“No. Is anyone—are they—”

Lantal felt a chill. The woman’s face was white. She pointed, stumbled over her words.

“Every door is destroyed.”

The [Lord] swayed for a second. Someone dropped an arrow. The [Knights] looked at Afiele’s protectors and only Dalimont’s eyes widened as he realized what that meant.

All of them? Qet had been a lively village this morning. It had existed for centuries, the people growing, leaving—

Something shuffled deeper in the village. Lantal heard a wet, squelching sound. A curious, shambling set of footsteps, following after the [Scout]. The woman looked back, sick, then fixed on Lantal, and her eyes were bright. Expectant.

“Maybe some escaped. We should light a signal. Milord? Do we engage?”

“Yes.”

There was no other word Lantal could have ever said. He pointed, forcing down questions, wondering if anyone had—he spoke quickly.

“Send up a [Light] spell. Draw the undead towards us. Archers—focus on Ghouls. Then that Crypt Lord.”

“What is a Crypt Lord?”

One of the [Knights] murmured. He received incredulous looks from all of Afiele’s guard. One guard with magical abilities threw a ball of white light up into the air.

Lantal waited. He waited for shouts. He waited for people to call for him. He was ready to leap into the saddle or just run and save them.

No one made a sound. They waited. The Thronebearers made a line of golden armor between Afiele’s warriors. They were restless. Afiele’s guard waited.

They knew what was coming.

“There!”

An [Archer] swung her bow up. She loosed the arrow and something stumbled. Lantal saw the

[Thronebearers] start. It was just a flicker in the darkness, but the [Archer] had hit it. It came closer, not snarling, just bounding forwards.

No breathing, no cry of anger from the arrow. That was what was terrifying. At first, Lantal only saw a ragged, strangely familiar form. Hunched shoulders, bounding on all fours and then skipping to two legs…it was unnerving because it was a Human’s body. But that was not how a person moved.

Then he made out skin. Torn flesh lying open to the air. Dried blood around a festering, fatal bite wound, buzzing with flies. No living person could survive with so little flesh around their neck long. Yet the head lolled crazily as two glowing eyes stared ahead. A mouth filled with bloody, filthy teeth gaped open as the thing bounded forwards.

A Ghoul came racing out of the village, stronger and faster than a zombie. Its eyes glowed blue.

One Ghoul. A dead person given unnatural strength. One was a horror for a normal man or woman, let alone a child. Strong, ignorant of pain and danger; it would come at you until it was dead. Far more dangerous than a zombie.