Brin followed Hogg down the streets of Hammon’s Bog, ignoring his attempts to send him home. There was no way he was going to sit around at home when there was an attack going on. The worst was the stab through his foot. His steps left bloody footprints behind, and while he’d been awkwardly applying Hogg’s wound-sealing cream to his other cuts, he wasn’t able to get to his foot without sitting down. If he sat down, he wasn’t sure whether he would ever get back up.

The only reason he was moving at all was probably because [Battle Fury] was doubling all his stats. He never had the time to think about it in the heat of the moment, and the gains were incremental enough at first that he didn’t notice them right away. Did they apply as soon as he got hurt, or as soon as he entered combat after getting hurt? He thought it was the latter. He hadn’t noticed anything during playtime with Basil.

“I wish there was some way to tell when [Battle Fury] was going to run out. When did we leave combat? Ten minutes ago? Fifteen?”

“The System will give you a timer if you ask for it,” said Hogg. “Figure it out on your way home.”

Brin didn’t respond to that. Just tell the System he wanted a timer? How did that work? Oh, there it was. A small notification appeared at the edge of his vision.

At 45%, that meant that he’d taken nine wounds and that the System gave him only a tiny bit of credit for his assisted kill against Basil, the five percent for wounding him, when he’d made the glass explode.

Actually, this was as good a time as any to test something else. He made a small sliver of glass and cut a line on the top of his arm.

Message received. He couldn’t game the System by injuring himself.

As they walked, they passed crowds of people rushing the other way. Men with weapons ran in every direction, while families with large packs carried their children wrapped in blankets towards the center of town. There wasn’t exactly another place to hide if the undead got through the walls, but from the looks of things, people were sending the children and other non-combatants away from the houses on the edge of town to lock up in homes closer to the town center.

Soon they arrived at the west gate. A group of twenty people stood lined up in front of them, half [Hunters], the other half a random collection of Common classes. They were all armed, and most wore gambesons although one [Woodsman] wore armor carved from wood.

Six or seven undead lay dead on the ground, but the defenders all seemed to be uninjured, if a little shaken. It looked like a small group of undead had tried to rush in, but now they were hanging back a bit and waiting for overwhelming numbers.

These were the new undead, vile and rotten, seeming to decompose in real time. That was a trick. Despite how they looked they weren’t frail or weak at all, and they depended on their bodies being intact just as much as the undead in the tight black clothes. Did these new undead belong to Awnadil, or was there something else Brin was missing?

Something shook the trees in the distance, high branches that made Brin wonder if the undead were climbing them. Then it came; a massive figure shoved through the branches of the trees. A giant undead.

He stood easily fifteen feet tall. Unlike the other disgusting undead, this one was put together enough that he almost looked alive. He had a full head of hair, and while his skin was ashen white and flaking off in places, he had an almost noble bearing. He held a polearm large enough to be the mast of a fishing vessel, a long tree trunk with a spiked ax blade at the end.

He said something. Not a groan or a war-cry, a regular sentence in a language Brin didn’t know, and then the rest of the undead formed into a line and started to advance.

The defenders were so intent on watching the advancing line of undead that none of them noticed Hogg until he clapped his hands. That made some of them jump in alarm.

“I’ll cover this gate. [Hunters], patrol the walls. We can’t let a single one sneak over. The rest of you head to the north gate and reinforce them there.”

One of the men turned to the side, so that he could see Hogg while also keeping an eye on the undead. “You’re sure you can hold here alone?”

Hogg snorted, then let out a little chuckle, which gradually turned into a full-throated laugh. He shoved his way through the small group of defenders until he was between them and the enemy. Still laughing, he raised his hands dramatically, and a pool of blackness seeped out and grew under his feet. The small group of defenders had to step back to avoid it touching them.

Hogg gestured dramatically to both sides. “[Dance of the Shadow King].”

The earth erupted into a chorus of groans, like a pack of angry demons being woken from slumber. The blackness on the ground spread out several yards to either side of Hogg, and then it grew arms. They pulled themselves up out of the ground, rising bodies, copies of Hogg except all of them pitch black.

