Lucia nodded her understanding. Without a word, she selected a vial of swirling red and amber liquid and tossed it in a high arc that carried it over the suspicious area. As the glass shattered, the potion separated into dozens of tiny flaming droplets that rained down across the surface.

  The water erupted with frenzied movement as a nest of water serpents with purple scales thrashed in pain, their ambush revealed and disrupted. The creatures retreated deeper into the murk.

  "Good catch," Lucia said appreciatively. "Those were venom trouts. Their bite can liquefy muscle tissue."

  "Charming wildlife they have here," Clive remarked dryly, though he couldn't help feeling a surge of satisfaction at spotting the threat before it materialized.

  "Stay on the raised areas when possible," Lucia advised, pointing to natural berms that wound through the landscape. "The deeper waters hide things best left undisturbed."

  As they navigated around the pools, taking a more circuitous but safer route, Clive felt the distinct sensation of being watched. He turned sharply, scanning the twisted treeline behind them. For a brief moment, he glimpsed a pair of luminous eyes observing them from the shadows.

  He reached for his sword instinctively. But the moment his hand reached his hilt, the eyes disappeared, leaving only the endless purple mist and gnarled vegetation.

  "Did you see that?" he asked Lucia, who was already several paces ahead.

  She paused, turning back with torch raised. "See what?"

  "Eyes in the darkness. Something was watching us." He frowned, still staring at the spot where the observer had been. It was the same feeling he had when they first entered. "Not like the plants or serpents. Something... aware."

  "Eyes reflect firelight. Could have been anything. Water, wet leaves, even insects." She swept the torch in a wider arc, her free hand moving to her belt. "But we should keep moving."

  They pressed on, but the feeling of being observed never fully left them. The path, already treacherous and winding, seemed to grow more confusing with each step. What had initially appeared to be a clear route deeper into the grove now branched and twisted.

  "Hold on," Lucia said after they'd been walking for another twenty minutes. She held her torch higher, examining the gnarled trunk of a massive cypress. "I think... I think we've been here before."

  "That's impossible," Clive said, though even as he spoke, he recognized the distinctive pattern of roots around the tree's base. "We've been walking in a straight line."

  "No," Lucia said grimly, turning in a slow circle. "Look around. Really look."

  Clive activated his [Artist's Eyes], studying their surroundings with enhanced perception. The revelation was unsettling. The cluster of three dead saplings to their left, the arrangement of lily pads on a nearby pool, he'd seen it all before, perhaps an hour ago.

  "The Shadowfen is playing tricks on us," Lucia continued.

  As if responding to her words, the purple mist thickened around them. The familiar landmarks they'd been using for navigation—a lightning-struck oak here, a distinctive boulder there—all began to look the same in the swirling haze.

  "We need to mark our path more clearly," Clive suggested. He drew his dagger and carved a deep 'C' into the bark of the nearest cypress tree.

  They continued onwards, but twenty minutes later, they stood before the same cypress tree with Clive’s carved ‘C’.

  "This is maddening," Lucia muttered, her voice strained. The purple mist was growing thicker around them, causing her to cough. "The miasma is getting worse."

  They tried another route, this time with Lucia dropping small vials of colored powder every few yards to mark their passage. The bright blue trail should have been impossible to miss, yet they found themselves back at the cypress tree once again. The colored powder was nowhere to be seen, as if it had never existed.

  The familiar prickle of unseen eyes settled between Clive’s shoulder blades again. He swirled around, trying to locate the source, but this time, another sound caught his attention.

  "Listen," he called out to Lucia, catching her arm.

  They both froze. It was subtle at first, the distant plop of something breaking the surface of stagnant water, the rustle of moss-draped branches. But after a while, it became increasingly clear that this was not the random splash of a feeding creature, but the measured cadence of something walking through the mud.

  Something that walked on two legs.

  "Off the path," Lucia whispered urgently.

  Clive withdrew his blade, ready for battle but Lucia pulled him toward the hulking shadow of a fallen cypress. Its massive trunk, thick as a wagon and draped in curtains of hanging moss, offered the only substantial cover in sight.

  "I have a bad feeling about this. Its scent, it's different," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Clive inhaled deeply, his [Apothecary’s Nose] parsing the complex odors. Beneath the marsh's perpetual rot, something else lurked. An immense wave of death and decay that made the surrounding swamp smell fresh by comparison. They crouched in silence as the footsteps grew louder.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "Fresh meat..." The words drifted through the purple haze, spoken in a rasping voice like grinding bone. "Warm blood... still pumping through soft veins."

  Through the mist, a figure emerged, humanoid in shape but disturbing in every detail.

  Yellowed bones jutted from decaying flesh that hung in tatters from its skeletal remains. Its limbs were elongated, finger bones extending into claw-like appendages. Where eyes should have been, twin points of pale green light glowed in empty sockets.

  It was a Risen.

  Clive’s grip on his sword tightened, but as the skeletal warrior drew closer, an unnatural cold radiated from its decaying form. The temperature plummeted around them. With that cold came something worse, a psychic miasma that invaded their minds.

  [Passive Effect: Aura of Dread]

  Clive's consciousness clouded as the magic assaulted his senses. Images flashed before his eyes—his mother's final moments, his own death, the endless void between lives. Every failure, every loss, every fear he had ever known crystallized into a single overwhelming sensation of terror.

