Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Unnatural Combat

What's one thing all zombies have in common?

Slow movements. Stupid behavior. Weak bodies.

Well… turns out that's all bullshit.

These weren't the slow, moaning corpses you'd expect. No, these ones fought like seasoned warriors. They moved fast, coordinated like a pack of wolves, and came at him with terrifying precision.

"Blyat!" Nikolai shouted, stumbling backward as a rusted sword sliced the air an inch from his face.

His lungs burned, his heart hammered in his chest. The only weapon in his hands was a dull axe he found lying in the cabin's old storage room. His enemies, though, were armored undead carrying swords and wooden shields—and one of them had a bow.

[ DEVOURING TIME: 1 MINUTE ]

That damn voice again. It had been repeating that phrase over and over in his head like a broken record since the fight began.

It was driving him mad.

SWOOSH!

Another arrow zipped past his head, missing by inches. The archer. That bastard was making everything worse.

Then a zombie lunged at him. A heavy swing came down, targeting his skull. He twisted his body sideways just in time. The blade slammed into the dirt where his head had been.

Nikolai saw an opening.

Gritting his teeth, he drove his axe toward the zombie's arm—the one holding the shield.

SLASH!

The axe bit into rotting flesh. The shield arm dropped to the ground, severed cleanly. The zombie barely reacted, stumbling backward.

Nikolai didn't wait. He swung again.

CRACK!

The axe smashed into its neck. One hit. Two. Three. The head came off, flopping onto the ground like a piece of meat.

The body followed, collapsing with a sickening squelch.

"One down," he muttered, panting. "Five more to go."

He glanced around. The archer was drawing another arrow.

Without thinking, he dove for the severed shield and yanked it up just in time.

THUD!

The arrow struck the shield's wood, quivering.

"Cyka…" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the archer.

He sprinted forward. Shield raised. Another arrow hit it. Then came the others. The remaining zombies moved to block his path.

He didn't care.

He pushed forward, blocking strikes with the shield, taking glancing hits on his shoulders, arms, legs. His body ached, but he kept going.

Then he reached the archer.

THUD!

He bashed it with the shield, sending it crashing to the ground.

Before it could get back up, he raised the axe and brought it down with all his might.

CRACK!

Its skull caved in under the weight of the blow.

"Four left."

[ ITEM DEVOURED ]

"Wha—AARGH!"

A sudden burst of agony exploded in his head. It felt like a red-hot spike was being hammered into his brain. He dropped the axe, clutched his temples, and fell to his knees.

The zombies saw their chance.

They rushed him.

One of them slashed downward with a jagged sword.

CHING!

Sparks flew. The sound of metal-on-metal rang out.

Nikolai blinked, surprised. He wasn't dead.

In his hand was something new.

A knife—black, jagged, and pulsing with dark mist. It looked like it was made of shadows themselves.

The zombie tried again.

He blocked it, then kicked the creature hard in the chest, sending it stumbling back into one of its allies.

SWOOSH! THUD!

Something flew over his shoulder.

He turned just in time to see an axe—one he had thrown moments earlier—buried in a zombie's head.

"Three left."

[ DEVOUR!!! ]

"CYKA BLYAT!" he roared, as his shield was suddenly wrapped in dark mist and vanished.

[ DEVOURING TIME: 6 MINUTES ]

Now he only had the black knife.

For the next few minutes, he danced around the zombies. Dodging. Rolling. Throwing rocks when he could.

One swipe nearly took off his arm. Another scraped his leg, drawing blood.

He wasn't going to last long like this.

Then—

[ ITEM DIGESTED ]

Dark mist curled from his palm again.

He focused, thinking of the shield.

In a flash, it appeared.

Solid. Black. Round. Like something a Viking would carry into war.

He grinned.

"Finally…"

The knife disappeared, swallowed again by the mist, but he had his defense back.

On the ground nearby, he spotted one of the zombies' rusted swords. He snatched it up.

Now it was a fair fight.

With renewed strength, he went on the offensive.

Steel clashed against rotting metal. He blocked and slashed, ducked and stabbed.

Five minutes later, it was over.

The last zombie collapsed, skull shattered and eyes lifeless.

He didn't trust them to stay dead. He walked to each fallen one and poked it with the tip of the rusted sword.

No movement.

Then—

[ DEVOUR!!! ]

[ DEVOURING TIME: 30 MINUTES ]

He watched as the sword was swallowed by the mist.

"Of course it does that now…"

The adrenaline wore off. Pain flooded his body. His arms were sore, his legs like jelly.

But something was bothering him.

He had fought like a soldier—on pure instinct. His footwork, his reactions… it didn't feel like beginner's luck.

It felt like training. Years of it.

But he didn't remember anything.

"Who the hell was I before all this?" he muttered.

A memory? No. Just a void.

He sighed and walked back toward the cabin.

Thirty minutes passed. No new zombies. That was good.

But boredom set in.

He sat on the floor, playing with the black knife he had conjured earlier. Twisting it between his fingers.

Then—

[ ITEM DIGESTED ]

Pain stabbed his skull again. He winced and clutched his head.

Once the pain faded, he extended his hand again.

This time, he pictured something bigger.

A sword. Not just any sword—a double-edged one like he had seen in books.

Black mist swirled, and there it was. Heavy. Sharp. Strange.

"Okay… this is getting weirder."

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. His mind was racing.

That black mist. The voice. The weird weapons.

None of it made sense.

The robes the corpses wore in the basement were strange too. No clothes underneath—just robes. He was still wearing one. Nude beneath it.

He grimaced.

"Pizdec… I was part of their cult, wasn't I?"

The thought made his skin crawl.

And this black mist? Some kind of curse? A punishment?

He didn't know. But he did know one thing—it let him devour stuff. Weapons, shields, tools. He could summon them later. But the price was pain.

His eyes drifted to the pile of undead he had slain.

An idea formed.

He placed his right hand on one of the zombies.

Dark mist seeped out, wrapping around the corpse.

[ DEVOURING TIME: 1 WEEK ]

His eyes widened.

The zombie vanished. Gone.

"Well… shit."

So bigger things take more time. And probably more pain.

He sighed and stood up.

"Blyat… I just screwed myself."

But that was a problem for another day.

For now, he needed rest.

He shut the cabin door, checked the windows, and walked to the bed.

No zombies. No voices—for now.

The forest outside was quiet. Peaceful. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't stay that way.

The fight wasn't over.

The zombies he had killed… they weren't ordinary.

They were no ordinary monsters.

They were Draugr.

Nordic undead. Cursed beings.

They weren't there by accident.

They had been summoned.

And Nikolai?

He was part of something much, much bigger than he understood.