Jericho grinned at Axehand. “You think you’re something, don’t you?” he said. “A pitiful, stupid undead who can’t even talk…”

  Unlike Jericho, Axehand didn’t taunt—what lumberjack speaks with trees?

  A strong breeze blew through the manor’s holes, and the steel flask jingled on Axehand’s waist. He uncorked it to drink a large gulp, eyes locked on Jericho—and then, as moonlit wine dripped down his fractured ribcage, he tossed the flask onto the airship.

  Axehand was ready to fight. A bone grin blossomed on his face. He charged.

  Roots met blades, spearing through the ground as if the plants below had gone berserk. Axehand’s axes twirled through the air in overbearing trajectories, hacking everything in their way. Roots met bone, but Axehand’s cracked body remained sturdy.

  With strength, endurance, speed, and just a bit of technique, Axehand was an absolute menace—and, most importantly, Jericho no longer had access to a bottomless storage of strength. The nature spirit was pushed back.

  “You are unnatural!” Jericho cried out. “Mindless abominations like you are the ultimate insult to Mother!”

  Axehand grunted in mockery. Jericho refused to acknowledge it, but he was no less of an abomination.

  Axehand twisted around a pair of sharp roots, letting another pair slam into him and further crack his bones to advance faster. Feet pressing against the ground, he charged right through a root cluster and met Jericho’s surprised stare, finally within striking distance. Axehand grinned. His blades shone in the moonlight as he hacked them down, and Jericho jumped back to dodge, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Two long lines were drawn on his raised forearm, dripping thick, green blood—exactly three drops. Jericho’s features contorted as he retreated at top speed, once again raising a slithering wall of roots between them.

  “No! Every drop of my blood is precious, heathen! You will pay for this!”

  Axehand grunted. Do your worst. Sooner or later, the tree will fall.

  The two clashed again, a brutal maelstrom of blades meeting a storm of roots—and though Jericho was retreating, Axehand’s progress was slow. For now, they were locked in a stalemate, but Axehand would not retreat. He would cut this tree. No matter what.

  ***

  The master’s will spoke in their minds, and the zombies didn’t need to be told twice. With long strides, the Billies reached the nearest rope and began chopping while Boboar and Headless defended against all the guards. They received multiple hits, but Boboar was sturdy, and Headless’s head was oddly protected on his chest as the soldiers had little practice striking there. Plus, the chest area was easier to protect.

  However, no matter how they tried to defend, the hits still piled on. Boboar’s charges were dodged, and he was struck multiple times in return. His enhanced bones were cracking, and his spine was breaking. Headless was in an even worse situation, already riddled with holes like goose cheese.

  As the Billies cut a rope and moved to the next one, Boboar and Headless were on their last legs. They didn’t mind—for such a kind master, they would gladly fall.

  Suddenly, screeches and squeaks filled the battlefield. Before the guards knew it, a flood of mice had reached them, climbing their armor and trying to sneak in with terrible ferocity. The guards screamed and dropped their weapons, backpedaling as they desperately tried to stop the mice from infiltrating their armor, but in that time, the other undead had escaped.

  “STOP THEM!” a furious scream came from a second-story window. “They’re stealing my airship!”

  It was Count Decaron, well-dressed but still drunk. Despite the cataclysmic battle below, he dared walk to the window and even shout—clearly, he believed himself safe.

  “We’re only borrowing it!” Jerry shouted back.

  With a swing of Headless’s spear, the final rope was cut off, and the airship jolted upward.

  “Grab on!” Jerry yelled as Headless and three Billies held onto the cut-off ropes for dear unlife, letting themselves get pulled into the sky as they slowly climbed up. Boboar had jumped on the ramp as the rest cut off the final rope. Everyone was on board or would be soon, except one person.

  “AXEHAND!”

  Jerry watched in horror. From above, he could see the ground rapidly pulling away, and on that ground, Axehand was still locked in heated combat with Jericho. The airship was already over the manor’s first floor, rapidly approaching the level of the roof, and Axehand showed no sign of running for it.

  He couldn’t. If he tried, Jericho would follow, and there was no way to escape him.

  However, noticing their imminent departure, Axehand only grunted in satisfaction. He could be left behind; all he asked for was a good battle. He would never give in to a tree person. He would triumph against Jericho or fall trying.

  Axehand was the world’s proudest lumberjack.

  “AXEHAND!” Jerry’s screams reached his ears as his urgent commands reached his soul, but he ignored them all. Around him, a few guards were running from mice, the cyclops was fighting the rest of them, and Maccain was hiding somewhere in fear of the pyromancer’s ire and fire. Only Axehand and Jericho were left, duking it out in the middle of the hole-ridden courtyard.

  Just as he thought that, a dark soul creeped into his body. It reached Axehand’s soul, where the link to Jerry was, and tried to merge with it.

