The Necromancer
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The crow paused to peck at an eyeball, pulling it from the socket
of the dead body. The former owner didn’t seem to mind. He shambled forward,
towards the abandoned village. A man in uniform, followed by his undead army. The
rotten remains, reanimated, pulled from the ground, compelled to return here.
The spirits and ghosts of many others followed, forming ranks behind the
walking dead, these without bodies, long since rotten and gone.
The Necromancer set about to mark the walls and ground with the
ancient symbols and words from long ago. He set out his tools on stone alter –
the books of the occult, the jewels and potions collected over the years. The Witch
stood by his side, her spirit returned to him, brought back and gifted this new
body. The face of a stranger, but already becoming familiar to him. He would love
her all the same.
The fog rolled in and ghosts came in, appeared from nowhere.
The soldiers set their guns at his feet in deference, a sign of
their loyalty to him. They were his, his slaves, his army. The dead had risen,
those that were owed their vengeance. Soon, they would march on the town and their
retribution would be had. And after that, he and his returned bride would
spread their power across the land, reshaping the whole country as their own.
No comments:
Post a Comment