Derek froze. Those girly screams stabbed straight into his brain like needles.

  He was still dangling mid-air, caught in the twisted branches of the zombie tree, flailing like a puppet on a string.

  Alyra had vanished. Isabelle was under attack. Tunga was MIA somewhere in the jungle. He couldn’t just hang there doing nothing.

  But… why was the tree screaming? And why did it sound like a little girl? “What the hell…?” he muttered.

  Vanda’s voice cut through his confusion, gentle but urgent. “Derek! The voice you heard matches Alyra’s vocal frequency. She must be nearby.”

  He blinked, stunned. It wasn’t the tree screaming? Alyra… she was close!

  He scanned his surroundings frantically. Hovering above the zombie tree, a glowing label appeared:

  ||Bronze Level 4||

  Not exactly a pushover, but he’d dealt with worse.

  Still no health bar underneath the level. That seemed to be a trait of undead monsters.

  Below, Isabelle had her sword raised skyward, blasting arcs of lightning at any branch that dared to get close. Crawling insects were nearly on her. None had latched onto her yet, but the Warden looked like she was barely holding the line.

  Tunga… where the hell was Tunga?

  He shifted his gaze toward the treetops.

  There he was, tangled in a web of vines. Looked like the living trees were wrestling with the undead one, and the poor guy was caught in the middle, swinging like a rag doll and barking in whatever language he spoke.

  Nope. The shaman wasn’t getting out of that mess anytime soon.

  Derek had to move. Fast.

  He fired up the plasma blades and sliced through the branch pinning his legs with a clean arc of glowing light.

  The jungle floor rushed up to meet him. Leaves and branches slapped against his armor, his helmet shielding his face from the worst of it. He triggered the microthrusters to soften the landing.

  Two claw-like branches dove at him from above. The Tactical Intel Relay blinked to life, projecting intercept trajectories across his HUD.

  In two smooth sweeps, he sliced both limbs clean off before they could grab him again.

  Even severed, the branches twitched and writhed across the mud like dying snakes, jerking spasmodically.

  Derek stomped them with all 400 kilograms of his NOVA armor.

  They cracked like dry breadsticks.

  He shut down the blades and pulled out the plasma cannons. With a mental command, he switched to the new incendiary rounds. The icons lit up on his HUD, just like they had in the sim.

  “Derek,” Vanda warned, “there’s a high risk we’ll ignite half the jungle.”

  He grimaced. “I saw Tunga hurl fireballs without so much as singeing a leaf. Maybe magic fire doesn’t spread like the real thing.”

  Or maybe it did.

  No time to debate it.

  He aimed at the massive zombie tree trunk sprawled on the ground.

  Two twisted branches erupted from its bark, lashing toward him with skeletal fingers of gnarled wood, opening and closing like hungry claws.

  Derek fired.

  Two yellow plasma bolts shot out like lightning-fast arrows and pierced the rotting wood with a low thud. Twin glowing dots appeared at the points of impact, then exploded into flames.

  In seconds, fire engulfed the entire trunk.

  The branches attacking Tunga—and the ones harassing Isabelle—began to thrash wildly, beating at the burning trunk in a hopeless attempt to snuff out the fire.

  Tunga floated down gently, cradled by the vines of the living trees.

  Isabelle turned just in time to see the swarm of insects reach her feet. With a battle cry, she plunged her blade into the ground, sending a blinding wave of electricity rippling in all directions.

  The bugs froze mid-crawl, curled up, and started spinning in place, until one by one, they burst apart in sprays of clear liquid.

  Tunga raised his staff and hurled a fireball at the tree, adding fuel to the blaze.

  Isabelle followed suit. From the tip of her sword, a net of lightning spread outward, wrapping the undead tree in a cocoon of crackling energy.

  Sparks flew off the flaming trunk and drifted into the air like fireflies, but strangely, none of them lit the nearby trees on fire.

  The only sounds were the crackle of flames and the tortured creak of branches still trying to put themselves out.

  The undead tree was now focused entirely on extinguishing the fire devouring it.

  A pretty damn futile attempt.

  Was it over?

  The girl’s scream rang out again.

  This time, Derek recognized both the voice and the direction it came from.