  Axehand shook, and on the airship, so did Jerry. Maccain grinned from his hiding place. “Your death knight will be mine… If I can get him, everything will be worth it.”

  This was his trump card.

  Maccain had been deeply impressed by Axehand in this battle, and he sensed the latter’s potential. He already had Jericho; if he could replace the dead water spirit with Axehand, his collection would take another step toward perfection!

  Maccain didn’t think that Jerry could resist him; he’d already seen his soul. Against such a weak opponent, usurping the link would be easy.

  The moment he tried, Jerry felt the same, and his face went pale as a profound fear filled his body. Axehand! No!

  Everything was happening too quickly. Maccain’s power merged into the link, cut off Jerry, and reached for Axehand’s soul to imprint his mark. This was the easy part; the soul mark was already there, just with a different owner, and the undead had no power over it. Only the necromancer did, and Maccain had already overpowered Jerry.

  However, just as he reached Axehand’s soul, a deep grunt shook Maccain’s soul. He was suddenly evicted by a tremendous force, making his eyes fuzzy and forcing him to withdraw his power immediately. Jerry regained control of Axehand like nothing had happened.

  Everyone was puzzled; even Axehand.

  Maccain stared at Axehand in disbelief. “What?” he muttered. “That… That’s not possible!”

  It wasn’t the first or second time Maccain stole another’s undead, and he knew how things worked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The undead had no power over the soul mark; only their necromancer did.

  Axehand shouldn’t have been able to resist. Yet, he did!

  Maccain was shaken. He had no idea what happened. This made no sense; if Axehand was strong enough to affect the soul mark, he should have already broken it and gone wild. What was happening?

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  While Maccain was puzzled, Jerry simply smiled. He wasn’t sure what happened either, but he knew that Axehand had handled it.

  Moreover, he was certain that necromancers couldn’t steal each other’s undead. This ability was probably Maccain’s Awakening—the result of discovering your individual flavor of magic and gaining a unique ability. Awakening was the difference between one-feather and two-feather wizards, and it was massive.

  This entire mental battle had happened almost instantly. The airship was still rising, and down on the ground, Axehand and Jericho were glaring at each other.

  Jericho grinned. “They’re leaving you behind,” he said. “So much for being a friend.”

  Mind your own damn business, Axehand wanted to respond. You will fall to my axes.

  Of course, he couldn’t say that, so he only grunted in challenge. Jericho accepted. Their battle would go on.

  But not on their terms.

  “Jericho!” Maccain’s voice rang out, shaking a bit. “Stop the damn airship!”

  Immediately, Jericho’s body glowed red and steaming. The cyclops groaned as the extra power left his body, transferred to the other of Maccain’s undead, and the poor cyclops was immediately surrounded by the female nature spirit, the fire wizard, and the remaining guards.

  As for Jericho… Jericho clenched his fists, grinning madly at the surge of strength he was receiving. His oily dark hair fluttered in the air, his dark eyes shining red.

  “This is it,” he muttered, looking at his hands. “Like Mother… All this power…”

  From where he lay hidden, Maccain grabbed his chest, his eyes twitching. “What a terrifying absorption rate!” he exclaimed, looking at Jericho with mad greed. Today was simply one surprise after another. “Such a strong body… Just how much power can he stand?”

  The transfusion came to an end. Jericho’s body hadn’t even reached its limit yet, but Maccain had! However, even like this, Jericho was much stronger than Gorgon had been.

  A red haze with shades of green exploded out of Jericho, sending dust and stones flying. Roots speared out of the ground, much thicker and faster than before. The earth spirit raised his eyes, a dark green aura surrounding him as he locked gazes with Axehand’s crimson flames.

  “When you took three drops of my blood, I told you you’d pay… Unfortunately, you’re so worthless that even your life is not enough to repay me. A shame.”

  Faster than Axehand could react, the tip of a hard root met his ribcage from the side, sending him flying sideways and back into the manor. Jericho looked at where Axehand had flown and laughed—then, the ground cracked below his feet as he jumped high into the air, grabbing the end of a rope that dangled from the airship. A root thicker than any other rose from the ground, reaching Jericho twenty feet into the air and coiling around his waist. Then, with a herculean roar, while still suspended in midair, he pulled down.

  The airship creaked as it forcibly came to a halt, then tilted heavily as Jericho kept pulling. His action resembled climbing up the rope, but as the thick roots were holding his body still, it was the airship that was descending instead. Up there, everything shook.

  “Godsdamnit!” Marcus shouted, struggling to hold on to something. “This is cheating! I must complain!”

  “Cut the rope!” Boney screamed, sliding over with a sword in hand.

