Chapter 2: First Blood

I was still in shock about my “condition” when I heard the sound of shifting soil. I turn my head to find other bony figures reaching for the surface.

I feel a slight sense of relief. At least I’m not alone. If we work together, maybe we can figure out what the hell is going on.

A few of the graves slightly move. Apparently, some of them were buried much deeper than me.

I extract my lower half and approach the nearest skeleton, but instantly lose balance and fall. Still, I desperately use my arms to crawl.

As I help “him” out, I find their movements strange. They were too calm, too precise to be in a panic. The first one to rise eerily stood, without a single care for their surroundings. Eventually, they all get out and assume the same posture.

They’re not like me, I suddenly realise. They’re no better than mannequins. I’m still alone. Why am I different from the rest?

 

Tend to me.

 

It wasn’t a voice, but a sudden thought. I feel an instinctual need to stand…

 

<Ruler of One activated. Conjurer’s command overruled.>

 

…when another sudden thought removes all desire to do so.

Without warning, every skeleton besides me face the same direction, and begin to march in step towards the gate. This is unsettling. Is everyone else being controlled? If I don’t act like the others, what will happen?

I struggle to right myself and adjust to my new centre of gravity. I use a gravestone for support, as I apologise in my heart to the owner who is now marching away. I manage to walk in an unsteady fashion, and end up last in the long line of skeletons. As we depart the graveyard, I gradually settle into my new body.

Soon after we leave, I see a dark hooded man awaiting our arrival. The skeletons begin forming ranks in front of him. I hastily follow suit without drawing his attention. Keeping my head still, I observe the man from the back row. His aging face have tattoos of unknown inscription. Judging by his figure, he is very scrawny, with hands as bony as my own. He opens his mouth and utters a foreign line.

 

Arm yourselves.

 

Huh? Did he say that? How did I understand?

He raises his arms and begins to chant in some incomprehensible tongue. Seconds later a faint, glowing circle appears, followed by the instantaneous appearance of a pile of weapons.

My non-existent eyes widen, and my jaw almost detaches. That was magic, right? On second thought, shouldn’t it be obvious? From the moment I saw him, I was reminded of some clichéd RPG cultist. The rotten rags that hung from every skeleton also appear frugal in design.

Could it be possible…?

My train of thought is broken by the sound of clattering metal. One by one, the skeletons begin picking up the weapons. I better do the same.

Keeping with the precise movements of the others, I blindly grab a short sword and fall back in line.

 

Follow me.

 

Once again, his words do not match my thoughts in English. Assuming everyone else is not thinking, I guess his commands control our instincts. Since I am self aware, I interpret them in whatever form is most convenient.

But forget about that! Why the hell did he summon me and a bunch of skeletal soldiers? Is he aware he dragged me from another world? That’s right, I’m thinking it. I’m not on Earth anymore. If he dismisses me, will I return home?

Anyway, there are over thirty armed skeletons following this stock necromancer.

Am I going to fight?

This isn’t funny. A first-world citizen like me wouldn’t stand a chance against anyone with skill. Maybe I should hang back while the others do all the work? I don’t want watch people die, but I know it’s too naive. At the very least, I will avoid getting involved in the fight.

The necromancer slows to a stop. I redirect my attention to the sight before me.

It’s a small village.

 

Slaughter them all!

 

… Forget soldiers, we’ll be facing women and children. Considering how fast we dug out of our graves, our bodies must be stronger than theirs. Worse, not a single light can be seen from any window. How can I stomach such an impending massacre!?

All the skeletons silently encircle the town. All except me, as I stand directly behind the perpetrator, with a sword in my hand.

Is there any other way? Can I quickly warn the villagers? No, it’s too late. The moment I stayed behind, I had already made my choice. Anything else will only draw suspicion.

I steel my mind, and glare at the man’s back with enraged conviction.

Why must so many die, when it could all end with one? Even if they still attack, future lives can be spared. A monster like you must be stopped.

I will stop you. I will kill you.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll go home.

As the skeletons charge, I begin my own ambush. My physical strength, birthed from his own magic, ploughs the blade straight through his back.

He gives a pathetic squeal that trails off as his left lung deflates. His dark cloak grows darker around the wound. I pull the sword out of his back, and let his blood stain the soil. He falls to his knees, gasping for air while desperately clenching his wound.

For some reason, I envy the fact he’s struggling for dear life. But I must not waste time. This is a world of magic, after all. Who knows if he has a health potion under that cloak.

I grab him by the hair, and bring my sword to his neck.

 

No! Stop, stop, STOP!

 

I feel his frantic orders throb against my temple. He turns the skeletons around, but they’re too far away to save him. In one fluid stroke, I slit his throat. He carries an expression of disbelief to his bloody grave.

The advancing force come to a sudden stop, and all the skeletons collapse. All except me.

I am trapped. I am alone. I have killed. I am no longer human.

I let out the most painful scream in Tyler Suesa’s life, but none shall ever hear it.

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