“Ummh, captain?” Wretch said as a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

  “They will find no weakness here, this is our city.” Edmund said, walking further into the stone chamber. The group followed with raised weapons, Astrid in the middle, flanked by Wretch and Elenya. All three, scanning the shelves of shriveled corpses.

  Something shone in the dark and Wretch gritted his teeth. Two pupils, lit with fire, stared at them from the ground.

  The captain raised his shield as he walked forward. As they got closer, the lantern pierced deeper. At the chambers end, up two steps, stood three sarcophaguses cut from dark rock and adorned with dancing skeletons. Below them, a corpse of only skin and bone covered in brownish liquid clutched a steel sword free from rust.

  Unlike the others, it wasn’t as dried, wearing a loincloth with sunken cheeks. Through paper-thin skin, black bones shined with a metallic hue. The eyes however, were glowing with flame. Its jaw rattled to life. twitching up and down up and down with dried sinew.

  Wretch felt a shiver down his spine and he heard Elenya’s hands tightening their grip on her halberd.

  “That’s close enough,” came a voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible over the whispers from the walls.

  Edmund stopped a good fifteen paces away from the figure.

  “Mr Datlovich, perhaps?” Edmund said firmly.

  The thin jaw moved, producing a guttural and grinding voice.

  “That was my name… and you are Hunters, yes?” The corpse clinging to the sword asked.

  “We are,” Edmund replied. “One of your corpses surfaced, killed a man.”

  “Tsk,” the corpse clicked its tongue with the sound of sandpaper. “Stomp around in the dark with screams and cries, appalled by the faded memories you wake.”

  “What was he doing down here?” Edmund asked.

  The corpse was quiet for a moment, sputtering whispers filling the silence.

  “It seems your city is growing weak, hunter.” The corpse said. “Kin dragging kin through the city's belly while the Saint watches from afar."

  Astrid took a step forward, one hand clenched tight around a dagger.

  “Why did your family embalm its deceased? Generations have passed since the practice was banned.”

  The mouth rattled open, the voice now with a tint of venom.

  “Hold your tongue girl. What new rules the Saint forces upon the masses matters little. Tyrant, entire types of flame purged. For what?" The corpse said, still unmoving except for the skittering mouth.

  “What do you mean types?” Wretch asked, his voice more skittish than he wished for.

  “Aren’t you Hunters? Or has even that knowledge faded from this forsaken city?”

  The Richters looked at each other as the corpse gave a hoarse laugh.

  Edmund seemed thoughtful, as if choosing his words.

  “Well,” the rattling jaw began. “Shall we move on from gossip to business, hunters?”

  The whispers were growing and waning as Edmund spoke. Shield in one arm and the lantern in the other.

  “The tomb must be subject to a bureau-led investigation and you, put under arrest for the death of a civilian.” Edmund said.

  The corpse was unmoving still, not even a shallow breath or blink of the eye.

  “The tomb of Datlovich, searched by the Bureau of the Hunt.” The corpse said in a reminiscent tone. “My forbearers in this very room would have fought their entire lives to prevent such a thing.”

  Edmund shook his head.

  “On this point, I can not budge, however. If you can inform us of where the victim came from a more lenient punishment could be in order.”

  “And if I refuse?” The corpse mused, with a teasing tone.

  “If you will not comply, I am afraid I will have to see this as a hostile action against the city,” The captain answered with a grave tone. “And act accordingly.”

  The corpse chuckled. Its voice coming as much from the room itself as the mummified remains in front of them.

  “In life, I was an Ember. It happened when I buried my father and mother. I became the last of my line. But still, I kept their company. Kindling my flame through their coals and by staying by their side, as was our way.”

  "My first blessing was nothing but a taunt from the Old Flame. To scorch my bones unbreakable. How utterly useless."

  Strong bones, I could use those. Wretch thought, licking his dried lips.

  The whispers quieted, as if they too listened to the dead man’s tale.

  “I longed to join them. So when sickness befell me, I welcomed it...”

  Wretch looked around in the dark room. Rows upon rows of the dead, laying still and lifeless.

  “You wanted to die here…” Wretch whispered out loud, speaking his mind.

