Excerpt: The Story of my Life, Or Lack Thereof

“Lyra,” Markaz said, taking a cautious step backwards at the sight of the cadavers that shambled towards him, weapons raised, “how are we supposed to win this fight?”

“Easy. You take the zombie, I’ll get the grunts.”

“What?” Without saying anything else, Lyra shoved her shovel directly in front of Markaz, and low to the ground. He looked at her, and the shovel, and her again. Figuring out what she wanted, although still slightly doubtful, Markaz took a step onto the shovel. As soon as he had his balance, he was flung over the heads of the dozen skeletons, who were as startled as lifeless bones could be. As for the enemy he was apparently supposed to be fighting, he tossed aside his book, and passively pointed his hand in the air. Markaz watched in terror, still trying to regain his sense of direction as he fell towards the zombie, and a bolt of red energy formed on its fingertip.

Markaz regained his focus at the exact right moment, for the red bolt arced from the finger of the decrepit corpse in front of him. Markaz, drawing on endless hours of drills, placed his sword firmly one foot away from where the bolt would hit on his body, the flat towards the magic. The bolt struck the blade, and crackled into red sparks, which spluttered in every direction before fading away. The zombie jumped backwards to prevent Markaz’s now vertically swinging blade from slicing him clear in two. Not giving his opponent the chance to cast another spell, Markaz tore his sword from its position low to the ground in an uppercut of sorts as he lunged forward to strike.

To the surprise of the human soldier, the undead deftly struck Markaz’s sword out of the way with is staff, before flipping around the other end to strike Markaz in the chest. Markaz, not acting fast enough to dodge, stumbled backwards in pain, but recovered quickly. The stumble was enough for the zombie to fire off another bolt of energy, which Markaz didn’t bother trying to block this time, but simply rolled to his side, and jumped forward from his prone position on the ground, going for a thrust through the chest. The zombie bent over backwards unnaturally far, and Markaz twitched as his head touched his feet, and he did a mix of a roll and a twist to land back on his feet unharmed after a full revolution.

Ignoring how mind-boggled he had just become, Markaz went in for another attack, which was again deflected by the staff. The zombie tried using the same tactic as last time, striking Markaz in the chest, but he was ready this time. Tossing his sword to his left hand, Markaz caught the staff in his right, and pulled it towards him. To his pleasure, the zombie held tight, and was pulled off his feet towards Markaz, allowing the soldier to drop the staff, and throw his fist forward, striking his opponent in the head. To Markaz’s surprise, the fragile creature’s jaw snapped off.

Jumping backwards to get out of reach of Markaz, the zombie glared at him, his look saying what he now could not. ‘You’ll regret that.’ Markaz sincerely doubted it. Markaz then realized that he had left Lyra alone to fight what was practically a battalion of skeletons. He turned quickly to see how she faired, and was relieved to see she had already defeated five of the monsters, and her shovel was spinning as if in a deadly dance, deflecting and striking. As much as this relieved Markaz, he regretted taking his eyes off of his own undead opponent, and was only able to duck on instinct, causing the next red bolt to graze his shoulder.

That isn’t how Stoneskin would put it, however. Stoneskin did not believe in magic ‘grazing’ something, and now after feeling it for the first time, Markaz was tempted to agree. The little graze tore a massive gash in the soldier’s left shoulder, with such an intensely hot magical fire that it was immediately cauterized. The pain was far worse than any weapon could deal out, and it took Markaz a moment to get the blurred vision out of his eyes. The sheer determination to not have to ever feel something that painful again ever kept him fighting, and he turned to attack again.

There was now some distance between Markaz and the zombie, and he watched carefully as his opponent charged his next spell bolt. The energy of the magic flowed in such a way that if it were somehow stopped mid-cast, the result could be… Markaz didn’t actually know what would happen, and he was too busy rolling to avoid the spell bolt to decide the exact effect. He did, however, want to try. Unfortunately the chance was not presented to him as soon as he had hoped, because now the zombie thrust his staff forward, and a green energy crackled to the front of it.

Markaz prepared to duck whatever bolt came from the staff, but none did. Instead, the energy faded, and Markaz felt pressure put on his ankles. Looking down in a panic, he saw two roots comprised of grave dirt wrapping around his legs, and slowly pulling him under the ground. Markaz lashed out at the roots with his sword, but to no avail; they were hard as rock. His feet disappeared beneath the ground, and the spell didn’t stop there. Casually, as Markaz was no longer an immediate threat, the zombie picked up his jaw from off the ground, and affixed it back on his skull. Satisfied with this, he walked to where Markaz was stuck.

“What’s the matter,” The corpse asked with mock concern, “done fighting already?”

“Eh,” Markaz said, deciding there was no reason not to play along, “I’m getting bored.”

“That’s a shame.” The zombie extended his arm to its full length to point directly at Markaz’s head. “I was just starting to have fun.” Markaz seized his opportunity. Despite now being waist-deep in loose dirt, he lashed his sword out with lightning speed, striking and removing the now magically glowing finger of the undead in front of him. The finger fell to the ground with a sickly thud, at the feet of the zombie. Markaz shielded himself with his arms, not hard to do considering by now his chest and above was all that was visible. The cadaver looked down in terror, and gave one last wide eyed glance to the shielded and almost buried Markaz before the crackling energy built up and exploded upward, ripping off the entire front half of the undead in a shower of decaying flesh and greenish blood.