Francisco leapt sideways as another bolt of purple energy came his way.

  Mithran sprayed the area where Saimon sat, not caring who he hit. Whatever the purple bolts hit they caused their targets to sizzle. Saimon rolled along the floor before coming up to his feet with a roar. The area where he had been hit looked burned and charred.

  “You dare attack me? After all I have done for you. After looking after you when you would not stop crying for your brother. You sniffling—wretched—fuc—” Another blast of purple had Saimon ducking and diving as he pushed a woman in the path of Mithran’s attack. She screamed in agony as the flesh on her face bubbled and popped. Purple veins under her skin traced her skin like a river before running down her entire body.

  The woman continued to scream until Mithran touched her chest with the orb of his staff. The orb echoed like a faint heartbeat, flooding the woman’s flesh with purple light. She stopped screaming and came to a standstill. Eyes a distant shade of purple, she turned to Saimon who backed away in shock.

  “You didn’t? You fool? Even Alibeen knew better than to take magic from The Silent One,” said Saimon.

  “Although my brother was brilliant in his own way, he lacked vision. He lacked the need to do whatever it took to survive in this world. The Silent King only offered me what I was willing to take. He only accepts what you are willing to give.”

  “And what were you willing to give for this power, Mithran?”

  “Everything!”

  The possessed woman lunged forward, teeth bared, and tried to bite Saimon. Rolling forward, he picked up an axe near his throne and sliced her left leg clean off at the knee. Coming up out of his roll, Saimon turned and watched as the woman showed no discomfort—no pain. Instead, now on the floor, she turned to her target and pulled herself along her stomach with speed.

  With a look of disappointment, Saimon buried his axe in her head.

  “Zombies! Fucking zombies!” Francisco made the sign of the cross repeatedly as he tore off his dress and pulled his axe out of the spiritual aura space.

  Saimon and Mithran looked his way opened mouth. “What?” Francisco asked. “Don’t tell me out of all the crazy shit you have seen tonight, me dressing up as a woman leaves you stunned.”

  Saimon opened and closed his mouth, finally finding his words. “But—but—but you’re meant to be a woman…but you’re not.”

  “Gracias, capitán obvio.”

  “But…but…I was going to sleep with you,” said Saimon, still stunned.

  “I’d like to see you try.”

  “But—”

  “I think,” said Francisco, cutting off Saimon. “That we have more pressing matters.”

  They both turned to Mithran, who only smiled.

  Mithran lifted his staff and around him, the fallen bodies of the dead rose to their feet and swayed back and forth. “Do not worry Saimon, the process is painless—your death will serve a purpose—my vision is too great for it not to. And you,” he looked Francisco’s way. “I’ll find some use for you.”

  With a click of his fingers Mithran sent the dead their way.

  ***********

  Isaac heard the screams—heard the commotion, but did not have a clue what was going on.

  Flic had taken out the guards and was standing at a vantage point that allowed her to cover the only entrance and exit to the building. Redd was on the opposite side of the building, crouched on a tree branch covering it from there.

  Isaac was waiting in the middle of the only path that led to the building, katana slang over his shoulder. The dark wooden blade appeared to be one with the increasing darkness around him. He tapped it against his shoulder allowing the reassuring thuds to calm his mind.

  These assholes had been hounding them for weeks now.

  A constant hit-and-run strategy meant to tire them out mentally and physically. Always at night. Always when they least expected it. Whoever they were, their ranks were not any different to the group’s own Earls—Countess and Viscounts, but it was the numbers they threw at Isaac and his people. The sheer volume that no matter how many people they killed, it never seemed enough to slow them down.

  Which led them to this dwelling and—

  The first collection of people burst out of the front doors tearing it off its hinges.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A wave of emotion from the crowd washed over Isaac. Fear and desperation. Now an Earl, his senses were more in tune with the common person’s emotional state. Unless they were Earl of above, a person’s emotional state was like reading a book. He weathered the storm and walked.

  His Earl vision picked up the collection of people who came his way in the dark.

  They were no threat.

  A mixture of tall women, bar staff and servers.

  They ran away from the building screaming about the undead. Those still with their wits grabbed whatever riding animal they could. Isaac ignored them as the crowd swam around him like a shoal of fish swimming around a shark. Emerging from the crowd, he took in the building as a body flew out of the top window and slammed to the ground with a bone-crushing thud.

  He felt the impact through the soles of his feet.

  Flic looked his way in panic. Her eyes said what he was thinking; what the fuck had the big man got himself into. Another body flew out of a bottom window, back first and rolled and tumbled along the ground until it came to a rest at his feet. The person died at his feet, fear plastered across their face.

  Smoke poured from the open doorway. The grimy windows revealed the dancing light of flames as the first combatant emerged from the smoke.

  Male with black skin and amber eyes, his eyes searched this way and that in a panic. “I didn’t sign up for this shit,” he said, before taking off.