  The corpse jerked suddenly, its jaws snapping open unnaturally wide in a shout through brittle vocal-cords.

  “CURSED FLAME gave me no relief.”

  It continued, in a sullen tone, like the last words of a dying man.

  “A blessing to stay in life, even in death, trapped in this very room.” it said with burning eyes. “So I slept… until a fool overturned a coffin.”

  Elenya stepped forward with her halberd and the whispers hissed, but Edmund held a hand up to stop her.

  “If it’s an end you seek,” Edmund answered. “That can be swiftly arranged.”

  The corpse opened its bony jaw, its words drawn out as if to hold a double meaning.

  “What would happen if this wasn’t my end, but yours?”

  Edmund was unmoved by the threat, or at least he didn’t show it.

  “They would launch an investigation. More hunters would arrive, higher in rank. I am sorry Mr Datlovich, if you resist…your death is guaranteed.”

  Lie or not, the whispers grew agitated, sputtering and hissing words of no meaning.

  “I see.” The corpse answered with calmness, much unlike the agitated whispers growing into wails of grief and sputtering anger.

  “You hear, they still speak. How would I face them? Having led hunters into their place of rest, just to end my own suffering.”

  “As if they didn’t suffer to keep secrets.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The whispers grew still and only a singular voice filled with relief came from the chamber.

  “No... you will gift me an end, or it will be my gift to thee. That, I hope they can accept.”

  Wretch felt the name wash over his mind.

  Ivan, Last of Kin.

  Chaos erupted.

  Skittering sounds exploding from the chamber, bony limbs with rusty weapons jerking to life. Stale skin and lips drawing air into wails of agony.

  “Move!” Edmund shouted.

  Elenya and Wretch were already dashing towards the flame-eyed corpse.

  Shambling bodies threw themselves out of the shelves to meet them. Piling over Ivan and striking outwards with wide untrained strikes. They moved in twitching spasms, as if pulled by invisible strings.

  Wretch ducked under a rusted sword.

  They are fast! Wretch thought as he took a step back.

  Elenya smashed her halberd into the closest twitching carcass, spraying splintered bones and dust into the air. By the time it hit the floor, another handful of corpses were upon them.

  She jumped back to avoid the jab of a spear as an explosion came from Edmund’s shield, blasting the closest handful of corpses into pieces.

  “Formation, kid! Elenya! We’ll be overrun.” Edmund shouted, all sense of calm gone from his voice.

  Wretch felt his heart pound in his chest. They retreated as two tides of wailing twitching dead crashed towards them from either side.

  “Through the door! We’ll hold them at the chokepoint,” Edmund yelled.

  They sprinted towards the exit.

  Then, a dry laugh echoed over the wails of horror. The granite slabs groaned. The door began closing.

  Shit!

  He upped the pace and sprinted past his colleagues, he was faster by far. Sliding to a stop in the archway, He dug his heels down and strained both arms against the moving blocks.

  Come on, you bastard.

  An unseen force pulled with unnatural strength. His muscles screamed at the verge of snapping and his claws scraped against the stone.

  Still he couldn't stop it.

  The rest were too far off. But he? He could still slip through, leave them and escape. He’d done so before. The trail back was easy to follow, he could surface, cook up a story. He’d probably be rewarded, then continue the search for his father.

  That’s not me anymore. Not these people.

  The door ground to a close with a heavy thud, forcing him to release his grip. Elenya crashed into the entrance a moment later, her skin tinted red. The exit groaned under her weight but didn’t give way.

  “The fucker won’t budge,” she growled.

  The captain came to a stop and pressed his shield towards the door. An explosion of force shook the stone with enough force to rattle their bones.

  The rock didn’t move, but the shrieking whispers grew.

  “Saint be damned,” Edmund let out.

  The shambling mass of oil covered faces and skeletal bodies surged towards them.

  “He won’t have flame forever, we’ll outlast him!” Edmund answered. Placing his lantern by the door and drawing his sword from his sheath. “He is just a Fireling at best.”

  He stepped forward, shield in front. Wretch and Elenya behind to the sides.

  “I will restrain them,” Astrid said from the back, throwing a handful of seeds to either side with fiery eyes.

