"Stir up my still heart." I whispered only to her.

  Upon sending my summons to handle the incoming horde of ravenous beasts. I drifted away to greet the dark flower blooming amidst the heavenly carnage. Oh, how the brutal contrast only made her more radiant. Swords and arrows streaked across the sands, but only she held my gaze. I dared not look away, even if it meant my destruction. To die gazing upon her would be a wonderful end.

  "And pray tell, what stirs that unbeating organ to sing?" She spoke, her voice velvety.

  "Your presence, my dark dear, is like moonlight upon a crypt; it coaxes life from the heart content to rest, now resurrected." I responded in a moment, feeling a surge of what I knew not.

  It was just a feeling, a sense that drew me closer, yet she was so far. Drawn like a moth to a flame. I found my feet moving of their own accord, ignoring the delightful dangers that surrounded us. The deathly bolts loosed by Rakshur. At the ungodly speed Joey was achieving, chased by the hounds of Hades, death nipped at his heels. The strange music, no doubt Joey was sending to the four corners of the world. So much, yet everything faded to her; she was all that I saw, all that there was. And so I sang.

  "If I could remake the world, I'd bend its bones for you. Reshape its lands, remove the sands and carve the distance to you."

  Beneath our feet, the ground rumbled and churned, shifting and turning. Every moment I sang, the world itself bent to my will. I could feel it, drawing what I desired close, reshaping itself to fight the picture in my mind, the dream in my soul. Even in death, my heart still beat true.

  "Let the shifting tide move well aside, my dark muse, I know it's true, I will be... with you."

  She didn't flee; she just smiled a knowing smile. My dark beauty beyond reach, moving ever closer, pulled towards each other moment by moment. Standing poised and regal, she slid across the sands as if the world made way for her entrance. If my heart had beaten, it would have thrummed so intently no doubt it would have leaped from its chest to settle in her tender embrace.

  As we met in the middle, the world slanting to encourage our embrace; I gazed upon her, ready to woo her with my undead charms. Still smiling as if a dark secret lay between those lips. This was a rare moment, a focal point that gave birth to a new spell song. I ignored the notifications; they could wait for another time. I yearned to stay within that gaze, to be that which makes her glee true and eternal. That was when she thrust her sword into my heart.

  "Oh, you wound me." I let the words roll lazily off my tongue.

  "That was the idea." She purred.

  Ignoring the steel plunged into my chest, I couldn't help but advance, driving the blade deeper into my heart. The blow was meaningless, merely an obstacle to overcome so I may approach my black beauty. And as the last sliver of steel slid into my chest, we were as close as lovers.

  "Forgive my gaze, but the shadows dance around you as if they crave your touch as I do." I spoke, noticing the shadows indeed had a life of their own.

  "If the shadows seek my touch, it is only because they sense one of their own."

  Lost in her gaze, in the subtle tone of her delightful voice, the world fell silent and only the two of us remained.

  "Would the shadows deign this lowly man a name?" I begged; my pierced heart ached to listen to those glorious words.

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  "They may if you prove yourself." She said, mischief on her face.

  Oh, how that look, that delightful, devilish look could stir me to life. I yearned to see that visage every day for eternity, but it was not so... yet. Whatever challenge she put forth, I would defeat it, for nothing stops a man's drive to worship at her altar.

  "Survive my next attack." She whispered in my ear.

  And as fast as lightning, she withdrew her blade and swiftly turned to slice me in half. An instinct buried deep within my lost life prevented her from cutting me. Allowing me to draw my blade and parrying the strike with ease. She smiled, and my world became hers, only for her next strike to arrive in moments. I dodged her wide swing, sliding back gracefully. Swiftly my sword returned to a guard position, muscle memory taking hold. I knew not where such skills came from, but welcomed their arrival.

  "On guard." I said.

  She returned my guard with one of her own. I did not know what sword style either of us was using. But as the flow of our little dance of death began. I gained more insight into both of us. She fought with incredible speed, her blade striking vital points with every stroke. My skill seemed to match hers blow for blow. But I remained on the defensive, quite skilled in parrying and reposting.

  "You are wonderful." I couldn't help but utter as she parried another strike.

  "Why, thank you; you are not so bad yourself." She returned my lunge with a counter.

  The blade sank into my shoulder, and if I were alive, this would be a terrible wound. Luckily, I am not among the living, and so our dance continued. With every attack and defence, I feel deeper and deeper in love with this woman. How she struck without mercy or hesitation — that is a woman to adore. Such a killer instinct, such a ruthless creature of blood and fury. Oh, what bliss it would be to die for her. If only I were not already dead. I would gladly lay my life at her feet and tender mercies.

  The fight continued on for a while before I was over-matched. A foolish strike led to an opening, and my weapon went flying across the sands. Disarmed in a moment, I accepted my fate. Gracefully, as any man of substance would do. There was no shame in such a defeat, especially to such a woman.

  "You have bested me, Zareth'mira. My unlife is yours."

  "You speak Elder?" She paused, her sword mere moments from my throat.

  "I do indeed; it is the best language for poetry."

  She frowned at me, her lips slowly quirking into a wry smile. And for a moment lingered in that beautiful silence, surrounded by the sweet song of battle. Steel against steel, the whistle of arrows and the roar of an enraged vampire. I couldn't help but glance away from my dark mistress and noticed my comrade still fleeing from the vampire lord. She caught my gaze and followed along, her eyes narrowing.

  "It seems your friend has gained Lord Calverus' ire." She commented.

  "Joey has a talent for infuriating men with egos." I explained honestly.

  "I can see that; I see that very well." Her blade left my throat, and so did the delectable tension.

  "Are you sparing my unlife?"

  "For now, my sweet, since you have business to attend to." She glanced at the battlefield.

  "It seems I have a prior commitment. But fear not, Zareth'mira, for I shall return in due time." I declared to all that was unholy.

  "Don't go far; we have much to talk about."

  "I would never dream of it."

  With a deep bow, I left my queen to assist my friend, regretting the distance between us. Surely her sparing of my life was a good sign for our future. For what is love but the mercy of the gracious? To grant her tender affections when she could so easily deliver her fury. To please her, to woo her — that is devotion, that is romance. I reclaimed my sword, struck a dashing pose and leapt into the fighting. Hoping that once the delightful acts were done, she would wait for me.

  As I charged into battle, flanked by my spectral army, I had never felt more alive. Which was quite the sensation since I was truly dead. Alas, my heart beat in my chest, even though it remained entirely still. Sword raised, I charged into the fray, noticing a certain feline and a crazed Garathi warrior slicing his way through his enemies. The man known as Doctore was lying unconscious to the side, seated against the arena wall.

  "Is this your doing, necromancer!" The Garathi scowled at me.

  "Yes, it is. I have brought them back to aid in this battle." I explained.

  "You forced them to rise?!"

  "No, they came back willingly; they wish to fight once more."

  Calraz was quiet, his gaze flitting between the oncoming enemies and the spectral visions of his warriors. No doubt the sight of his dead comrades would be a source of woe, but death is not necessarily the end; I should know. There were no more words, only a nod as we — a revenant, a Garathi warrior, several ghosts and a cat went to battle.

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