  “Hold on, Alyra!” he shouted, spinning toward Isabelle.

  The Warden nodded. “Go to her. Tunga and I will hold things here.”

  Derek returned the nod. “Vanda, full power to leg actuators. Reduce armor mass. I want max speed and shortest trajectory to Alyra.”

  “Understood, Derek.”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  A moment later, he was flying over the dead tree and then down, tearing through the jungle like a steel missile.

  “Hold on, Alyra,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  He wouldn’t be too late.

  Not this time.

  Alyra hid behind Sierelith.

  The illusionist stood perfectly still, eyes wide, staring into the dense jungle. She was breathing fast, and not from exertion.

  Alyra swallowed. “Wh–”

  Sierelith raised a finger to her lips. “Shhh! Keep your voice down,” she whispered. “It might not have found us. Could just be trying to draw us out. Oldest trick in the book.”

  Alyra nodded. “What… who do you think it is?” she whispered back.

  The spy shook her head. “No idea. So far, I’ve only seen mindless undead around here. Maybe someone Uriela sent.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Uriela? Why would she send someone?

  The High Priestess definitely had more important things to do than come looking for her. That much was obvious.

  Maybe she was after Sierelith.

  But what would she think, finding Alyra in the jungle, eating fruit and chatting with the daughter of the heretic leader?

  Would she actually buy the kidnapping story?

  Or assume it was just some shady meeting between her and the spy?

  Damn it, stupid Sierelith. Why had she dragged her into this mess?

  The sharp voice cut through the air again, this time laced with scorn. “What are you two whispering about? Think I can’t hear you?”

  Her heart stopped. Alyra took a step back, glancing around for a way out. But what was the point? They’d already been spotted. Running would only make her look more guilty.

  If she wanted even a chance to get back into the Novice Academy, she had to cooperate.

  She stepped out from behind Sierelith, hands raised. “Hey! I’m here!”

  Sierelith grabbed her sleeve and shot her a glare. “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed. “Are you stupid?”

  Alyra yanked her arm free and ignored her. This was all her fault anyway. No way she was taking orders from the heretic spy. “I was at the Novice Academy of Orbisar when she kidnapped me!” she yelled, pointing at Sierelith. Her eyes scanned the trees for her supposed rescuer but found nothing.

  “Thank Orbisar you found me! Come on out, whoever you are!”

  The voice that answered was calm, measured, yet carried the weight of judgment. “So you’re just an innocent victim of a heretic spy, then?” it said. “Strange. You looked remarkably at ease with her. Sharing food. Speaking freely. Not a rope in sight.”

  Alyra’s heart dropped. No… he’d seen her. Seen her chatting with Sierelith, eating with her, totally unbound. Nothing at all that screamed hostage.

  She wrung her hands in her lap. How the hell was she supposed to convince him she was innocent now? Her eyes stung. Reality blurred into a kaleidoscope of color behind a curtain of tears. She blinked, and two fat drops ran down her cheeks.

  “Please… I’m telling the truth!” she whimpered.

  She knew it wouldn’t work. Knew they’d never believe her. But she had nothing else.

  Sierelith gave her a disgusted once-over. “Told you. You’re just a child.”

  Alyra wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled. “Shut up, stupid! This is all your fault!”

  “Oh no, my dear…” the sharp voice cooed, closer now.

  Branches rustled. A pale, bony hand emerged from the undergrowth and pulled aside the leaves. A tall, gaunt figure stepped into view, holding a shepherd’s staff with a pulsing green orb set into its head.

  “…it’s your fault I found you. You’re far too loud to be a proper spy.”

  The man’s face was ashen, his skin hanging loose like a translucent shroud barely hiding the skull underneath. He smiled, revealing yellow, chipped teeth.

  A fat white maggot crawled out of a hole in his cheek.

  He didn’t seem to notice.

  Alyra’s heart seized. He… he was undead. A corpse. And it was talking.

  Her knees buckled before she could even process what she’d seen. Her bones had gone soft, like her body knew the truth before her brain caught up.

  The academy didn’t matter anymore. She was going to die. Killed by this thing and turned into one of those soulless, shambling husks. Her body would wander the jungle for eternity, mindless, craving only living flesh.