  Thorny vines erupted, rustling upwards in the low light, trapping several of the twitching corpses and leaving a narrow corridor for them to advance.

  “Let’s grind them to dust,” Elenya said through gritted teeth, gripping her halberd tight.

  The tide of oily bodies and snarling whispers crashed against the thorns, funneling through the artificial chokepoint.

  “My Hunters are without weakness. Let’s show them.” Edmund shouted.

  “I will take care of the ones getting through.” Wretch answered and stepped towards the flank while Edmund and Elenya took care of the corridor.

  The undead waded through the thorny bushes, twitching and moaning. One lunged with a shattered blade.

  He ducked under the stab and slammed his clawed hand against the mummified head. Something cracked and the head swiveled on its axis. Still, the corpse didn’t falter in the slightest, its face still stuck looking over its shoulder. The broken sword drew a gash across his forearm.

  He kicked it in the chest, staggering the light body back into the vines. More gasping, eyeless faces were already upon him.

  A boom from Edmund’s shield shook the room. It must have been devastating, but he didn’t have time to look.

  He clawed and stabbed as fast as he could, severing bloodless limbs. That did not kill them, instead severed hands clawed at his feet and heads stuck in the thorns sputtered curses.

  They don’t die. Why don't they die?

  A pike thrust from the dark. He pivoted to dodge, but a hand clenched around his ankle.

  Shit!

  The rusty spear dug into his abdomen. It hit hard, like a gut punch cutting through his intestine.

  Grasping skeletal hands reached towards him. A flare of panic went through him and he slammed down with his dagger, abandoning any semblance of form. The rotten spear cracked in two.

  More hands caught on to him dragging him towards the dead tide in the thorns. Then, two hands grabbed his collar and pulled him away.

  Astrid was pale and her eyes wide. Power flooded from her fingertips, mending his wound with gentle care, free from the twitching and painful shock his own blessings offered.

  He pulled the spearhead from his gut, the simmering wound closing in seconds.

  “Thanks!” He said while panting, having forgotten to breathe.

  Astrid glanced at the section he had defended, mutilated corpses falling out of the prickly vines in the low light.

  “Leave that side, we will have to fight back to back.” She said, there was a resignation in her voice. This was bad, he realized.

  He glanced at the rest of the group, Elenya was drenched in blood and embalming fluids. Hacking through heaps of the roaring dead.

  Edmund stood at the corridor's end with his shield raised, barely visible beneath the mass of snarling corpses crawling over him. He must have increased the weight of his armor, or he’d been swept away long ago.

  A shockwave exploded from his shield and a dozen dead burst into dust, he took two steps back. Long cuts running down his neck.

  “I’m three-quarters empty.” Astrid yelled, already moving up to Edmund with fiery eyes.

  “I lost the left,” Wretch called. “Too many!”

  “I was wrong.” Edmund said as Astrid placed a healing hand on his neck. “We can’t outlast him. We need to break through!”

  Wretch's thoughts rushed through his mind. They needed to tip the scale, and fast. A moment later, he settled on an idea.

  He stepped away from his section as the corpses that had made it through the vines stood up and stumbled towards him with lifeless faces. Instead, he dashed to Elenya and grabbed her bloodied shirt, pulling her back.

  “Elenya! Throw me over!”

  “What?” Elenya said in surprise, a rusty sword bouncing off her halberd.

  “Throw me, as far as you can!”

  For a moment, she just stared at him. Then, she dropped her halberd, the weapon chiming against the stone floor.

  “Damn, rat,” she muttered. “I almost got to know you.”

  She grabbed him by the back of his collar and another hand on the belt of his trousers.

  Every part of Elenya’s exposed skin lit up with faint red shadows as her eyes turned to fire. Her hands lifted him off the ground with ease. Swerving him a full turn as he picked up speed. The wind blew in his eyes and the world blurred, and then, she let go.

  The air whistled in his ears and he glimpsed hands reaching out from the stampede below.

  “Charge!” Edmund yelled from somewhere behind him.

  Wretch flew over thorns and skeletal bodies. The light from the lamp did not penetrate far, and he fell into the darkness.

  In the shadows, he glimpsed two burning eyes, watching him with a stare.

  I am coming for you.