Fight Out of Town

I watched helplessly as the undead fire consumed a majority of Carverstead in an instant, washing away the buildings and flooding the streets that I knew were filled with people. Still weak from exerting myself earlier, I nonetheless forced myself to teleport towards the burning town. I made it closer, but my shaky concentration took me only 500 feet, where I could see the rumbling flames roasting everything that they touched. After the initial impact of that giant fireball that Dryden threw down, the wave of fire subsided, leaving a vast majority of the town continuously burning in the sinister dark flames.

Some of the buildings along the outskirts, such as the dungeons, seemed to be spared, where I realized that the fire wall that once surrounded the area was now absent. To my relief, a bunch of people emerged from between the buildings. Survivors! Wondering if the mayor might be among them, I watched them closely as they spilled into the surrounding darkness, shrieking, crying, and murmuring in panic, carrying only what they were able to sling over their backs. As their home became a raging inferno behind them, I silently cheered for these few dozen survivors as they began to scatter out. Then, a low-pitched whistle began to cut through their collective muttering.

Grey Storm. I'd forgotten about them. Almost appearing out of thin air, were many cloaked men, all wearing the same scarlet garb and having similar grey, hairless skin. In their hands were swords and daggers, glinting in the moonlight as they snickered and chuckled while advancing to the townsfolk. Panic coerced through my yellow-kernelled body, where I watched helplessly as they closed in. Dryden claimed that he'd dispatched them specifically to slaughter any survivors, apparently to ensure that all witnesses to the atrocity were stifled, though in retrospect, I assume that it was to cover his own ass incase the "cultivator" still managed to escape.

I couldn't believe my kernels as the Grey Storm set upon the panicked group like jackals on an injured gazelle. Time passed by in slow motion as the first of the cloaked men drove their dagger into the chest of a random woman, while her husband futilely attempted to punch him before getting stabbed in the stomach. The others began to succumb to the same murderous fate as they were encircled by the mercenaries, and I didn't know what to do. Too weak to do much myself, I forced my kernels to summon something.

I focused hard on bringing something into the world that would fight for me, willing an obedient minion into existence as I tried to go the same route I had as with the skeletal vulture. I concentrated hard on attempting to bring another undead familiar into the world, where I expended what little energy remained around my vegetable form to drag something out of the ground.

To my delight, something began to emerge from a white circle that opened up in the grass

. It was my first time actually seeing the summoning process, where I watched as multiple symbols that I was not familiar with flashed across the white loop before glowing a brilliant, radiant yellow. Something emerged vertically from it seconds later, where I was immediately disgusted upon getting a look at its rotten flesh and visible bones. Trembling as if it were barely able to stand, was a normal regular human zombie…I guess. It looked more skeleton than anything, with no clothes whatsoever and only sparse bits of rotten skin dangling from its grey bones. A large, bloodshot eye was in its left socket, where its jaw creaked open and it began to emit a shrill, gurgled groan.

"Attack!!" I commanded the undead cadaver, finally exhausting my last bit of kernels to order it forward. With that, I lost my sight, and my yellow cob body listed to the side. I linked myself to the zombie instead, now watching from its POV.

The groaning zombie staggered towards the Grey Storm just as intended, where I weakly tried to pilot it straight into the group. Slashing a man's throat, one of the cloaked men spotted the undead, alerting his buddies as they turned in shock seeing the zombie lunging at them. I managed to direct its gangly arm to grab the first mercenary I could reach, but one of his comrades sliced the arm clean off using his sword.

"Where the hell did this come from?" one of the members demanded as he tossed his dagger, imbedding itself in the zombie's chest. "Damn, it's persistent."

Staggering forward, I lunged at another nearby member, this time with the cadaver's rotten mouth, attempting to bite. The merc promptly responded by stabbing my zombie straight though it's remaining eye, blinding me again. I lost connection to my summon soon after, with the other cloaked men likely eliminating my poor familiar with ease. Sadly, the last thing that I heard through the undead husk was the continued scream of those poor survivors.

Now I was at my limit completely. There was nothing else that I could do. As I again returned to an exhausted unconsciousness, I felt sadness and grief over knowing that so many of those poor, innocent people were unjustly murdered. I felt guilt over being the McGuffin that the headless mage was searching for, but most notably. I felt a high degree of rage. Anger coursed from behind my yellow kernels, where I swore vengeance upon Dryden and his hired men. At least Lysander tried to stop his superior.