  Alyra opened her mouth wide and sucked in air until her lungs nearly burst.

  She closed her eyes and screamed.

  Pain slashed across her cheek, cutting her off.

  Sierelith stood in front of her, glaring, her eyes flashing a brilliant, furious green. Her arm was still extended.

  She’d… slapped her?

  Alyra blinked, pressing a hand to her stinging cheek. “W-why?”

  “Get a grip!” the spy shouted. “Is this what they teach you at Orbisar’s Novice School? To piss yourself at the first sign of trouble? What’s your rank, diaper-duty?”

  Alyra gulped. “I’m still a Sprout,” she mumbled.

  Sierelith raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, no kidding. Now if you’re done alerting every monster in the jungle, go hide and let me handle this. I’ll deal with our rotting friend here.”

  The undead man stared up at the increasingly cloudy sky like he was lost in thought.

  “My name is Elias Morvain,” he said in a high, oddly androgynous voice. “I’m the priest of this humble Orbisar-following community.”

  Sierelith smirked. “Oh really? So you’re not just undead, you’re also a priest of the Church? Great. Now I’ve got two reasons to wipe you out. Honestly, I only needed one.”

  At that, Alyra bolted behind the biggest rock she could find and curled up tight, wishing she could disappear.

  But after a moment, curiosity got the better of her and she peeked out.

  This wasn’t just some shambling corpse. He could talk. He thought he was the priest of this village. And there was something about him… something powerful. Way stronger than the others she’d sensed creeping through the jungle.

  And what the hell was that staff? The orb mounted at the top glowed with a sickly green light, leaking out like a toxic aura.

  Elias lowered his gaze to Sierelith, expression blank. “You’re like a weed sprouting in my garden,” he intoned in that eerie, high-pitched voice. “It is my duty to protect this community. To do so, I must pull you up by the roots before you spread.”

  The orb on his staff began to pulse. Green light spilled from a crack on its surface, licking outward like a serpent’s tongue.

  Sierelith didn’t flinch. She planted her hands on her hips and gave him a defiant grin. “Come on then, walking corpse. I’ll let you have the first move.”

  Alyra swallowed, but her mouth was bone dry.

  What the hell was she doing?

  A hand clamped over her mouth, hard. Alyra’s heart nearly stopped.

  She tried to scream, eyes wide, but the pressure was too much. One of the undead had grabbed her. It was going to kill her!

  She looked around frantically… and froze.

  Sierelith.

  Sierelith was the one holding her, signaling her to stay quiet with a finger to her lips.

  Alyra blinked, then nodded. Her heart slowed down, just barely.

  But what was going on? How was she even here?

  Slowly, Sierelith removed her hand and let her go.

  Alyra immediately peeked over the rock to see what was happening.

  The other Sierelith was still there, facing off against Elias.

  “Come on,” the illusionist whispered. “We’ve bought ourselves a few seconds at most. He’ll figure out she’s just an illusion soon enough. We need to move. Now.”

  Alyra hesitated, then nodded again.

  Sierelith started moving away from the undead priest, and she followed closely behind.

  They’d barely taken a few steps when the bushes around them began to rustle.

  Figures emerged. Slow, silent, one after another. Pale. Still.

  Alyra froze. Sierelith stopped too.

  The sharp voice echoed through the jungle again, smug. “Silly girl. Did you really think a priest of Orbisar could be fooled by such a cheap trick?”

  Alyra’s heart hammered like it wanted to punch its way out of her chest.

  She spun around, sweat stinging her eyes, blurring her vision.

  They were surrounded. Undead everywhere. Emaciated, rotting figures in every direction.

  So many that they looked like they’d replaced the trees.

  No way out.

  Elias stepped into view, drifting forward like a ghost. His tattered robes dragged across the jungle floor, sweeping up dead leaves and broken branches.

  Alyra clenched her fists.

  She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.

  But neither would help.

  If Sierelith had anything left up her sleeve, Alyra needed to be ready and keep her eyes open.

  “Given your young age, I’ll show mercy,” Elias said in that high, hollow voice.

  He extended one skeletal arm toward the undead crowd. “You’ll become part of our congregation. And under Orbisar’s eternal light… you will be redeemed.”

