Chapter 7 - Fade Into You
As Astoria moved further into the battlefield, the silence became unnerving, almost oppressive against his ears like a heavyweight. The whispers from the satchel were louder now, sharper as if trying to warn him of something he couldn't see.
Then he noticed it—a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye. This time it could not be mistaken.
He froze, his pulse quickening as he turned to face the source. One of the bodies, sprawled in the sand just a few paces away, twitched. The movement was small, subtle enough that he could have dismissed it as a trick of the heat haze, if this wasnt the only time he had witnessed it. It happened again—a sharp, unnatural jerk, as though strings were pulling at its limbs.
Astoria stepped back, his boots crunching against shards of metal.
Another body twitched, then another. All around him, the battlefield began to stir. The movements weren't fluid or lifelike; they were jerky, disjointed, as if some unseen hand were manipulating them. Arms snapped into place with an audible crack, heads lolled unnaturally to the side before jerking upright, and torsos twisted in ways that made Astoria's stomach churn.
These weren't the undead. There was no semblance of life or will in their movements. They were like marionettes, yanked to their feet by invisible strings, their identical faces blank and unseeing.
Astoria's breath quickened, his hand tightening around the hilt of a dagger he'd scavenged earlier but hadnt put into the satchel incase he needed to use it.
The corpses began to rise en masse. Hundreds of them jerked upright, their bodies moving in perfect unison despite the grotesque awkwardness of their limbs. Some clutched broken weapons that Astoria didnt deem important enough, while others simply stood, their empty hands hanging at their sides.
Astoria took another step back, his mind racing. His gaze darted to the horizon, but it offered no salvation—just endless dunes and more identical bodies, some of which were already beginning to twitch.
A scraping sound drew his attention, and he turned to see a figure dragging a shattered sword through the sand, its head cocked unnaturally to the side. Another held a halberd aloft, though its movements suggested it had no idea how to wield it. Whatever semblance of control these things had, was not there. As if whatever was controlling them was intimately struggling with the strings.
The bodies moved closer, their footsteps uneven but relentless. Their eyes were devoid of emotion, but there was something deeply unsettling about their faces, as everyone of the them were seemingly carved with a set expression that didnt change despite the situation. Astoria felt as though they were looking through him, past him, to something far beyond him.
The whispers from the satchel grew frantic, nearly deafening now as if urging him to run. Even the mantle was whipping around him haphazardly in panic.
Astoria turned and bolted, his boots slipping against the sand as he sprinted back the way he'd come. Behind him, the sound of disjointed footsteps grew louder. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the clones following, their movements faster now, more deliberate. The sand beneath his feet shifted unnaturally, dragging him back toward the battlefield as though the desert itself were conspiring against him.
Astoria stumbled, falling to his knees. He scrambled to his feet, but the nearest clone was already upon him, its hand jerking forward in a puppet-like motion. He slashed at it with the dagger he had scavenged. It was a clean cut across the neck The clone fell, collapsing into a heap of limbs, but there was no blood, no sign of life leaving it.
The spell did not announce his "kill".
More were coming.
Astoria turned and ran, his boots slipping against the loose sand as panic surged through him, the desert again dragging him down. The sound of countless disjointed footsteps followed, growing louder with each passing moment. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the clones advancing. Their movements were no longer clumsy—they had become swift, their limbs snapping into precise motions like a master pulling invisible strings.
Quickly Astoria realized something: The desert itself seemed to want him caught. His first instinct was to flee, but the shifting sands kept pulling him closer to the battle, rather than letting him escape.
Astoria no longer wasted time on thinking. The dagger in his hand felt alien and unfamiliar, but it was the only thing standing between him and the advancing wave of puppeteered clones. The nearest clone lunged at him, its shattered words arching downward in a jerky swing. Astoria ducked, the blade whistling past his ear, and lashed out instinctively with his dagger. The weapons sliced across the clone's chest, the blow shallow but enough to stagger it. The clone didn't reactーnot to the painーnot to the injury, it simply readjusted itself; twisting unnaturally as it resumed its attack.
