Starlit Heroics: A Spectrum of Hate

After walking through a near pitch-black tunnel, lit only by dim purple lights, the group finally arrived at a fork in their path. Normally this is where Daniel would have given some more tourist information, but the weight of the situation kept him quiet. They took the right path and eventually entered a grand room with high ceiling, better lit with many torches. The walls were lined with graves, many marked with a name and some bearing a statue.

“You know, I had a thought,” Daniel said, taking in the spectacle. “What if the Chaos Reapers set their burial ground here because it’s so close to the Tomb of the Creators? Maybe it had some religious significance to them?”

“So… they knew about the creators?” Purple asked.

“Possibly… would explain why they went so far out of their way to bury their dead. Do you know…?”

Daniel turned to ask Merrick, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was reading his book, the thick one he always had on hand, and muttering something that Daniel couldn’t quite understand.

“Uh… what are you doing?”

Merrick didn’t seem to hear and continued his mumbling.

“Lorv Steelle, Mereh Hall, Anoderas Culann…”

Names. He was reading a list of names. Daniel guessed that each name was a grave in the burial ground, but why did his book have that list?

It must be an artifact of the Chaos Reapers, Daniel thought. Apparently they had kept a list of everyone who died.

Why?

“…Medraut Khaleel, Androk Gil, Ulrik Proteus, Leon Kalida.”

Merrick closed the book. His eyes remained focused on where the words once were. He didn’t look up, but slowly, he raised an arm out in front of him.

“…Rise.”

And the silence of the massive burial ground was broken with the groaning of heavy stone being pushed away and ground upturned. Slowly, skeletal remains with uneven amounts of rotting flesh still clinging to their bones climbed out of their resting places, while the less honored clawed their way out of the soil.

Daniel’s stomach sank. He grabbed his sword and pointed it to Merrick, but the boy still made no move to suggest he was even aware. He still stared at a point by his hands, face white as the ghosts now haunting the grave.

“What are you doing!?” Daniel repeated, this time shouting at him. “What…”

The first undead to retain its balance began walking to Merrick’s side. The boy threw an arm up, and the undead stopped. He slowly turned his head to look the undead in its rotting, maggot filled eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” he commanded, if quietly.

For a brief second, the undead didn’t move, like it needed time to process the command. If it were alive, Daniel would have interpreted it as deliberation. But the slave slowly turned around so its back faced the two of them.

“None of you are allowed to look at me!” Merrick yelled. The rest of the undead, or at least those that had finished unburying themselves, turned around as well. Those still working simply turned their heads.

“Merrick… why?” Daniel pleaded. “Are you… a necromancer?”

“Give me your sword,” Merrick responded, eyes still fixated on the closest undead. Daniel shook his head, though he wasn’t sure if Merrick could see.

“Give it.”

“No.”

Merrick clenched his jaw, and instead bent over to pick up a rock the size of his fist. With one swooping motion, he hammered the undead next to him in the head, causing it to stagger and catch its balance. But it continued to just stand there, uncaring.

A wide grin crawled onto Merrick’s pale face. He hit the undead again, and then a second time before it could catch its balance. The corpse fell to the ground, and Merrick continued his assault until multiple bones had broken beneath his bludgeon. When it was obvious the body wasn’t going to get back up, Merrick changed to kicking it in the ribs and face. He continued his assault for many, uncomfortable minutes as the rest of the undead stood idly nearby, gazes turned away.

Finally, out of breath, Merrick stopped and caught his breath. “Stupid,” he said. “Pathetic.”

“Merrick!”

Finally, Merrick turned his head to look at Daniel. He frowned, brows furrowed to show his annoyance.

“…Why?” Daniel asked. “Why are you doing this? What are you going to do?”

Merrick didn’t answer. He instead scanned the crowd of undead. “You there,” he pointed to one. “Kill him.”

“What!?”

Purple squeaked in fear from inside Daniel’s collar where he was hiding.

“You can’t be serious!”

The undead sauntered over to the boy and dragon. It unsheathed an old, rusted sword from a strap of leather barely hanging from its hip. Of course the Chaos Reapers buried their dead with their weapons.

Daniel staggered back, but this was fight or flight now. Regaining his resolve, he rushed the undead, swinging his sword high over his head. The undead easily parried the blow.

So it’s not one of those stupid zombies, Daniel thought. There was a time when he bragged about how easy fighting skeletons would be. How naïve he had been. Though to be fair, fighting highly trained assassin zombies was a bit different than what he had been thinking at the time.

There was no point fighting. If Merrick really was intent on killing him, then he’d send his whole army to completely overpower him.

Daniel reached into his pocket where he had a teleportation crystal back to Nintendria. He felt guilty leaving Merrick. Even if he was trying to kill him, there was clearly something he didn’t understand. But that would have to wait. In a flash of bright blue light, Daniel and Purple escaped the tomb.

-

Merrick sighed. Could have been better. The tomb had become eerily silent again, and a tidal wave of loneliness and vulnerability hit the boy. He looked over at the most central grave, surrounded by massive statues and torches. It was unopened. Kalida’s soul must not have fully recovered enough to command it through his necromancy. Stupid old man, now he can’t even watch helplessly as Merrick took full command of his mortal body to do whatever bidding he pleased.

The walls began to close in around Merrick. He had to get out. But where to first? The whole world was open to him.

Merrick glanced down at the undead by his feet. It had turned its head in the fight so its rotted eye stared up at him.

“I said, don’t look at me.”