  Jerry’s forehead wrinkled. Even if they cut the rope in time, Axehand was still down there. They couldn’t abandon him. They had to do something. He gazed at Jericho’s red-lit body.

  “How is he doing this?!” This red steam… Empowering undead… What a novel notion!

  Sending more power through the soul link… he mused, already lost in his thoughts. Axehand’s current strength was not enough, Jerry himself clearly couldn’t defeat Maccain, and he was all out of ideas. He had to find out how Maccain was doing this, and he had to master it now.

  “Hold me!” he shouted, letting go of the railing and letting himself slide down. A burly hand reached out and grabbed him—Billy One.

  Overcharging the soul link… Can I do it too?

  His mind reached into his soul, finding the link connecting him to Axehand. He could feel it shuddering—clearly, the double-skeleton was on his last legs.

  Each link drew an amount of energy proportional to the undead’s strength. Axehand’s, for example, demanded almost as much energy as everyone else’s combined—and that was just the energy needed for the bonds between soul and body to maintain themselves.

  But now…

  In desperation, Jerry took a risk. Forgoing all notions of safety, he grabbed every single bit of soul energy he could scrunch up and stuffed it into the link. It instantly grew red, bloating from the pressure as a river of energy flowed into it—and then, through it, into Axehand.

  Jerry lost his breath.

  Down below, everything shook as the manor’s walls exploded. Axehand was revealed in all his glory, cracked throughout, red, and steaming from his very bones. His skull was shaped into a grin, and the very air around him pulsed with power, vibrating to the tune of Axehand’s excited grunts.

  At that moment, he was like a devil incarnate, and everyone froze.

  “NO!” Jericho roared. Axehand looked up—and then he jumped.

  He did not try to cut down the root tying Jericho to the ground, though he could certainly do it. No, Axehand was a proud undead, and he wouldn’t accept defeat. His feet pushed against the ground with enough force to crack it, and he sailed through the air like a bird, like an arrow.

  Roots rose to stop him, or at least delay him, but Axehand’s momentum and strength were so great that he tore right through those thick roots like nothing, heading straight for Jericho. “No!” the earth spirit roared again. He released the rope to let the root pull him down, and he partly succeeded, but Axehand was simply too fast.

  He flew past, and a single axe hand reached out, cutting Jericho’s still outstretched arm clean off at the shoulder. A fountain of green blood erupted.

  Jericho screamed in shock as he tumbled to the ground—and, from his shoulder, the green blood had begun to dry out, black replacing it. “No,” he mumbled, watching the last of his mother’s blessing escape in horror and disbelief. “NO!”

  He erupted into maddened screams.

  Axehand grunted a chuckle. He smashed into the manor’s other side, digging through the walls and shaking the entire residence, which, by now, was already on the verge of collapsing—coincidentally, the room that Axehand had smashed into was the count’s, and the man was staring with a trembling jaw from only a couple feet away.

  Ignoring Decaron, Axehand quickly rose back up—but, as Jericho had let go of the rope, the airship had once again jolted upward, and even the longest rope was shooting up at great speed.

  “Axehand!” Jerry roared. “GRAB THE ROPE!”

  “You idiot!” Marcus replied. “He has axe hands!”

  Jerry’s heart dropped. Axehand grunted. Pushing against the floor, he catapulted himself upward like a loose arrow, quickly closing the distance between himself and the rope’s end. His jump had taken him easily thirty feet into the air.

  The floor collapsed, taking that entire section of the manor with it, and Count Decaron was buried underneath the falling debris, but nobody paid him any mind. The battle between the guards and Gorgon was already over, letting them watch with gaping mouths.

  Every single gaze was glued on Axehand as he reached the rope…and slammed his axe hands against it, sandwiching the end of the rope between their flat sides! The rope swayed to the side and threatened to toss him off. Everyone’s heart was in their throats, but with his massive strength, Axehand held on!

  He was dangling from a rapidly ascending, furiously swaying rope! Whether on the ground or on the airship, everyone was frozen! The rope, after being pulled so hard before, unraveled right above Axehand.

  “Pull him up!” Boney shouted. “He can’t climb! Quick, everyone, pull him up!”

  Four Billies and Headless grabbed the rope at the same time, tugging at it with every ounce of strength they had left, and finally managed to pull up Axehand just before the rope broke.

  The red color left Axehand’s bones as he tumbled on the deck, lying still but safe.

  “We made it!” Boney screamed.

  “By Manna…” Marcus grabbed his chest. “I’m too old for this.”

  Laura smiled. The undead cheered. Jerry mumbled, “Oh, thank Desistos…” before collapsing on the deck.

  The ground quickly retreated further and further away. Jericho’s screams of impotent rage were loud enough to shake the sky, but no matter how he shouted, no matter how angrily Maccain, his undead, or the guards stared, they could do nothing.

  This battle was a complete victory.