  “Stay away from us!” Sierelith shouted, her voice trembling now, all trace of the confidence from her illusion gone.

  Elias raised his staff, and the green orb at the top glowed brighter.

  “Just stay right there for a moment, like good little lambs. It’ll all be over soon,” he said softly, like a father removing a thorn from his child’s foot.

  Only there was nothing gentle in his eyes.

  They were hollow.

  Soulless.

  “This will end. And it will all begin again. Under the light of Orbisar.”

  The green light pulsed.

  Brighter.

  Stronger.

  This was it.

  Alyra gasped for air. It wouldn’t come. Her chest tightened. She was going to die.

  She sucked in another breath. Too much.

  She screamed.

  It was all she had left. Screaming. Crying. Anything.

  Sierelith didn’t try to stop her this time. Tears streamed down her own cheeks. “Sorry I let you down, Dad,” she whispered through a sob, bowing her head.

  Elias reached out with his staff.

  A tendril of green energy slithered from the orb like a serpent, slowly snaking toward her.

  “Good little lamb,” he cooed. “Hold still.”

  A pounding noise shook the jungle.

  Heavy. Repeating.

  Like war drums played by titans.

  Alyra whipped her head around. What now? Another monster? Another nightmare crawling out of the dark to finish her off?

  The sound grew louder, deafening. Something massive was coming.

  Elias turned too, his withered head twitching toward the noise.

  Then the jungle burst.

  A bush exploded in a fountain of shredded leaves and splintered wood.

  Alyra looked up.

  And saw him.

  Black armor, gleaming like obsidian soaked in blood.

  Eyes blazing red, twin hellfires locked behind a visor.

  Blades burning orange, searing through the mist like the wings of a fallen seraph dragged from heaven in chains.

  For a single, blinding heartbeat, he hovered above them.

  A god of steel.

  An angel?

  A demon?

  Didn’t matter.

  Elias stared, mouth agape, lips twitching into some half-formed prayer.

  And then judgment fell.

  Derek dropped like the wrath of a dead star.

  Both armored feet crashed into the priest’s brittle frame with the full fury of the NOVA.

  Four hundred kilograms of metal, rage, and science.

  The sound wasn’t an impact.

  It was an execution.

  Bones cracked like gunfire.

  The jungle trembled.

  Elias cracked like dry wood under the armored boots.

  No resistance.

  Just snap.

  The surrounding undead twitched.

  Like a surge of electricity had just ripped through their bodies, short-circuiting something deep inside.

  Their joints popped and cracked, like something was crumbling from within.

  Then they moved.

  Converging.

  Arms outstretched, reaching for them.

  Derek didn’t hesitate. He charged. His blades flashed through the air, painting glowing arcs.

  Arms. Legs. Heads.

  Dropped to the ground in wet, heavy thuds.

  No screams.

  No howls of pain.

  The undead didn’t make a sound as they reached out with clawed, skeletal hands, desperate to grab that steel ghost.

  But Derek was too fast.

  Every limb that reached for him ended up severed, sizzling from the heat of the plasma blades.

  Alyra took a step forward, but a hand grabbed her shoulder.

  She jumped.

  Sierelith. She pulled her close.

  “Come on. We leave now. While he’s keeping them busy.”

  Alyra looked back at Derek. What would happen to him? What could she do?

  Dozens of undead were closing in on him.

  “Derek!” she shouted with all the air left in her lungs.

  “Get out of here,” he shouted back. “Or I’ll have to hold back!”

  She turned to Sierelith, who was gesturing for her to follow.

  She hated obeying that lunatic, but she didn’t know what else to do. And Derek had been clear. He wanted her gone. Safe.

  She glanced back at him one last time. He had come for her.

  He was here.

  For her.

  She wasn’t alone anymore.

  A second later, Alyra and Sierelith were sprinting through the jungle, crashing past vines and bushes.

  And as she ran, Alyra smiled.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  This time, not from fear.

  The rain started to fall.

  Fat drops tapping the leaves.

  Faster.

  Heavier.

  Until it was a steady downpour.

  Then came the explosions.

  Each one louder than the last, shaking the jungle like the end of the world.