The cold night wind blew through the trees as Mortis continued his silent journey under the moonlight. The road ahead was dim, barely lit by the faint glow of the stars. Each step he took was accompanied by the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. He pulled his tattered cloak tighter. Despite having no skin to feel the chill, the gesture remained—an echo of who he once was.
Without warning, a sharp tug caught his leg. A hidden rope trap yanked him upward, leaving him dangling from a tree branch, upside-down.
"Tch—" Mortis gritted his teeth, or what was left of them. "Goblins."
Three pairs of glowing red eyes emerged from the bushes, giggling in excitement.
"Fresh meat!" "Hangin' like fruit!"
Mortis reached beneath his robe and retrieved a small bone dagger. With one quick slash, he cut through the rope. He plummeted down, landed hard, rolled, and bolted into the darkness before the goblins could react.
"Where'd he go?!" "Catch 'im! Catch 'im!"
Their shrieks of frustration echoed, but Mortis was already gone.
Further along, Mortis stumbled upon a massive carcass—an enormous spider-like beast, its body riddled with arrows. He crouched beside it, head tilting in curiosity.
"Who took you down, big one? Adventurers? Or did you fall to time?"
Curious, he placed his skeletal hand on its chitinous shell. A jolt of magic pulsed through his fingertips. The spider twitched.
His empty eyesockets widened slightly. "Still enough left in you... let's see what I can do."
Focusing, Mortis extended his will into the creature. It slowly stirred to life. Mortis staggered, swaying as he concentrated.
Focus… not just on the body… but the purpose… the direction…
The spider took one step forward, then another. Mortis grinned.
"Yes... like a puppet on strings. Dance for me."
For the next hour, he practiced. Each movement required intent. The more he focused, the smoother it became. He was learning not just to raise the dead, but to command them.
By dawn, Mortis approached a small village nestled at the forest's edge. Wooden fences, lantern-lit huts, and smoke curling from chimneys painted a peaceful scene—until shouting pierced the air.
In a clearing outside the village, four adventurers were locked in battle with seven goblins.
Mortis ducked behind a tree, observing.
The female elf loosed arrows with deadly precision. Her silver hair whipped behind her as she took aim. She didn't miss.
The male and female swordsman fought back-to-back. Garrick, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred jaw, deflected a goblin's club and cleaved through its neck in a single arc. Mira, fast and fierce, darted and weaved, her short blade drawing lines of red across green flesh. Their movements were rehearsed, like a deadly dance.
Ryn, the robed mage, chanted at the rear, flinging bursts of flame that sent goblins scrambling. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tried to hold his ground.
Then a goblin broke past the frontline, charging toward Ryn. Two more followed, flanking him.
"Hold on, Ryn!" Sylwen, the elf, turned swiftly, loosed an arrow that hit one goblin in the skull. She dropped her bow, drew a curved dagger, and sprinted forward.
Mortis clenched his fists. "They're too slow."
He stepped from the shadows.
With silent steps, he crept up behind the last goblin and drove his bone dagger into its back.
The goblin let out a wet screech and fell. The adventurers turned, startled.
The mage blinked. "Who—?"
The female swordsman lowered her weapon cautiously. "He helped us."
The goblins, disoriented, scattered into the woods.
The adventurers regrouped, panting.
Sylwen nodded at Mortis. "Thanks for the assist. I'm Sylwen."
Mortis inclined his head. "Just passing through."
"I'm Garrick," said the male swordsman. "That's Mira and Ryn."
"You're not bad with a blade," Mira observed.
"Where are you headed?" asked Sylwen.
"The city of Phon."
"That's where we came from," said Garrick. "You're welcome to ride back with us—after we deal with these goblins. They've been raiding the local farms."
Mortis nodded. "I'll help."
The group exchanged glances. Ryn hesitated, eyeing Mortis's hidden face, but said nothing.
"I found what seems like their nest," Sylwen said. She described a gnarled grove.
Mortis tensed slightly. The same place I was ambushed.
They planned to strike the next night. Until then, Mortis wandered the village. He kept his hood low and words few.
He watched children laugh and chase chickens, watched elders barter at fruit stalls. A warmth lingered in the air—foreign to him now.
He bought a short sword, bandages, and a cloak with a deeper hood.
That night, he slipped into the woods. His spider and stealth made quick work of a goblin patrol. He killed one, reanimated it, and used the corpse to infiltrate the nest.
Inside, he hunted them like shadows in the dark.
The undead goblin moved with unnatural stiffness, but it knew the paths. It approached a group of three goblins around a fire. They barely turned before it lunged, stabbing wildly. The goblins screamed in confusion.
One tried to climb the wall, shrieking, while another bashed at the undead with a rock. It kept fighting, clawing and stabbing with eerie precision. Mortis guided it like a marionette master.
When more goblins joined, Mortis sent in the spider. The beast crashed through the entrance, towering over them. Its reanimated limbs moved jerkily at first, then more fluidly as Mortis fine-tuned control.
The goblins scattered in panic, some climbing walls, others swinging from roots. They fought with desperate agility—scrambling, biting, stabbing.
One undead goblin leapt onto a wall and pounced from above. Another clung to a goblin's back, biting into its neck like a rabid beast.
Mortis stood still in the shadows, controlling each motion. "Huh. I might actually be good at this."
By dawn, only silence remained. He raised two more goblins and gathered their weapons. A spider. Three goblins. A small, dysfunctional, and surprisingly cooperative army.
The next day, Mortis led the group to the grove.
"They're all dead," he said simply.
The adventurers stared at the carnage.
"You did this... alone?" Mira asked, voice low.
He said nothing.
Ryn muttered, "Gods above..."
They gathered ears for proof. The village chief stammered when Mortis presented the bounty.
"W-We'll have the reward ready. You've done us a great service."
As the sun rose, the party packed for the journey to Phon.
Mortis walked among them, silent, watching. Their chatter faded behind him. The elf tried to smile. The mage still eyed him warily.
He didn't mind their stares. Secrets had their own weight—and Mortis had carried his for far longer than they could guess.