Umbral Rune (Rough Draft)

Umbral Rune: Chapter 9 - Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

[Skell]

Undeath was a curse. Plain and simple. But as time passed, I admitted to a number of uses for an undead body.

Never getting tired was great. So was never catching the common cold. But that night, not needing to breathe was my favorite. Mostly because if I could, my lungs would've been choked with dust.

Dropping my glowing-green palm - coated in the destructive might of Hand of Decay - I leaned into the wall of once solid stone. Said stone was now gone, disintegrated into a dusty hole. One just wide enough to fit my upper body.

I pulled myself back out, shaking off the rocky powder in my hair. Decent progress for just five minutes. Let's see how far we go in eight hours.

Then, I delved back inside.

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A chunk of earth, hanging from above, blocked further passage.

I grasped it, watching the stable rock slowly erode as my hand tightened around it, until it was nothing but fine dust falling between my fingers.

Looking back, past my prone glamour, I realized I'd made it at last.

About time! I can finally fit my whole body in this hole!

Yeah, I was nowhere near an escape. On the bright side, six-ish feet of distance wasn't a bad trade for ten minutes of tunneling. I even tried to keep myself in good spirits, all throughout. But as the excitement of slow progress wore thin, my mind drifted elsewhere.

Namely, to everything that could've went wrong.

Besides the looming time limit, my non-decaying fingers were crossed on if I'd even end up where I wanted. If I kept burrowing straight, I could pop out somewhere around the Middle Layer's streets. Or dozens of feet above its tallest building. I didn't know how deep this prison ran underground, after all.

I decayed more earth, inching forward.

And assuming I did escape without breaking my legs after a tremendous fall, what next? I'd have to flee Belza Hill itself, too, since my empty cell would lead the Templars and militia to search the whole town for the "missing undead."

But that'd mean... I might never see Oliver again. Or Cynthine. My glamour would never be perfected. And Oliver would never learn of Ansel's death the right way: from the man who hid it from him.

My hand stopped.

...Survival is more important, I finally decided. If I die in this cell, I really will never see them again. I gotta stay optimistic.

I bit away the hesitation, reaching for the next low-lying chunk.

For the next few minutes, my thoughts moved to the future. Where would I go next? How would I travel with nothing but the clothes on my back? But one question took precedence over all others, once it crossed my mind: what would my escape mean? Not just for me, but for everyone?

Finding my cell empty, the jail officers could only come to one conclusion: I really was undead - why else would I break out of a harmless, temporary holding? Like Gervais said, they'd be terrified of sentient undead endangering them and their loved ones. They'd warn others. Fear would spread like a wildfire.

I turned my palm around, staring at its glow.

But that was if I escaped. If I stayed in the cell, the Templars would have time to contact their Order. With whatever means they had, they'd stop that panic before it ever sparked. At the cost of my life, of course.