The GraveWalkers

Prologue

Death was a dangerous, inevitable force that plagued those it touched, but Korran had long since befriended its ghost, after carrying numerous people to keep its company - which is why it was almost hurtful when his dear friend betrayed him.

He'd been given the usual job - though easier than most, which should've raised questions, but the lure of quick money dowsed hesitation. Kill a guy who was stepping on the wrong feet in the underworld.

Simple enough. 

It was how he made his modest living and the reason for his grand reputation which often brought more trouble than good. Hell, all trouble - no good. Yet it was what he had been born into and excel at it he did.

So he didn't expect a rotund man to give him trouble once he'd dealt with his inexperienced bodyguards who were more likely to turn tail and run than face the dangerous glint of his twin daggers. And they hadn't disappointed in that regard.

Once their first feeble attempt at boxing him in a corner failed after he parried their every blow in a whirl of short blades and masterful agility, they decided they weren't paid enough gurdees per hour for their loved ones to mourn them.

His target had been nothing impressive either. Ironically, in a move showcasing more bravery than his guards - he'd rushed Korran with a clumsy charge, taking a rather respectable swing at him with a meaty fist. However, it'd taken nothing out of Korran to duck under the predictable attack and slam an elbow in his ribs. While the man reacted to the pain, Korran maneuvered behind the man's back quickly, making quick work of the tendons in the man's legs with trained slices of his daggers.

His victim's pain didn't please him like it did most contract killers, so he unceremoniously drove a dagger deep into the man's chest when he fell, screaming in raw pain. His dagger felt less resistance than he was accustomed to, but he paid it no mind. Either way, a dagger to the heart was lethal and experience confirmed his aim was true.

Or so it should've been.

Instead, the man suddenly stopped screaming but didn't stiffen out nor did his eyes glaze over. Instead, his hand gripped Korann's in an iron steel grip, preventing Korran from dislodging his dagger from the man's chest. Korran fought against the grip but it might as well have been a golden shackle considering it didn't budge

Most worrying of all though were the man's eyes. They were unblinking, focused on him like no human pupils he'd ever seen. If he didn't know better he'd think the man was trying to poke twin holes with lasers coming out of his eyes. 

Korran's brain fought to understand what was occurring and he remembered what was thought to be a legend; someone near death occasionally went mad, caught between the afterlife and the physical world, allowing them to pull off superhuman feats - much like an Eners.

It was the only explanation that had any rationality behind it so Korran accepted it, pumelling the man's head with his left fist in hopes of reminding his nervous system to shut down before he could drag him into the afterlife with him.

Instead of the intended effect, the man actually stood up with his grip still unyielding, his eyes that of a possessed man. Korran's punches turned frantic now - cursing himself silently for dropping his other dagger. He usually kept more on his person but for some reason, he had only brought two with him this time.

The man who had been dispatched so easily moments before now lumbered forward, easily lifting Korran off the ground with his iron grip. Korran could do nothing but struggle futilely against the man's sudden ogre strength. 

What he would've given for a dagger in his hand to drive into the man's neck repeatedly. He usually didn't go for those types of kills because it was messy, but he'd have no qualms here. 

The terrain of the ground suddenly changed, although the man had taken only a few steps, and Korran looked behind him as best as he could, shocked by the sight that greeted him. They'd initially been in grasslands after Korran had tracked them down to a small village and tailed their carriage before ambushing them here - away from any potential witnesses. 

Now, he was being carried over wet mud that caused the man's boots to sink deep into the ground, though he showed no discomfort. Out of the corner of his eye, Korran saw an object and as he neared it his heart dropped.

An opened grave.

Did the man plan to dump him inside of it?

The truth was even more shocking. A hand plunged from the depths, reaching out for Korran and the face that peered from the tenebrous depths made even Korran feel a pang of fear at the visual. The face was decaying, the flesh having rotted enough for some of the figures bare skull to poke through, It hit Korran then that he should've been smelling something, wet mud, blood, rotting flesh but instead, he smelled nothing at all.

But feel he did, as the clearly dead man grabbed onto his shirt from behind and yanked him and his target-turned-assailant down into the grave with him. The last thing he remembered was the sound of his scream, although he was too shocked to even recognize himself performing the action.

Korran jumped up and almost leaped out of his skin when something moved close to his ear. He drew a dagger from his sleeve and flung it at the intruder, impaling an unfortunate rat. He was sweating up a mini tsunami across his body and he felt like he'd just run a marathon - or perhaps fought an entire army. 

Another bad dream.

Yet it'd felt so real - so lifelike. Even though a dead man rising from the grave was unheard of in any region. Hell, even in the city of Khlinork where mad scientists went and travelers knew to stay clear of, such a thing would be called a hoax.

Still, the sound of his dear grandmother telling him that recurring dreams were some sort of sign echoed through his subconscious, no matter how much he tried to quell it.

He looked around his makeshift home warily, happy that there were only rats in the cave to witness the great Korran screaming because of a nightmare. He sighed, removing the dagger from the rat that was easily bigger than a man's palm. 

"It's a sign alright...a sign that I'm losing my mind."