  He ran towards Isaac who lowered himself in a combative stance, but Isaac was ignored as the man ran past him as if he did not exist.

  Someone else emerged from the building looking for his ride. “Where the fuck is my horse?” He tried to grab another, but only succeeded in freeing all the animals who ran away in blind panic. “Nooo!” He chased after them.

  Another emerged from the building, and another, each one with the fear of God in their eyes. Each one ignored Isaac completely and sprinted away from the building as fast as their legs could allow them.

  After the fifth person sped past him, Isaac relaxed and looked Flic’s way. She gave him a shrug. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he shouted to her, “but I don’t like--”

  A haunting moaning filled the air and from the smoke and flames, like demons escaping the pits of hell, figures appeared in the night. Disfigured. Limbs missing. Guts trailing along the ground.

  Purple glowing eyes locked onto his position as on mass, throaty growls that could be mistaken for wild beasts cut through the night air.

  “Fuck!” said Felicity. “Are those zombies?”

  “Let’s just hope they're slow as shit--”

  They sprinted towards him like track athletes looking to win gold.

  **********

  “Zombies! Fucking zombies,” Francisco screamed as he leapt out of the way of a pair of teeth looking to take a bite out of his leg.

  The woman who was fighting was almost as tall as him, with tree-trunk legs that could crush a man’s skull like a watermelon. His opponent was a Baroness at best, but that mattered little when your opponent fought you like a bear with rabies and did not feel pain. Her fingernails clawed at his face as he chopped off her left arm. The limb dropped to the floor, but she treated the matter as if he had just plucked a hair from her head and came at him again.

  Her teeth snapped an inch from his forearm as she tried to bite him.

  His boot buried itself in her gut, throwing her back as his blade took her head clean off.

  Saimon bumped into him as he dispatched his own opponent. He looked Francisco’s way and did a double take as his eyes narrowed. “I…I know you. You’re Francisco Rico. We’ve been trying to capture or kill you.”

  “Well you’ve been trying to fuck me for the last half an hour.”

  Saimon’s eyes widened. “It can’t be. You’re—you’re—you’re the big girl?”

  “They were all big beautiful women. But more importantly, why do you think--” another zombie, this one with part of its face missing, flew towards them. Both their axes cleaved it in two out of the air. “Why do you think I’m here? Trying to figure out why you’ve been attacking us.”

  Saimon shrugged. “It’s just business. You lot have a bounty on your heads. We collect bounties. It’s not personal.”

  “I’ll remember that next time one of your men tries to take my life.”

  “Take it how you want,” said Saimon. “But it was never personal. This,” he nodded Mithran’s way. “This is personal.”

  “What’s his problem anyway?” said Francisco.

  “Youngest brother complex. Feels the world owes him respect he has not earned. Trying to take over my gang, just a normal Tuesday evening on The Other Side.”

  Two zombies who had once been Saimon’s men came at the pair, forcing them to get back to back. Veins bulging against their necks, Saimon took out his foe as Francisco buried his own axe in the thing’s chest, only to watch it stand back up unfazed.

  “Normal zombie lore. Take off the head to put them down for good.”

  “Sorry, I’m not up to date on my zombie lore but where I was born, zombies were a thing of fiction and--”

  Mithran roared in anger, causing both of them to snap their attention his way. The corpses he was reanimating were becoming of short supply as the people who backed him stood behind him, unsure. It was a look Francisco knew all too well, of people throwing their lot in with someone only to see the error of their ways as the proverbial ship they were on started to sink.

  Mithran touched corpse after corpse until there were none left. One of the zombies, in its eagerness to attack smashed into a lamp, catching itself on fire before quickly spreading the flames to other parts of the building.

  Francisco took no notice of it, as other fires had spread long ago.

  “Mithran,” said a grey-bearded man. “This is madness. Let us cut our losses and go.”

  “No! Not until I take his head,” Mithran pointed at Saimon.

  The beastkin mix touched his hand to his heart. “What did I--”

  “For the disrespect you showed me, you shall not leave here--”

  “Oh, enough of this boy!” said the grey-bearded man, as he span Mithran around and punched him across the jaw, knocking him out. Slumping forward, he caught Mithran and threw him over his shoulder. “Boys, these thing’s gone fucking sideways. Let’s get out of here and--”

  The zombies stopped as one and looked around in confusion. Nothing but the burning crackle of wood could be heard as everyone alive made worried eye contact.

  Francisco was the first to speak. “Errr…what happens when a zombie master—wizard—”

  “Necromancer,” someone called out.

  Francisco rolled his eyes. “Necromancer is no longer in control of his horde of zombies?”

  They all made eye contact again, but this time it was wide eyed and panicked, as on queue the zombies let out a gutted roar, tearing at their heads in torment before turning their attention to the nearest person and attacking them with the ferocity of a hungry beast.