The zombies lurched forward as one, shambling toward John with outstretched arms.

  Slamming the door shut behind him, John dropped the heavy iron brace into its brackets. If the horde on the bridge heard the commotion, he didn't want them pouring in from behind.

  The first zombie reached for him, and John sidestepped as Moonfang flashed. The head tumbled away cleanly.

  He kept moving, never staying in one spot. The zombies were slow, predictable, and John wove between them, maintaining distance, letting them come to him one or two at a time. Each swing was economical, precise. Decapitation or bisection, whatever presented itself. The bodies fell in neat rows as he worked his way through them methodically.

  One zombie got closer than the others, reaching with skeletal fingers—

  Green vines burst from the stone floor, wrapping around its ankle, and the zombie crashed face-first onto the stone.

  John looked at the rat on his shoulder in surprise. The little creature stood tall, one paw extended dramatically, leaves glowing faintly green. Its staff blazed with the same color.

  The vines crumbled after a moment, but the zombie was still trying to get back up.

  "You're a druid rat," John said, slightly amazed.

  The rat chittered proudly.

  "Nice," John said, and took the zombie's head off.

  Across the room, the boy worked frantically over the abomination's leg, needle flying through flesh with desperate speed. "Faster, faster," he muttered to himself. "Almost done, almost—"

  John cut down another zombie, then another. The pile of bodies was growing.

  The boy's needle made one final stitch, and he tied it off with trembling hands before stepping back, breathing hard.

  "Done!" he shrieked. "It's DONE!"

  Green lightning arced from the crown into the massive construct, and the abomination's mismatched eyes snapped open, blazing with unnatural light. It lurched upright with surprising speed for something so large, all four arms reaching outward as it rose to its full, terrible height.

  Weapons lay scattered around the monster, and the construct's four hands moved as one, each claiming a weapon. A rusted greatsword in one. A spiked mace in another. A brutal-looking axe in the third. And in the fourth hand, a length of chain studded with jagged metal shards that clinked as the creature lifted it.

  The boy laughed. It started as a giggle but built into full, manic laughter. "Do you SEE?" His voice cracked with triumph, eyes wide and wild. "Do you see what I've created?"

  He pointed at John with a trembling finger, his young face twisted with vindictive glee. "You're just some peasant with a sword. You think you can fight THAT?" He laughed harder. "You're already dead! My Warden will crush you like the insect you are!"

  The abomination charged.

  Ten feet of stitched-together corpse came at John with surprising speed, the greatsword sweeping down in a massive overhead strike meant to split him in half.

  John dove forward and to the side. The blade crashed into the stone where he'd been standing, sending chips of rock flying. He rolled to his feet already swinging.

  Moonfang's enchanted edge met the abomination's sword arm at an elbow joint, and the runes flared white-hot as the blade passed through stitched flesh like it was nothing more than mist. The entire arm tumbled away, hitting the ground with a heavy clang that reverberated through the chamber.

  The boy's triumphant laughter choked off. "What—"

  The abomination swung with the mace arm, trying to catch John while he was close, but John flowed backward with fluid grace, then lunged forward again as the weapon passed. Another strike, another severed limb, and the mace clattered across the floor.

  Two arms down in seconds.

  A zombie shambled toward John from the left, arms outstretched, and John spun and took its head off without breaking stride before turning back to face the abomination.

  The construct swung with its axe arm, a wide horizontal slash. John ducked under it and brought Moonfang up through the creature's torso in a devastating upward cut. The blade carved through the stitched flesh like paper, and the abomination staggered back, massive body beginning to list to one side.

  "NO!" the boy screamed. "That's impossible! You can't—"

  John turned toward the voice.

  He thrust both hands forward desperately, and black energy gathered between his palms, swirling and writhing like living shadow. A ball of decay magic shot toward John's chest, trailing wisps of darkness.

  John brought Moonfang up in a smooth parry. The blade caught the spell and scattered it against the glowing runes in a shower of black sparks.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Then John started running, straight at the boy.

  Behind him, he heard the abomination's heavy footsteps coming after him. Fast.

  The necromancer's face went pale as he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.

  "Wait—wait!" His hands came up again, trembling badly. Black energy flickered weakly between his palms. "Stay back!"

  He threw another bolt of decay magic, but his aim was wild and desperate.

  John juked left, barely shifting his weight, and the spell flew harmlessly past his shoulder.

  "No! Please! I didn't—"

  The boy's arms flew up to cover his face, hands crossed, eyes squeezed shut. He screamed, high-pitched and terrified.

  Moonfang came up in a controlled arc.

  Metal shrieked and the crown split with a sharp crack. The two halves tumbled from the boy's head, hitting the stone floor with dull clangs.

