(this is a repost)

In a coffee shop in Paris, France, a strange man in a medieval war uniform trimmed with black satin and gold buttons sat in the dark room at a small table. He watched the news on a television mounted to the wall. He was very fascinated by the technology that wasn't at all powered by magic, but sorely disappointed by how boring and useless it was. In French, the news spoke of the pandemic that struck just about every corner of the globe in only a few months. Nothing like it had ever been seen before.

"So they are calling it the Zara Virus? How boring of a name for one of my beautiful creations. It took me almost a week to program such a complex spell to be resistant to all known forms of magic. They should at least be more creative in naming it! They will see. When half the world population falls ill, I will assemble my army, raising them from their deathly state all from the safety of my throne." He sipped on his coffee slowly until the glass was empty. Frowning, he held the glass out to the side of his chair, and he dropped the fine china and listened as it shattered across the floor.

"You! Get me something stronger!" He said, pointing lazily at a waitress that stood in the corner of the room. "As for you, clean this mess up!" He commanded his mindless undead servants. The strange man's eyes began to glow orange. He smiled to himself hearing the news through a magical link with one of his finest generals and his knight. Standing up he stretched forth his hand. His eyes now appeared a deep purple. Pouring power into a spell, he warped space and opened a portal that glowed stirring like a whirlpool of energy.

Suddenly the wormhole seemed to falter, and as it did the man of it's origin flinched and grabbed his side in pain.

"Curse you, brother!" The necromancer spoke to himself. "If only you would have shared my vision of the future. You could still be fighting by my side today!"

After a moment the vortex restabilized and out came a massive soldier in full black knight armor carrying a heavy broad sword in one hand, and a captive enemy soldier in the other. As he walked dragging the beaten soldier across the room the knight's heavy metal boots threatened to crack the tile floor. Without a word, the black knight dropped the half-dead man at his master's feet.

A tall woman with a cutlass, wearing partial armor and draped in red, orange, and black robes stepped through the portal with confidence and an evil grin. She dropped to one knee and reported her findings.

"My lord, that disturbance you felt was him interfering with your spell trying to cure some townspeople from the virus, and protect them from becoming your undead servants." She said to the necromancer, her supervisor.

"I couldn't stand by any longer and watch as they all died when the cure was simple." The soldier said, laying on the ground gripping his side where the wound was still fresh. "If only they had magic, it would be easy to defeat you in your weakened state. I couldn't watch this world fall to your treacherous reign as my people fell to you!" He added in his anger.

"Don't you see? Their lack of power is my very limitation. I don't want to kill the people of this world in their weakness, then I would have an army of weak undead soldiers. This pledge makes them strong by giving them magic. This is just the beginning, my friend. It targets the feeble and weak. Then I will raise them from the dead using that army to force the survivors to fight and develop their newly born abilities. They are like cattle getting fat on their trials and adversities only to be slaughtered becoming my weapons of war. I should have an invincible force when it's all said and done. This new army will be my footstool to take back my lost empire, your world, and you were too eager to play hero to realize the big picture." He mocked revealing his plans.

The soldier cursed under his breath in his native tongue knowing he had made a fatal error. He should have kept his head low, and waited for the survivors to develop powers. He might have been able to teach or train them to have a fighting chance. He could have strengthened the existing government or military. He could have given them the upper hand, but he wasted it saving a single family. He was always one to be impulsive and have a nearsighted view, but this was the most costly of his many mistakes. He was going to die here, and those he protected would fall to the plague as if his efforts thus far were meaningless.

"I would love to add you to my collection, but I'm convinced that you won't do anything foolish now that you know all this. I want you to give the weak inhabitants of this world strength so that my army will stand stronger. Indeed, having a few more knights is much more useful than insignificant pons." He said, gesturing to his dark-armored friend. "Now go and try your best to delay the inevitable, but watch out. After the pledge changes to stage two, a bite from a zombie might even kill you, a well-trained magic-wielding off-worlder."

The necromancer opened a portal before kicking the man into it, dealing one last blow to demonstrate his lack of sportsmanship. When the wounded soldier opened his eyes he was alone on the roof of a building exposed to the cool night air. He lifted himself to his feet coughing blood and hobbled to the edge. He was on a hospital roof, and all was normal, for now. That must mean that he was in the last unaffected country, the United States. As he peered down at the city streets he could easily imagine undead troops walking through town, buildings on fire, and the screams and cries of the innocent echoing in his ears. He shivered at the memory that was becoming his reality once again. This was a nightmare that he thought was close to ending, but on the contrary, it had hardly begun.

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Thanks for reading