Astoria backed away, scanning for any openings, but the next clone was already upon him, as would many more if he didn't find a solution fast. The new clone moved faster, its halbert striking forward with clumsy but fast thrusts. He sidestepped the heavy weapon embedding itself into the sand where he previously stood. Astoria struck out, his blade coiling around the clone's side like a snake. It struck deep, but still, it did nothing to slow the clone or deter it in its progress.
Why wont these things die?'' Astoria thought with clenched teeth. He yanked the dagger free and kicked the advancing clone backward down the dune. It stumbled and fell, taking multiple advancing clones along with it like a bowling ball.
The whispers from the satchel grew more frantic, distracting Astoria for a second, allowing another clone to lunge at him with a standard sword that Astoria regretted not grabbing at that moment. Barely in time, he brought up his dagger to block the upwards strike. It glanced off his dagger, the force of the strike sending painful amounts of vibration to his inexperienced arms. Astoria stumbled, his boots catching onto the remnants of shattered armor. He fell hard, the breath knocked from his lungs, but he didn't have time to recover. The clones were relentless, descending onto him like a pack of wolves.
He rolled to the side as a jagged spear pierced into the ground where his chest had been. Sand sprayed into the air, stinging his eyes as he scrambled to his feet. His heart pounded in his ears and his breath came out in ragged gasps. He was outnumbered, outmatched and rapidly losing ground.
Another clone moved in, this time it had disregarded any weapons and swiped at him with his gauntleted fist. Astoria ducked, slashing upwards with his dagger. The blade caught the clone's arm, severing it at the elbow. The limb dropped to the ground, still twitching, but the clone didn't react, didn't stop. It swung its other arm, catching him across the ribs and sending him staggering back.
Astoria fell again, clutching his side. His dagger was slippery with sweat and bloodーthough not the clone's blood, as there seemed to be none. His gaze darted around widely, searching for anything within reach he could use.
His eyes locked onto a broken spear lying half-buried in the sand. It wasn't much, but it was something. He dove for it, his fingers closing around the splintered half just as another clone loomed over him.
Driven by instinct he thrust forward. The spear's jagged point drove into the clone's chest, impaling it. The force of the blow knocked the clone off its feet, but its arms still flailed, reaching for him even as he collapsed.
Astoria didn't stay to see if it would rise again. He staggered to his feet, gripping the spear like a lifeline, and turned to face the others.
But there were too many. Dozens of them, maybe more were closing in from all sides. And far into the distance, he could see thousands more clones ready to be used also. There were no more places he could go. And the clones were recovering, their movements were faster now, more coordinated, as though the unseen puppet master had recovered some of his stamina.
Astoria swung the spear around him widely, keeping them at bay as best as he could. The sand beneath him shifted again, dragging at his boots, sapping his strength.
'I need to think, at this rate, I wont be able to survive.'
But there was no plan, for there was no escape. There was nowhere for him to run and no mystical tool he could suddenly use. Neither the mantle nor the satchel could be applied in this situation.
He coudnt fight them all, he coudnt win.
That's when the pull hit him again, stronger this time. It seized him completely, wrenching at his very soul. His limbs suddenly felt heavy, unresponsive, as though something of the strange stings had also found him.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos, the world around him blurring into a haze of light and shadow. Asturias knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, the pull taking his mind away from the carnage.
The air grew heavy around him, thick with an energy he couldn't name. It pressed down on him, seeping into his skin, his bones, and something deeper—his very soul.
'What's happening?' he gasped, struggling against the sensation. But it was irresistible, a force that made every cell in his body tremble.
Astoria's body convulsed as the pull intensified. It wasn't just external; it was as if his very soul were being unraveled and re-stitched in real time. The battlefield around him dissolved, the horizon warping and collapsing into a blinding swirl of light and shadow.
For a moment, he felt weightless, untethered from reality.
The pull dragged him through something vast and incomprehensible, a place where time and space twisted into impossible shapes. Fleeting images swirled past him—a tearing sky, a roaring scream, a city in ruins. Whispers echoed in his mind, not from the satchel this time, but from this place itself.