Seeing Hogg’s mass-summoning, the undead charged forward as one. Brin spared a glance for the other defenders, but they were already fleeing; they’d left the moment Hogg had called out his fake Skill name.

The black shadows looked insignificant against the advancing hordes, small and insubstantial, and outnumbered five to one. Brin wondered what tactics they’d employ. He expected them to fight like Hogg, using quick attacks and dodging around the enemy. After all, these were just hard light, and Hogg had already shown that he could move hard light extremely fast.

The two armies moved implacably towards each other, neither of them capable of fear. Hogg’s shadows were only two dozen, while there must’ve been a hundred undead, not counting their giant leader.

The groups reached each other. The shadows met the undead and… kept going. They didn’t dodge or evade at all. They simply swung their shortswords with mechanical precision and kept walking forward, straight into the overwhelming numbers. The undead slashed at them with swords, bashed them with maces, stabbed with spears, but the weapons bounced off. Hard light was stronger.

There was a horrendous slaughter as the undead from behind continued to push the ones in front of them forwards, straight into the indomitable wall of shadow. The line erupted into a spray of gore. The first wave of undead was cut down. The second wave faltered. Hogg's shadows pressed forward, and the undead cracked, broke, and fled.

The giant walked through his retreating allies as if unbothered. He leveled his halberd and stepped into a mighty swing, aiming to bisect two of the shadows at once.

Only now did the shadows start to move quickly. They blurred over the swing of the halberd as if their reliance on gravity were nothing but an illusion, which was probably the case. The shadow on the left stabbed into the giant’s side while the other flew up to take his throat. The first stabs didn’t kill the giant, and he dropped his halberd to wave and swat at the shadows, who scrambled around his body, stabbing into him over and over. Finally, the giant fell.

The remaining zombies fled.

Brin checked his timer. Four minutes. He wasn’t “in combat”, according to the System.

He made a bullet-sized piece of glass and used [Shape Glass] to try to launch it at the undead. It made it about six feet. He’d never tried telekinesis to any real degree, and now he wished he’d asked for the words in the Language.

“Try throwing it,” said Hogg.

Brin summoned a baseball-sized hunk of glass. He wasn’t the greatest pitcher, but he’d played catch with his dad enough times to know what he was doing. He wound back, pumped mana into the glass ball with [Shape Glass], and then chucked it.

He felt the wounds in his arm and chest scream in agony, but it was a perfect throw, and the help from [Shape Glass] gave it a boost of speed that far exceeded what his raw muscles were capable of.

It flew straight and clipped an undead on the shoulder. It staggered but kept its feet. That was fine. The important thing was that his notification was updated.

One of Hogg’s shadows caught up to the undead and cut it down, which didn’t move the needle again.

Brin thought about throwing more glass baseballs, but the pain of tearing all his wounds open again wasn’t worth the 5% attribute bonus. If he did enough to get to 100% he’d probably die from blood loss or pass out from exhaustion, increased Vitality or not.

“Nice throw,” said Hogg. His eyes didn’t leave the battlefield. “Did that renew your [Battle Fury]?”

“Yeah.”

“The only reason I’m allowing this is because increasing your Vitality will help your wounds heal, but you are not going to fight. You’re going to stay back, away from melee distance. Any time you see a hint of undead with bows, you get behind the walls. I want to hear you promise me.”

“I promise,” said Brin.

He removed his shoe and applied the healing ointment, sighing in relief as the bleeding slowed and the throbbing died down considerably. He put his shoe back on and watched the fight.

The last of the surviving undead fled into the trees, and the shadows followed behind them.

Hogg folded his arms. “They’re giving up on this gate. Too bad, I’d hoped to kill a few more before they realized they aren’t getting through this way.”

“Are you going to stay here, or will you help with the other gates?”

Hogg glared out at the trees. “I should stay here. They’ll probably come back for this gate if we leave it empty. I could send some shadows to the other gates… but they really start to drain mana badly when they get further away. No, I better hold off for now. I shouldn’t exhaust myself against small fries in case something bigger comes. The town will have to hold the other two gates on their own.”

“I’ll go check it out,” said Brin.

“You can watch. Remember your promise.”

“I will,” said Brin.

