Our footsteps echoed around the stony enclosure as we traipsed through the narrow passage decked with burnt-out flambeau on the walls. Imeinal was not in favor of any fire spells, so we made our cautious steps deeper into the encroaching darkness. The first sight of light didn’t ease our nerves, and I charged for a clean chop, the blood gushing out to drape my face before I cast [Freeze].

I wiped my face, double-checking my cloak draped in mortal blood. Not that I hated the smell, but I could have terrified any mortal, even without all the blood. My smile can do wonders if you don’t know already.

The apparent outcome when mortals went against unknown forces was sure death. Throughout the undead epochs, mortals have only won wars they fought prepared. As prepared as they knew which pants they wore for the battle. Any records in history that say otherwise are just historian cultist's fallacies, trying to brave more mortals into unwinnable wars. After all, winners wrote the records.

We put out the fire on the flambeau and nudged forth, facing off against more unprepared foes. Some were drunk, draped in armor that made them appear imposing. A waste of resources, of course, of both armor and alcohol. I ducked as a drunken man waved his quivering sword and fell on his butt, head too wasted to focus on the threat before him. The stony walls loomed closer further deeper into the gallows, the girth not enough for a clean swing. I stabbed my dagger into his neck and swiped it clean to break his carotid artery in one swoop.

“How much longer?” I asked, my voice reverberating despite the muffle.

His expression answered my question before his muzzle could put two words together. We had left over a dozen bodies in our wake, so I didn’t blame him for his crumbling resolve. Mortals were, after all, the most fickle creatures to ever exist.

I walked toward the light, the steps behind me slowing down the further I went. The yonder light seemed within reach, and the passage opened into an enormous circular chamber below, the mana lamps illuminating every nook. The iron railings circled around the stony chamber, periodic stairs descending to the central pith, where innumerable cauldrons lay empty, the fire put out very recently. I walked through the narrow passageway to the stairs, the railing forming my sole anchor if the shaky rocks ever collapsed.

The vacant room only increased my trepidation, my instincts kicking in for a retreat. I ignored them blatantly and reached the pith. The cauldrons weren’t exactly empty. Decaying carcasses occupied the kernel, deep enough for a blurred view from the elevated passage.

There were rooms all around, a few prison cells added to the mix, and I saw a silhouette of a chained woman. She was heaped at a corner, darkness fading most of her features, but I didn’t need them to ascertain the identity of the demons I procured. Her red eyes gleamed in the darkness, and they widened when they stopped at me.

The door next to the cell opened, and I saw an old man walking out with a freshly peeled heart in his hand. He was naked, with shriveled skin covering most of his body, devoid of hair. Wrinkles spanned from his face, too deep for any normal mortals. His eyes, though, were full of vitality, and his movement was blithe as if the features were a glamor to hide his true strength.

“And who might you be?” He asked, his voice gruff.

“Inkala’s death,” I smiled, moving closer one step at a time.

He squinted his eyes and pulled the dangling chain beside him. “The heavens can’t will my death. It is a sham for those who believe in life. The luminous world seems to take away the essence, clouding the beating heart with a promise of everlasting life after death. I, Inkala, am a progenitor of what I preach. Word for word, my scrutiny barks eternal life. Imminent mortality clouds my way, a preposterous suggestion, my answer!”

I stared at him in awe. “You know?”

“[Undead] is my answer! Preposterous suggestion, heavens say! The creaking voices wiling my way to overcome the gods of death,” he paused, his eyes squinting.

“And who might you be?” he munched the heart with great joy while he waited for my answer.

I charged toward him, mana condensing in my palms for an abysmal blow. My magic was rendered useless as [Dispel] dissipated my mana particles, and the woman softened the punch for the mage.

“I am sorry,” she mouthed the words despite the resistance. I instantly disappeared and retreated a few steps.

Xquerania Texlopha. The most mortal-like demon I had procured, someone I wanted my lady to meet. Casting [Undead] on her had been the best mistake of my life, something I had forgotten till [Refluengence] brought forth the memories.

“Texlopha,” the mage reached for his private part and started stroking it. “Teach this miscreant the ways of death.”

I hesitated to cast [Dispel], and [Dark Scythes] tore open my back, blood gushing out like a fountain. I took a deep breath and stared at her.

“Kill me,” she mouthed the words as her horns broke forth from her skull and mana concentrated around her. The reddish glow in her eyes disappeared, replaced by pitch-black darkness. [Essence Gourge] killed her will. She was a plaything at this point.

The congestion in my chest was getting worse. The wound must have reached pretty deep, I reasoned. Somewhere along the way, Imeinal had walked out of the passage, and his nod toward me gave me a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps, Inkala was still a mortal. Perhaps, I could free Quera from [Essence Gourge]. Perhaps, I could reconcile with my past.

I craned my neck to the side, dodging a [Flame First], and slammed her stomach with my knees. Her body arched forward at the impact, coughing empty air. I cast [Gavity] and backstepped as her body bore into the ground, the stony pavement cracking in a circular patch.

