The rats led John deeper into the tunnels, their leaves rustling in the darkness, lighting the way with small glowing mushrooms they carried in their tiny hands.

  John heard a noise ahead. A rhythmic, scraping sound.

  The passage opened into a small chamber where a corroded iron grate barred the way forward. Beyond it, through the bars, John could see a room where the far wall had collapsed into rubble. Pressed against the grate, still trying to force its way through, was a corpse.

  One arm was missing, taken off at the shoulder where tiny jaws had gnawed the limb away. The other arm reached through the bars of the grate, fingers grasping blindly at the air beyond. The skin was mummified, stretched tight over bone like dried leather.

  The grate groaned under the constant pressure but held, barely. John noticed an iron shackle around the dead wrist, its chain link rusted short.

  Ah. The prison.

  Drawing Moonfang, John approached the grate carefully. The zombie didn't react, it just kept trying to move forward with single-minded determination.

  John angled the blade carefully between the bars and swung down in a clean arc. The enchanted edge slid through the undead flesh like it was nothing, making the strike effortless as Moonfang passed through desiccated muscle and ancient bone, severing the head cleanly.

  The zombie's head hit the floor with a hollow thud, and its body went still. The grasping arm dropped limply as the corpse slumped against the grate, held up only by the bars pressing into its chest.

  John pulled Moonfang back and stood there for a moment, thinking. The room ahead stretched into darkness, and beyond that was a prison full of corpses. Thousands, maybe.

  Was something waking them up? It shouldn't be.

  He positioned Moonfang between two of the grate's bars and began to push, using the blade as a lever. The enchanted steel held firm as he applied pressure, and the corroded iron groaned in protest. Leaning his weight into it, he pushed harder, and the bars slowly began to bend apart with a metallic screech. When the gap was wide enough, he kicked one of the weakened bars hard. It snapped free and clanged loudly against the stone floor, the sound echoing through the passage.

  The rats scattered back, chittering in alarm, their leaves rustling frantically.

  "It's okay," John said, as he squeezed through the opening. "I’ll make sure nothing else gets through after me."

  He grabbed chunks of rubble from the collapsed section and began stacking them against the grate opening. The rats watched nervously from the chamber behind him, mushroom lights bobbing as they shifted.

  When he'd built a makeshift wall, John pushed against it hard. It held.

  John pulled out his light crystal and saluted the rats through the rubble barrier, then turned to the room stretching ahead. The zombie had left a trail, disturbed dust and drag marks where its feet scraped the stone.

  He started forward.

  Behind him, the rat with the carved acorn staff squeaked and scurried after him, leaping up to land on his shoulder with surprising agility, tiny claws gripping his shirt for balance.

  John glanced at it sideways. The rat stared back with dark, intelligent eyes, clutching its small staff close.

  "Fine," John muttered. "But you have to get down if you need to pee."

  The rat squealed in outrage, and poked at his ear.

  “I hope that was agreement.”

  He handed his light crystal to the rat, and the creature took it with both tiny hands, eyes going wide at the bright glow. It held it up proudly, leaves rustling with satisfaction.

  Past the room, a corridor stretched into darkness, sloping downward at a steep angle. John could hear water dripping somewhere far below, and the air grew colder, carrying the smell of damp stone.

  John lowered himself down the rubble slope, the rat keeping the crystal raised on his shoulder. The passage continued, but the worked stone gave way to natural cave. The walls became rough and uneven, glistening with moisture as water dripped down from stalactites overhead, the sound echoing in the darkness. A faint wind moved through the space, carrying the smell of damp earth.

  The dripping was constant now, a steady rhythm that filled the silence.

  Then John heard a moan. Single, drawn-out, echoing from somewhere deep in the cave system ahead.

  The rat's leaves pressed flat against its body.

  The cave system branched and twisted. John tried to keep his bearings, but it was difficult. Everything looked the same. More wet rock, more dripping water, pure darkness beyond the crystal's small sphere of light.

  Another moan echoed through the cave, much closer this time, coming from somewhere just ahead in the darkness.

  John's hand went to Moonfang's hilt and drew the blade slowly. The rat went completely still on his shoulder, not even its leaves rustling. The moaning stopped, leaving only silence and the steady drip of water.

  Then footsteps. Dragging. Scraping against stone. Getting closer.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A shape emerged from the darkness. Gray skin, hollow eyes, prison chains dragging behind it. The zombie didn't slow, didn't stop, just kept shuffling forward with single-minded hunger, reaching for John's face.

  Moonfang flashed. The zombie's head tumbled backward, bouncing once before rolling away. The body followed a moment later, crumpling to the cave floor.

  The rat exploded into excited squeaking, actually standing up on John's shoulder and waving the crystal triumphantly while chittering with praise.

  "It was just one," John said.

  But the rat didn't care. It kept celebrating, leaves rustling with joy.

  Unable to suppress a small smile, John shook his head. "Come on. Let's keep moving."

  The cave twisted and narrowed, forcing John to duck under low-hanging rock formations while the rat pressed close. Then he spotted something. Scratches on the wall, carved into the stone. They were close to the hidden entrance now.

