King & Lionheart

A Demon's Lair

Fog ghosted around their ankles, boots sinking into mud. Tabris dug her heels into the ground, frost swirling the tips of her blades. Beside her, August cocked a gun.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"You have magic, and you're using a gun that may not even work on them?"

"Well," August began, looking down the sights, over the barricades they had taken residence behind. "I don't know if you knew this, but using magic can be draining, and I've been casting all day. That, and if they're undead, then their body composition is human. Just because they're being controlled through similar means doesn't make them-"

"They're coming!"

A man came racing down the hill, stumbling and catching himself before he could be impaled by a log sharpened to a point.

"You talk too much," Tabris muttered, eyes scanning the fog. The dark made it difficult to see, but any and all lights were snuffed, lest those hiding in their homes were put in danger. Then, a figure.

At first, the thought that it could be another scout heading over the hills lingered in Tabris's mind, but then it made its first step.

Staggering forward, another stepped into the light, and then another. Emaciated ribs allowed moonlight to shine through, and it wasn't long before the smell hit.

"Oh, Maker," Tabris gagged, pressing her mask closer to her face. It was a different kind of nasty rot than darkspawn. This was pure unabashed decomposition. "That's unholy."

"I hate you," August's face twisted in discomfort.

"Why?"

"'At least it won't be boring', she said," he grumbled, covering his nose and mouth. "'Smile', she said, 'just kill a few zombies'. Bullshit."

A shot was fired, and not from August's barrel. One of the shadowy figures dropped, a gaping hole in their skull illuminated by the lit backdrop.

"Are you two just gonna sit there and complain the whole time?" Alistair asked, smoke drifting from his pistol. The noise seemed to rouse the others, who were getting ever closer. Thrashed vocal chords did their best to release guttural noises from the backs of dead throats, growing louder with each new foe. "I mean, I expected as much from witch bitch, but-"

A townsman fired another round, and soon it became too loud for any conversation to continue. August's chest rose and fell with a deep breath, aiming his weapon forward. He even closed an eye, just to make sure it was right on the nose. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"What?" Tabris could read his obvious confusion, August staring down at the weapon. "Why didn't it-"

"Maker's breath," Alistair had to yell as he ripped the firearm from his grasp before he could shoot himself in the face. "You didn't turn the safety off."

"I've never fired a gun before, leave me alone," August yelled back, snatching it back. Even in the night, his cheeks visibly darkened. Aiming once more, he fired. This time, it worked.

Ribs exploded in a shower of shattered bone and gunpowder. The zombie staggered, but didn't fall. In fact, it only took a few seconds for it to gather its bearings and continue onward, closer to its target.

"What the fuck!" August yelled, jaw clenched. Morrigan, who had been eyeing the lake water, appeared at his side, making him jump. "Don't sneak up on a man with a loaded gun."

"You really are daft, aren't you?"

"What?"

"The head," Morrigan pointed forward towards Tabris, who had leaped over the barricades to begin her dance. A pirouette here, a backflip there. "The connection to their master is lost if you destroy the head."