  Behind John, the abomination collapsed with a thunderous crash that shook the chamber, so close he felt the vibration through the stone. Around the room, every zombie still standing dropped like puppets with cut strings, their bodies hitting the floor in a wave of dull thuds.

  The boy's scream cut off. His arms were still raised, but he'd gone completely still, staring at nothing. His lips moved soundlessly, as if trying to remember words he'd once known.

  John paused, watching the boy carefully, then knelt and picked up both halves of the broken crown. The black iron was cold to the touch, and even split in two, it seemed to pulse with a faint, malevolent energy.

  He turned the pieces over in his hands, studying the craftsmanship. This was old. Ancient, maybe. And it felt incomplete, like it was meant to be part of something larger.

  John could feel an urge to try it on, maybe the pieces would fit back together if he just held them to his head. He shook his head and shoved both halves into his storage ring. Not a chance. He'd deal with it later.

  John stood and looked back at the boy, waiting for him to recover.

  The rat on his shoulder wasn't so patient. It squeaked angrily, then hurled the light crystal with surprising force. The glowing stone struck the boy squarely in the forehead with a satisfying thunk.

  The boy flinched and his hand went to his forehead. "You lit—" He stopped, blinking rapidly as awareness slowly returned to his eyes. He looked around, confused, taking in the collapsed Warden and the scattered zombie corpses before his gaze settled on John.

  John said nothing, just watched him.

  "What?" The boy's expression shifted, arrogance creeping back into his features.

  "I was just practicing magic. That's all. Experimenting with summoning. Making them follow simple instructions, bring me things. Anything that looked useful."

  His gaze drifted to the collapsed giant. "One of them brought me a crown, and I had so many wonderful ideas...”

  Something like pride flickered across his face despite everything.

  "It's not like it matters what happens here anyway," he continued, his voice gaining confidence as he tried to justify himself. "Only criminals come down here."

  "You're down here," John said flatly.

  The boy's mouth fell open, genuine outrage flooding his young face. "That's completely different! I am Lord Cedric Ashford of House Ashford!" His voice rose with indignation, taking on the imperious tone of someone used to being obeyed. "How dare you compare me to trash!"

  John just looked at him, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably.

  The boy's face flushed red under that steady, unimpressed gaze. "I was in control of everything! The zombies, all of it! Until you came in and ruined everything!"

  "Yeah, I do that" John said simply.

  He glanced at the rat still perched on his shoulder. "What do you think?"

  The rat chittered thoughtfully for a moment, tilting its head as it considered the situation. Then it drew one tiny paw slowly across its throat in an unmistakable gesture.

  The boy's bravado faltered as he registered the gesture, his face going pale again. "I... My father is Magistrate of Thornhaven. The King himself would—"

  "Does your father know you're a necromancer?" John interrupted.

  "I'm a mage!" The words burst out, outraged and indignant. "A student of the arcane arts!"

  John raised an eyebrow.

  "Necromancy is a completely different discipline!" the boy insisted, his voice cracking slightly. "That's— I haven't killed anyone. The pit was already full when I found it. Countless executed prisoners, just lying there. Enough bodies for a—" He stopped abruptly, realizing where that sentence was heading.

  "What's your class?" John asked.

  The boy froze. "My class..."

  His face went slack. The words seemed to echo in his mind, and John watched understanding dawn.

  "My... my class is..." The boy's voice became a whisper.

  His eyes went wide. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The color drained completely from his face.

  Then his eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

  John looked down at the unconscious boy sprawled on the stone floor, then glanced at the rat on his shoulder.

  "Did you see a wheelbarrow in those rubbish piles we passed?"

  The rat shrugged.

  “Lets go look.“

  The wheelbarrow's wooden wheel squeaked rhythmically as John pushed it through the prison entrance, wheeling around the collapsed zombies. The boy lay in the barrow, trussed up with rope John had found. His hands were bound behind his back, his ankles tied together, several strips of torn cloth had been stuffed into his mouth and secured with more rope, and a piece of burlap sack covered his eyes as a makeshift blindfold.

  The rat sat perched on the edge of the wheelbarrow, keeping watch over their prisoner with obvious satisfaction.

  The wheelbarrow hit a raised stone with a solid thump that jarred the whole thing.

  "Mmmph! MMMPH!" The boy thrashed in the wheelbarrow, making it wobble dangerously.

  "Careful," John said. "You fall out, I’m dragging you back by your foot."

  The muffled sounds grew more outraged, rising in pitch and volume. The boy writhed against the ropes with indignant fury.

  The rat chittered with laughter.

  John just kept pushing, unable to suppress a grin as the wheelbarrow squeaked along.

  This was kind of fun.