  His heart hammered against his ribs. But something within him pushed back against the supernatural fear. Clive steadied his breathing with tremendous effort and forced his racing thoughts into order. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the solid ground beneath him and the weight of his sword in his hand. When he opened them again, his vision had cleared, the panic receding to a manageable tension.

  [Status Effect: Fear - Resisted]

  The creature paused not three paces from their hiding place. The loose jawbone clacked softly against its upper teeth as the green fires in its eye sockets flared brighter. It extended one bony hand, fingers spread wide as if feeling for disturbances in the air.

  Clive felt Lucia's hand tighten on his arm. Her breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, and her eyes were wide and unfocused. Even her lips had lost all color, pressed into a bloodless line as she fought to remain silent.

  [Lucia is afflicted with fear]

  [Lucia is unable to move]

  The risen leaned forward, bringing its skull to within inches of their hiding spot. It opened its hinged jaw wider as if tasting the air for the scent of the living.

  "Come out, little one..." The creature's jaw hung loose, clicking with each word. "It has been so long since prey wandered into my domain willingly."

  Clive's muscles coiled with tension. Every instinct screamed at him to strike first, to remove this abomination's head before it could alert any others. But a single glance at Lucia froze him in place. If combat erupted now, Lucia would be vulnerable. With discipline, Clive forced his hand away from his weapon, choosing stealth over valor.

  "I smell your fear," it rasped, the loose jaw clattering against its upper teeth. "Sweet terror, warming the blood. Makes the meat so much more tender."

  The creature's fingertips brushed the edge of the moss, no more than a hand's breadth from Clive's face. He could see the yellowed bone through gaps in the rotting flesh, could smell the tomb-stench of its breath.

  Then a spear erupted from the darkness behind the Risen, the iron point punching through its ribcage with a wet crack. The force of the impact drove the creature forward, pinning it against the fallen cypress trunk directly above their heads.

  The risen shrieked and clawed at the spear shaft with both hands. Black ichor leaked from the wound, dripping down onto the moss where they hid.

  An opportunity. Clive rolled out from their hiding spot, sword in hand. He drove his blade deep between the creature’s ribs. But the Risen was barely affected. It pushed up the spear and swiped at Clive. Its clawed hand raked across his forearm and tore fabric and flesh alike.

  Pain flared along his arm, but Clive's mind snapped to the Huntmaster's lessons.

  Against the Risen, boy, sharp steel just pisses them off. They don't bleed out, don't feel pain the way we do. Blunt weapons—crush their bones until they're physically incapable of moving. Turn them into a pile of fragments that can't reassemble.

  The Risen made another swipe at Clive’s throat. Clive threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding its claws, and tore a mace drawing from his sketchbook.

  [Draw: Mace]

  The mace materialized in his grip just as the risen tore itself free from the spear with a sickening wet sound. It turned toward him, those burning eye sockets flaring brighter with rage. Tatters of rotting flesh hung from the spear wound, but the creature moved as if the injury meant nothing.

  "Fresh meat bleeds so beautifully," it hissed, advancing with arms outstretched

  The creature dived towards him, skeletal fingers reaching for his throat. Clive stepped into the attack and brought the mace up in a crushing arc. The iron head connected with the risen's skull just above the temple. Bone cracked with a sound like breaking pottery, and fragments of yellowed skull scattered across the moss-covered ground. The green flames in its eye sockets flickered wildly.

  But the creature didn't fall. It wrenched its arm free and backhanded him across the face with enough force to send him staggering.

  "Clever little morsel," the Risen rasped. A spider web of cracks spread across its forehead where the mace had struck. "But bones can be mended."

  Clive spat blood and raised the mace again. The risen came at him in a fury of claws and snapping teeth. He ducked under a wild swing and brought his weapon down on the creature's shoulder. The collarbone shattered completely, and the Risen's left arm went limp.

  Another swing caught it in the ribs, and Clive felt several bones give way beneath the impact. The risen staggered but kept fighting, using its remaining functional arm to claw at his face.

  Clive grabbed the creature by what remained of its throat and drove the mace head into its chest repeatedly. Each impact produced wet cracks as ribs splintered and collapsed inward. The risen's movements became increasingly erratic as its skeletal framework failed.

  [Risen is weak to blunt damage]

  [Mace smash damage x 1.5]

  With a final, overhead strike, Clive brought the mace down on the creature's skull with every ounce of strength he possessed. The bones exploded. Fragments flew in all directions, and the green flames that had burned in its eye sockets faded away.

  “I see you….” The Risen hissed before collapsing into a heap of broken bones and putrid flesh.

  [Level Up]

  [Mace Mastery Level 3]

  [HP + 2]

  [Power level + 3]

  [Clive Weston]

  HP: 140

  MP:40

  Power Level:55

  Clive stood over the remains, breathing hard, his mace still raised. The purple mist settled around the scattered bones like a burial shroud. He waited several heartbeats, watching for any sign of movement, any flicker of those cursed green flames returning to life.

  Nothing. The creature was truly dead.

  Only then did he relax. He turned back to where Lucia still crouched behind the fallen cypress, her eyes wide and body trembling.

  "Are you okay?" he whispered to Lucia.

  In cursed lands, the dead do not rest. They hunt. And the living become nothing more than meat that has forgotten it is already carrion.

  —Huntmaster Kell's Bestiary of World