He couldn’t run on his wounded foot, but he made his way towards the southern gate as quickly as he could. On the way, he saw a suspicious, robed figure walking the same way. The person was only a little taller than him, and people didn’t often walk around Hammon’s Bog in a full cloak with the hood up. He grit his teeth and forced himself to walk faster.

He got a glimpse of the figure’s face when they turned their head to the side and saw a glimpse of torn, red, oozing skin. An undead infiltrator?

He summoned a glass knife in one hand, kept behind his back, and crept up.

The figure turned all the way around to look at him.

“Zilly?”

The entire right side of her face was dominated by purple and green bruises, with a wicked gash on her cheekbone. That’s what he’d seen. Not undead, just injuries. Now that he was looking, he noticed that she was favoring one leg and had a hand pressed to her side. Much of the clothing under her cloak was stained with blood, and she held it closed when she noticed him noticing.

“Were you caught in the attack? What happened?”

“N-no, I…”

He used [Inspect].

She’d leveled up a lot. Too much, she was higher level than him now. That was impossible. Had she defended one of the walls alone? The attack hadn’t been going on for long, if she’d leveled up from killing undead she’d already be at the gates. Instead, she was coming from the area of town with the silos.

“You killed the rest of the chimeras, didn’t you?”

She opened her eyes wide and said, “No!” in a way that made him know he was right. As bad as the gash in her face was, it wasn’t bleeding. It wasn’t fresh. It’d probably happened last night.

After their duel, she’d been determined to catch up to him, and she’d spent all night killing the chimera’s in secret. Stupidly dangerous, but he wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.

He put on an overdone cocky grin and said melodramatically, “You’re never going to catch up to me, Zilly. I don’t know why you even try.”

She smiled a resentful Zilly smile. “We’ll find out next week, won’t we?”

“Ironic, because now Hammon's Bog actually needs a [Warrior], and you’re too tired and wounded to fight.”

She gripped her swords tighter. “I can still fight.”

“No way,” said Brin. “And I can't either. We both suck. Come on. We can go watch together.”

The two of them limped their way. It was strange to be the only two walking when everyone else was running. The whole town was in an uproar, and to all appearances, they were on a casual stroll.

“What happened to you?” asked Zilly.

“Long story short, there was a [Witch] familiar spying on the town in the form of a stuffed animal. He cut me all to pieces before Hogg killed him. He got Yon, too.”

Zilly gasped. “Oh no. Is he–?”

“He’ll be fine. He might end up with a weird Class, though.”

“He’s got seven years until then,” said Zilly. “Assuming anyone survives tonight. Are they really coming? How many are there?”

“Hogg seems confident we can handle it,” said Brin. “Hey, so why are you lying about being a [Warrior]?”

Zilly whirled on him and clamped a hand on his mouth while pointing at him with her other hand. “Don’t!”

Brin brushed her off with a smile. “Sorry. But why?”

She snorted. “What do you mean ‘why’? What do you think would happen if everyone found out that their perfect little daughter got a Class for stealing things? It would break their brains. People would die.”

“How did you earn that Class, by the way?”

She glanced away. “Shut up.”

“Is this why you’ve been so weird to Myra?”

“I had to stay away. She would find out. I know she would,” said Zilly.

“She thinks you’re avoiding her because you think you’re too good for her now that you have a Rare Class and she’s just a Commoner.”

“That’s not it!” Zilly snapped.

“That’s what she thinks. That’s what I thought until our duel,” said Brin. “You know, Myra was Hammon’s Bog’s other perfect little daughter until just recently. Overnight, everyone who used to practically worship her mom suddenly wouldn't give her the time of day. She learned who her real friends were and who was just hanging around her out of convenience. That was about the time that you started avoiding her, come to think of it.”

“That’s–” Zilly bit her lip. Brin was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

He suddenly felt bad. He shouldn’t be doing this now. “Hey, it’s fine. Just talk to her, ok?”

“I will,” she said with a sniff.

When they got to the gates, someone shouted at them to turn back, but of course, they ignored it. They stayed on the inside of the gates, and no one bothered trying to force them to leave. There were other things to worry about.

