead!” Crawled a noble with a purple face. It was a famous human custom to leave out food for the dead ones.

“That’s fine then, isn’t it?” He unfurled the soggy cloth and placed the contents on a plate.

A bloody head of the Duke’s Son was revealed in all its glory. Eyes popped and bloodshot, the tongue drooped out lazily.

“All he needs is an apple now.” The undead pointed at a roasting pig and laughed drily.