  John followed the marks deeper into the cave until they led to a wall. The rock face stretched upward into darkness, rough and wet. High above, almost invisible in the crystal's dim light, were small handholds carved into the stone. Worn smooth by time.

  He took three steps back, then ran. His boots found purchase on the wet stone and he launched himself upward, fingers stretching. His hand barely caught the first hold, fingers slipping on the moisture, but his grip strength held. He swung there for a moment, legs dangling, before his other hand found purchase.

  He pulled himself up quickly. The rat chittered nervously on his shoulder as John found a foothold and started the climb.

  Thank god for the stat points. A week ago, this would have been impossible. Now it was just difficult.

  Finally, his hand found the edge of something and he pulled himself up and over onto a narrow ledge. Above him, barely visible in the crystal's light, was a small tunnel entrance, just wide enough to crawl through.

  John caught his breath, then got on his hands and knees. The rat hopped off his shoulder and scurried ahead, crystal in hand, lighting the way through the tight tunnel where John had to crawl on his belly, stone scraping against his back in the stale, dusty air.

  After what felt like an eternity of crawling, the rat stopped, its leaves rustling with confusion. Rough wooden plank formed a solid barrier. John pressed his hand against it and felt it shift slightly. It was a bookshelf, just like in the game.

  His fingers ran along the edge of the wood, feeling for the small metal catch. He worked it carefully, feeling it resist, then finally give with a soft click.

  The bookshelf shifted slightly.

  John pushed against the wood. It moved on hinges, swinging outward with a groan of protest. Dust rained down from the disturbed shelves.

  Squeezing through the gap, with the rat scurrying after him, John found himself in a small room. A guard's quarters, by the look of it. A narrow bed, a table, a small desk. Everything covered in a thick layer of dust.

  The room was empty. Abandoned.

  John moved to the door and opened it carefully to find a stone staircase leading down. He descended quietly, Moonfang ready in his hand, while the rat stayed on his shoulder, holding the crystal close to dim its light.

  The stairs ended at a doorway that opened onto a courtyard, and John stopped at the threshold, taking in the scene.

  The courtyard was large and open to the dark above, with piles of random objects scattered across it. Broken furniture, tarnished silverware, bits of cloth, pieces of pottery. All of it looked like garbage.

  "What is this?" John whispered.

  The rat chittered softly, confused.

  Nothing moved. No guards. No zombies.

  John moved through the courtyard, keeping to the shadows, and the rat seemed to understand without being told. It covered the crystal with its tiny paws, dimming the light to almost nothing.

  The entrance gate stood on the far side, its heavy iron door slightly ajar. John approached slowly, pressing himself against the wall as he neared it, then peered around the edge of the gate.

  And froze.

  The bridge beyond was packed with zombies. Dozens of them, maybe more, standing completely still and silent, watching nothing.

  John pulled back quickly, heart hammering.

  Then he heard footsteps from out in the darkness. Coming closer. Two sets, shuffling and dragging, coming toward the gate, coming toward him.

  He retreated fast, ducking behind one of the larger trash piles. The rat pressed against his neck and shoved the crystal down his shirt, completely covered.

  He heard them shuffle past his hiding spot without pausing, heading deeper into the courtyard.

  John waited until they were several feet past, then whispered, "Light. Now."

  The rat uncovered the crystal.

  John ran. Two quick strikes and both heads hit the ground as the trinkets clattered across the stone.

  John exhaled slowly. He waited another moment, listening for any sound from the bridge.

  Nothing.

  He headed across the courtyard, weaving between the piles of trash.

  On the far side, a door stood partially open with light spilled through the gap. And from beyond it he could head a low, rhythmic chanting.

  Approaching slowly, Moonfang ready, John listened as the chanting grew clearer with each step. A single voice, young, repeating words in a language John didn't recognize.

  He reached the door and peered through the gap.

  The execution pit where the prison had dumped its dead for centuries. Torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows across the stone. And standing around the pit's edge, completely motionless, were zombies.

  They filled the room. Just standing there like statues.

  John's gaze moved past them and stopped on an abomination.

  The thing was massive. Ten feet tall at least, stitched together from multiple corpses. Its head had two faces, one looking forward, one looking back, both with hollow eyes. Where its neck should be was another face, stretched and distorted, mouth open in a silent scream. The torso was a nightmare of mummified skin pulled tight over too many ribs, creating a cage-like appearance, and its arms were impossibly long, made from multiple elbows fused together.

  And crouched beside it, working on one of its legs with needle and thread, was a boy no older than Lia.

  Thin, pale, wearing pristine clothes, with a crown made of black iron sitting on his head.

  The boy looked up as John entered, and his expression shifted immediately to irritation.

  "What are you doing here?" His tone was sharp, dismissive. Like John was a servant who'd wandered into the wrong room.

  "Hunting necromancers."

  The boy straightened up, needle still in hand, and his face flushed with indignation. "How dare you. I am of noble blood. A future student of Valen Arcanum." He said it like it explained everything. Like it justified whatever he was doing down here.

  He pointed at John, voice rising to a command. "Kill him!"