Hundreds of undead stood in lines on the edge of the forest. These had mixed weapons, and there was even a group of archers behind their front lines. Three giants stood behind the rest, two with halberds and one with a hooked sword.

Two hundred men of the Bog stood in front of the walls in two rows, holding a wide variety of weapons. Toros the [Smith] stood out in the front and center, wearing gleaming armor polished like mirrors. Brin wouldn’t even have recognized him except that he was a foot shorter than the men to either side. Simao stood next to him in matching armor, and both of them held warhammers that exuded a dangerous aura. [Inspect] called them “Bog Standard Warhammers”. Typical.

Tawna stood shoulder to shoulder with the defenders, although she carried no weapon. Her dress went past her collarbones and to her ankles, but from the way it hugged her form it looked more like she was ready for a hot date rather than a fight to the death.

A group of twenty [Hunters] stood behind the two rows of fighters, led by Kevim. Leader of the [Hunters], and also one of the town council. He’d been one of the chief voices arguing to have Tawna exiled.

Four more [Hunters] were on each of the watch-towers, although now that he was looking, one of them wasn’t a hunter at all. Zilly’s dad was up there, holding a slingshot in one hand, a lump of coal in the other. He was a high-level [Collier], although he focused more on using his Skills to create coal from wood rather than mining it from the ground.

Davi’s dad, Alvir, was there as well, in the second row. He wore a leather cap and a gambeson and held a quarterstaff. His huge, muscular frame made the entire army seem more dependable just by being there.

Without warning, the undead archers loosed their arrows. Brin watched in dread as a wave of wooden arrows with blacksteel heads soared through the air towards the villagers. They didn’t move to dodge or retreat, and there weren’t nearly enough shields.

The arrows rose, flew, and then fell short, all of them landing at least ten feet in front of the lines of villagers. Brin saw Zilly’s jaw drop in astonishment, and he closed his own mouth, realizing he’d been the same. Why? Couldn't the undead aim?

He saw that Toros had stepped forward alone, and now he had his hands on his knees, panting. The [Smith] must’ve used his affinity for metal to bend the arrows’ trajectory in the air.

More volleys came, and Toros stopped them all. On the last one, he didn't bother to lean on his knees, panting. That had been fake, apparently. He could do this all day.

The undead soldiers stepped forward and began marching on the defenders. Their appearances were wild and grotesque, but they marched together. Those that could march, at least. Some lurched forward, some limped, some stumbled three paces at a time, and then waited for the others to catch up before stumbling forwards again.

Like the townspeople, they carried many different weapons, and the shape of their bodies were more diverse still. Some were so skinny and frail-looking that it seemed like they might blow away in the wind if they weren’t anchored down by impossibly-heavy blacksteel weapons. Others were muscular or fat, some so bloated they were nearly spherical. One was so rotten that it was barely more than a mass of crawling ooze.

The smell hit the moment the undead took a step forward, as if they were sending it out as an attack. Rot and waste and all things vile.

Kevim shouted orders, and the lines of defenders stayed still. “Let’s give them a taste, shall we? Archers free!”

The [Hunters] let their arrows fly, and unlike the townsfolk, the undead had no protection. The arrows stuck into them like pin-cushions, driving some into the ground. Most undead that only took one or two arrows kept marching forward.

A fireball streaked from one of the watchtowers quick as a comet and crashed into the undead. It exploded, incinerating one and catching two others on fire. The undead faltered and ran, breaking ranks. They tried to pat out the flame and rolled on the ground, but nothing helped, and soon they succumbed, falling to the ground and still burning, creating plumes of black smoke.

Brin's first thought was that Lumina had come, that there was a [Mage] up there, but he only saw Zilly's dad. The man placed a lump of coal into his sling, whipped it, and another fireball shot towards the enemy line.

The undead ceased their steady march and ran forwards in an all-out sprint.

The townsfolk stepped forward, readying their weapons, and Brin braced himself for a bloodbath.

These undead weren’t weak; most of their levels were in the twenties and thirties, the same as the average level in town.