Imeinal, in the meantime, had managed to summon [Ice Shards], and despite Quera’s attempt to stop them, they buzzed forth and took Inkala by surprise. Four sharp shards pierced his throat, blood wetting the glimmering white ice, but the man stood rooted on the ground with a smile.

Fiery wings unfurled from the demon’s back, and Quera charged out of my [Gravity] thanks to my distraction. Her dark eyes bore into my soul as [Hell Fire] tried to claim me. I skipped to the side, and the cauldron before me drowned in flames of despair.

She lunged at me, the claws trying to rip my innards, but I evaded them with a swift roll to the side. I forged a sword with my blood as Quera gracefully took flight, creating a gust of wind. The second lunge was directed at Imenial, and his [Ice Shield] broke without any resistance as his heart succumbed to the demon's claws.

You see, there are always times when everyone is forced to make decisions against their will. The difference between mortals and undead is that we don’t hesitate.

With a [First Step], I landed beside her, my sword digging deep into her wings. More force separated one half from her body, the agonizing cry forcing me to retreat a few steps. A barrage of [Steam] almost burned me alive, but I was fast enough to avoid the old mage and jump into the air with [Gale] adorned with [Weightless]. I floated before the demon, the dim mana lamps revealing the swirling mass of dust our little exchange had managed to amass.

I swiftly teleported behind the demon, her reaction a tad too slow for this undead, and I drove my sword into her head, chopping off the horn before she could parry my strike with her own. Malevolent cries of a pitiful soul resound in my ears, but I didn’t falter. Any hesitance meant I could get sealed in the demon realm, an outcome I wanted to avoid at any cost. I held her free horn, ignoring the bleeding and cast [Explosion], the flaming ball of fire sending her blasting across the room. The second horn lay in my hand, unmoving, though gleaming red.

Her glamor crumbled, and she was reduced to a mortal woman, wracked with wounds all over her body.

“Wasteful demon!” Inkala spat in her direction as he turned to face me. But he hardly had time to react when I stabbed his throat with the horn before slashing off his limbs with my bloodied sword.

His shrieks echoed in the room, but I forged another dagger and cut his dangling tongue.

“Look, Inkala,” I slammed his head against the metal spike of the cage. “You are a million years too early to curse my creations.”

Another slam broke his skull, and the third one left a mashed pile of mass in place of his head. I dug his eyeballs out with my dagger, ignoring his wasteful cries, and planted the dagger in his throat. My ears were hurting, and this indeed stopped his cries once and for all.

Quera had crawled to my legs by now, and I sat on my haunches, showing her the mashed pile of meat. “This shit summoned you? I thought you had better standards.”

A smile was her reply, but I was too busy torturing this immortal being to heed her.

“Release her,” I said as I removed the horn from his throat and watched the regeneration already fusing his skin. Tears stained his face, and his eyes were begging me to stop, but I had just started. Right when his eyes regenerated, I stabbed them again and mashed his head with the pillar.

“Release her,” I said again, and this time, with great difficulty, he lifted his hand toward Quera. Mana glowed around her as his silhouette started to disappear into nothingness.

“It shouldn’t take long to regenerate these, right?” I pointed to the dissipating horns, and I got a smile in response.

“Now then,” I lifted the man by his neck. “I would love to chain you up just like how my predecessors imprisoned me when I was young, but alas, I don’t have time to humor you, particularly in the next few days. Now, tell me, where are the soul-bound dolls?”

He coughed out blood and spat it on the floor. He denied me an answer, so I smashed his head against the floor and threw him against the wall, followed by a barrage of [Ice Shards]. His voice had recovered, but he was too weak to shout anymore.

“My room… The… dead body in the… central square,” he huffed and showed his teeth, which I took it as a grin. “It was…”

“Demon Plague,” I completed for him as he lost consciousness. I rubbed my brows and glanced toward the rocky ceiling above me. “No way I did all this shit in my early days!”

The truth, I knew better than anyone. For amusement, there is nothing undead can’t and won’t do.

I drew a summoning circle after slashing my wrist with the blood sword. Having done it many times in the past, it took little effort to get the basic structure in place. Triangles within squares scaled to the center as I jotted down incantations ingrained in my memory thanks to [Memory Make]. It glowed as soon as I finished my craft, the holy light burning my skin a tad too much as I stepped back and kicked the bastard into the burning light. His skin suffered more burns than my own, his [Undead] spell helping a little as he disappeared into the nothingness of [Sanctify].

I collapsed on my butt, licking my wounds like a browbeaten hound, figuratively, as [Undead] burnt mana to restore my constitution after a holy spell had wrecked my innards.

With enough grit, we can easily face off against Holy attribute mages, but it was a painful experience no undead wanted to go through. As much as we love inflicting pain on others, we are no masochists. Torture and slaughter is our way of life, but not self-harm.