Episode II: Shambling, a.k.a. High School of the Dead

Author's note: Personally, I find it a little vexing that zombies are commonly portrayed as A) craving brains or B) saying, "Braaaains," while they are otherwise incoherent.  If you ever watch a zombie movie, it's rare for a zombie to actually eat a brain and even rarer for the brain to be targeted over any other organ.  Indeed, you would be hard pressed to find a single zombie movie in which the zombies actually said, "Braaaains."  For the purposes of this story, however, I'll be using, "Brains," in place of onomatopoeia for the shamblers' moans, gurgles, and sundry vocalizations.

"By grandpappy's beard!" Isaac exclaimed as a shambling horror tried to bite him only to get skewered on Lancer's javelin.

The discussion would have to wait (despite Ishmael's grumbles about "rules" and "witnesses"), for the night was suddenly alive with the dead.  Shambling monstrosities of human corpses were coming out of the shadows seemingly willy-nilly, and apparently dead bodies brought back to life hunger for the flesh of the living or the flesh of servants, which is not really flesh due to our lack of true physical bodies.  Also, apparently this insatiable hunger gained from becoming undead means that these horrors (which I will call "shamblers") is specifically for living human flesh, since they ignored the geese.

I grabbed Isaac, and lept atop a nearby building while Ishmael levitated into the air, and Lancer took the shamblers head-on.  Jabir (Caster) set about summoning homunculi in front of him and sent them toward the throng.

From the top of the building, I was better able to survey the situation.  A horde of shamblers was coming from the north, but the field where the party was situated had already been surrounded by no fewer than twenty of the wretches.  They did not seem strong in comparison to a servant, but the prime concern was not my safety or that of any other heroic spirit, but the magi, our sources of prana and links to this world.  The shamblers would be able to make quick work of them if we did not take action.  I am but a brawler, accustomed to fighting a lone opponent, and lancer seemed to favor throwing her weapon and then approaching the target to finish it; not the ideal strategy for dealing with a horde.  We were going to have to rely on Caster, I felt, to control the crowd.

I began to feel foolish in the faces of the magi; as the shamblers started to climb the building where Isaac and I were perched, both he and Ishmael used their magic to levitate out of the reach of their would-be assailants.  “Sic ‘em, Beowulf!” Isaac cheered before popping a shambler’s head open with a shiny pebble.  Isaac’s gleeful expression persisted even when he willed the gore-soaked pebble back into his bag (which was filled to the brim with his prized pebbles).  Ishmael decided to improvise, using nearby rocks to crush shamblers through creative levitation tricks.

“As you command,” I replied to my master.  I drew out the hilt of my broken sword, Naegling, more as a show to the other servants than out of real necessity.  In these grail wars, a servant is commonly measured by the impressiveness of his noble phantasm, which in my case is my legendary hand-grip.  In life, it was my custom to take a foe using literal strength of arms.  Even when my opponent was armed, that would be an advantage to him that I would make up for with sheer force.  No sword I wielded would withstand more than a single blow that I struck.  Such was the case in the final battle of my life and legend; against the great dragon that eventually slew me, I drew my great heirloom, Naegling, and clove it in twain even as it sliced into the great beast’s hide.  In this grail war, I found myself in a situation similar to mine in life: I was strength looking for a weapon.  While my hands were on a weapon, it gained the benefits of my strength and skill.  However, aside from my broken heirloom, anything I swung to strike, wood or steel, would shatter beyond use or repair.  I knew to use nothing important, only heavy things.

As I was saying before the history lesson: I drew out the remains of Naegling since it was more impressive than my bare (bear) hands.  Still, I could not help but think that compared to what Lancer (spear) and Caster (book) were bringing to the fray, I may have been coming up short.

Shamblers struggled up the side of the building, and I caved their heads in or slashed them in two, bellowing as they bit into my flesh.  I was quickly surrounded, but my battle rage was far from quenched.

The stoic lancer was taking the brunt of the assault on the ground, but held up with remarkable resilience.  Uttering not a word, she tore holes with her javelin and slashed limbs with her sword with a  certain eloquence that one does not oft see of spear fighters.  Knowing her enemies were legion, she never stayed one place long.

“Minions!” came the keen from Caster’s side of the field as homunculi clashed with shamblers.  What the constructs lacked in combat ability they made up in being wall-like.

For every shambler I killed, two more took its place.  I slammed my fist down and destroyed the roof below the creatures and myself.  Most of them fell awkwardly, breaking bones or landing on objects.  I crushed the remainder with tables I found, and exited the classroom back to the battlefield.

“Hey, guys, wait up!  We still gotta decide when to shank you!” Isaac flew at full speed (I assume) after the teenagers, who were trying to flee the scene again.

“BRAAAA-hurf!” the youths ran headlong into a shambler.  It clawed at them and tried to bite their necks, but they dodged with surprising aplomb.  Isaac “helped” their cause by lifting the youths into the relative safety of the air.  Unfortunately, this unexpected lifting made one of the teenagers miss a dodge and the shambler grabbed onto a leg.  The three bodies flew up into the air as one.

To make matters worse one of Caster’s spells went awry.  What was supposed to be an explosion in the midst of the shamblers reversed the gravity all around the battlefield.  Down became up and up became down for everyone but Lancer (who was outside the area of effect and in the process of elbow-dropping a trifecta of shamblers from atop a metal playground fixture).  Caster was easily able to fly, as were Ishmael and Isaac, who quickly adjusted to steering the youths.  Isaac shook the Shambler off the young ones, and it proceeded to fall upward.

The only problem left was me falling upward with two shamblers.  I tightened into a somersault while holding my sword arm out, slicing through both shamblers with one swing.  On my way down, I entered spirit form to avoid injury.  The other shamblers and their remains fell with bone-splitting cracks.

Ishmael looked around from his high vantage point.  “Gravity seems to be right now.  The field looks clear, but more of those things are coming from the north.  Let’s take a moment to assess our conditions once we take out that las-.”

“Capital!” Ishmael’s warning was interrupted by Isaac as he and his charges reached the ground.

“BRAAIN-“ KA-PLOWSHHH!

Everyone turned stunned looks at Isaac, covered in gore and shards of cranium with the last shambler right behind him.  The shambler, however, was missing its head and upper torso.  Behind the shambler, pointed at where the monster’s head used to be was the business end of (what I later found out was called) a shotgun held by a towering, white-haired man clad in somber robes.