The villagers eviscerated the undead in the first strike. He saw [Carpenters] batter blacksteel weapons down with wood axes. One man cut an undead straight in half with a giant pair of scissors; a man with a scythe removed three undead’s heads with movements Brin couldn’t even see. Skills went off everywhere, slamming into the undead, smashing them flat.

Toros roared his excitement while slamming his warhammer through the undead as if they were snowmen, and Simao by his side was barely a breath behind him. Tawna stood with her hands to the side, but he could see the strain on her face. Her work was evidenced when the few undead who avoided the first frenzied attacks suddenly had their own counter-strikes sabotaged by sudden jerks from barely-visible threads.

The first wave of undead staggered backwards, most of them injured, only a quarter of them still on their feet at all.

Brin expected the defenders to press their advantage, but instead the first line moved back as well, falling behind the second line.

It took Brin a moment to understand what was going on, but Davi's dad being in the second line gave him a clue. The first line had been made up of Classes with hard-hitting Skills. The [Lumberjack's] [Final Swing], for example, was a once-per-day cooldown Skill for chopping down one last tree before heading home. Others had pumped all their Mana into the blow, destroying their enemy in one hit while exhausting themselves. This line had used their Skills and were now backing behind the second line, people who could fight longer.

The second line was almost entirely [Farmers]. They didn't have any Skills that could attack; they were all here on virtue of their high Strength. When the undead rallied and approached again, the results were more mixed. The second line fought with more steadiness and caution, but Brin didn’t see a single one of them fall.

Alvir especially fought like he was born to it. He battered the undead to pieces with graceful movements, no doubt honed and practiced over years.

Brin didn’t see the first villager take an injury; he just saw members of the second line all come together to pull a [Farmer] back. They helped him down, and then Brin could see a black-fletched arrow jutting out of his chest. It was hard to say if that would be fatal; Vitality could fix all kinds of things, even without [Scarred, but Healing], but that guy was definitely out of the fight.

More commotions broke out down the line as other defenders took arrows. The undead were firing straight into the melee, uncaring if they hit their own soldiers.

Zilly’s dad roared and launched fireball after fireball into the archers, decimating them, but the arrows kept coming.

Suddenly, all the undead’s bow strings broke. Brin caught a glance of Tawna, hands outstretched, looking smug.

The three giant undead finally decided to enter the fray with their remaining soldiers, no doubt sensing that they were on the verge of losing.

The [Hunters] focused their fire on them, and one giant went down before even reaching the front line.

The other two were met by Toros and his apprentice Simao. Toros hurled his warhammer at the giant, hitting him right between the eyes. While the giant was stunned, Toros wrenched the gigantic polearm out of his grip, swung it around as if it weighed nothing, and then stabbed the giant straight through.

Simao fought more cautiously, jumping back to avoid the wide swings from the mighty hooked blade. The giant brought it down, and Simao dashed underneath it. His warhammer blasted through both of the giant's knees as he ran between his legs. The giant stumbled to his knees, which brought him low enough that Simao could leap up into the air and smash his head like a barrel-sized watermelon.

A jump like that shouldn’t be possible in full plate armor, but Simao wore it like it was lighter than cloth.

The remaining undead staggered back towards the forest. The town had successfully defended this gate for now.

“Oh, shoot!” Brin smacked his forehead. His timer was down to one minute remaining.

He formed a glass baseball and hucked it but missed the undead he was aiming at it. He calmed down; he’d only get one more chance at this before they were too far even with his mana-enhanced throws. He used [Directed Meditation], pumped as much mana into the baseball as he could, and threw. Thankfully, this one managed to hit an undead, although it didn’t do much damage. It would be a while before glass projectiles were feasible for him. For now, he’d have to focus on making effective melee weapons.

The last of the undead disappeared into the forest, and the defenders let up a cheer.

His wounds ached, and he wanted to sit down, but he wanted to see this through. There was one gate left.

Zilly approached Kevim now that the fighting had stopped. “It's over? We won?”

The lead [Hunter] wiped his brow. “This is a distraction. The worst of it is on the north-eastern gate, where the Prefit is.”

Brin started the trek, and Zilly was close behind him. His foot was bleeding again, making his shoe squelch, but he didn't slow down. He needed to get there before his timer ran out.