"Orgeeg!" Dulab pushed Orgeeg out of his chair just as the sharp edge of a blade bit into the chair's back. The four Royal Black Guards, three with slit throats and one with a gaping wound in his chest moved with a singular purpose, to deal death.
The one impaled on a sword gripped the hilt and ripped the blade free of him without indicating any show of pain or even a grunt of discomfort. He made for a Royal Black Guard who implemented a form of Pride, one leg before the other with front foot lifted on tiptoe, shifting weight from back foot to front with blade raised in the dominant hand followed by a downward thrust. The blade plunged through the lower neck of the undead Royal Black Guard but it rendered no effect on the man, mouth still opening and closing, he drove himself further along the blade's length towards the one who'd delivered the thrust. The Royal Black Guard stood still, a look of mild surprise mingled with fear at the fact that a killing blow had not killed. The undead Black Guard delivered an upward thrust of his own sword, blade digging under the chin of the surprised man before ejecting the sword free of the man to a shower of blood.
Orgeeg watched the Royal Black Guard collapse, face turned to him where he lay on the ground from where he'd been pushed out of his chair. The blood pooled around the man's head, his blue eyes were fixed on Orgeeg, thick blood poured out of his mouth as he opened it, as if struggling to say something. Fingers twitching, a leg kicking. The death thralls, Orgeeg was familiar with them. He'd seen them on the battle fields, he'd witnessed it first hand when he dealt death to his victims. Dying men screamed, and if they couldn't scream they made guttural sounds and if they were capable of speech they called for their mothers and if neither was possible they twitched and jerked until they breathed their last. Any time now and the man would die, and he would lay still and the blood would still pour but not as a result of a beating heart. Anytime now. Orgeeg couldn't take his eyes off the dying man, apparently the blade thrust beneath the chin hadn't been as efficient as Orgeeg would have had it done, the death thrall took a span of moments but anytime now the man would die.
He did not die.
His blue eyes abruptly vanished together with the whites of his sclera. In their place was total darkness. The same darkness that had peered at Orgeeg from within a possessed Masutap's eyes.
Orgeeg screamed, an inhuman sound emanating from his throat. One he did not think he was capable of. The man Orgeeg had been observing raised himself off the ground, all evidence of dying gone, life's evidence in plenty despite the ruined throat and neck and the blood loss. The man sprinted towards Orgeeg, blood still dripping free of his gaping wound. Orgeeg scrambled backwards on the tavern floor. In normal situations, he would have unsheathed his short blade, implemented a Form of combat and emerged victorious. Here, before this abomination, there was no guarantee of victory for how can one wage war on an enemy who can't die?
And most of all, Orgeeg feared becoming as they were, trapped in the last moment of death, incapable of entering Tabrimas until their flesh rotted from their bones, and even then their souls would be claimed by Leba's God.
He watched as the undead Royal Black Guard appeared, a nonchalant expression on the man's face, as if being trapped in endless agony was as normal as the rising of the sun. But when the man neared a blade plunged into his temple from the side, piercing through skull, brain and out the other side of his head. The force of the thrust tilted the undead's neck one way. The blade was jerked free of the undead's head but the man still moved, turning to face his attacker. Dulab danced back, a short blade in hand. Twisted free of the dead man's hands as it tried to implement a Form of Awe. Dulab sliced through the man's wrist, cutting the tendons of his outstretched right hand, pirouetted and dipped low in a Form of Grind, plunging the short blade into the lower right side of the undead's knee just as the man placed his weight on it and collapsed. The creature, incapable of supporting its weight on its damaged knee, crawled towards Dulab, making not a sound as it pulled itself forward using its left hand for purchase.
Dulab walked around the undead Royal Black Guard and came to Orgeeg, he lowered himself to meet Orgeeg's eyes. "Look at me." Dulab commanded. But Orgeeg was transfixed by what was happening behind Dulab. The Royal Black Guards in the tavern were fighting the undead and losing, those who dropped only rose with black eyes and continued the fight against those with free will, against those whose souls weren't tethered to a lie of life. Where there had been four undead, there was now a dozen. And the few still alive were being hurried from all directions.
A hot slap on his cheek finally drew Orgeeg's attention to Dulab. "Listen to me," Dulab started. "We need to get out of here, now!" Orgeeg blinked, wondering why everything was so blurry, only to realize his eyes were wet with tears. When was the last time I crie— A second slap drew his attention once more. "You're Rank one of the Royal Black Guard! You dolt! Now is not the time to be incapacitated by fear! Move! We need to move!"
By the Gods Dulab was right. Orgeeg turned his head behind him, seeing Masutap's immobile form on the tavern floor. Suddenly, he realized that killing Masutap was the last thing he wanted to do, maybe she could help him if they were overrun by the undead. Chances high she could also side with the undead, being that Leba had compelled them into being through her. But at the moment, Orgeeg knew that a Champion of the Gods, any of the Gods be it the one of Binoria, Talisi or Kolotia, were the only hope humanity had against Leba Vigon and his God.
"We can't leave her." Orgeeg said. Turning to Dulab who took a moment before nodding.
"We can't leave through the door." Dulab said, turning to face where the undead were hacking and grappling with four living Royal Black Guards, close to the only tavern door. The undead Dulab had crippled was crawling closer to Dulab. "We need to act now!"
Orgeeg opened his mind's eye and sought a point of logic. There, in the strands of fear that criss crossed through his consciousness, he was able to spot a thought that negated fear, he focused on it forcing his fear back a step. Fighting the undead yielded only loss, but escaping them offered a moment where he could recuperate, get his wits back and act in a manner that guaranteed survival. The point of logic forced his limbs into motion, springing off the ground in one fluid motion. Now that he had a motive, his fear retreated a step further. Grabbing Masutap, who was surprisingly light despite what he'd heard of her strength, he hefted her onto his shoulder, her arms dangling down his back.
Dulab was right, the door was completely crowded, and Orgeeg watched as the undead turned to face them. They looked a frightful bunch, blood all over, eyes all black. Skin pale from blood loss. Yet their faces, that looked void of all emotion, frightened him the most.
The undead charged. And without a thought, Orgeeg sprinted for the windows at the upper floor tavern, dived and plunged through them in a shattering of window panes. As he plummeted through the air he heard Dulab fall too. And before he hit the ground he prayed the undead wouldn't follow.
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