The Nest of the Necromancer

Chapter Four: In the Nest of the Necromancer

Lace watched as Jericho the Trader dangled from the tree, noose around his neck, hands at the noose, eyes wide and red as ripe apples. His face was blue, his bald pate purple, and his heavy gut was jiggling like a bowl of pudding as he swung to and fro. It was hard not to smile at his plight but Lace managed not to, for Puffer's sake.

"I'm gonna ask ya one more time," she said casually. She was holding the end of the rope, which was looped over a tree branch fifteen feet off the ground, with one hand. She was examining her fingernails of her other hand, dirty and cracked, her voice bored. "Where are the girls?"

The large woman waited a moment, letting the man's eyes roll back, and waited some more. Then she abruptly let go of her end of the rope. The man plummeted to the ground with a terrific crash of dust and gasps and then, shortly after, raspy intakes of breath.

"I... I... I...," he stammered, naked and pathetic. His little pecker was shriveled up into his fat body, his heavy bosom shaking violently as he coughed and wheezed and sucked in air.

"You're going to kill him!" Puffer whispered, desperation in her voice. Her back was to the tree, the poor innocent half-elf too gentle to watch the show.

Lace said, "I told ya to take a walk! Don't you elves like the woods? When ya get back we'll have our answers."

It was the third time she'd suggested Puffer leave her alone with this scumbag, and just like the other times, Puffer just shook her head, her face pale, and went back to looking at the trees.

"Now, where were we?" Lace said to the man. She walked closer to him, pushed her boot against his fat belly, rolled him over onto his back. "Oh right. You were gonna tell me what happened to them girls. The ones ya raised from the dead."

"I don't... *cough*... I can't... *cough*," he whined, shaking his head. "He fuh-forced me! He'll kuh-kuh-kill meh-me!"

Lace raised one blonde eyebrow and smiled. *Now we're getting somewhere,* she thought. She said, "Asides from the two beautiful women watching your pathetic ass right now, who's gonna kill you? Hmm?"

He whimpered. "I just... all I did was... I bruh-brought them to him! That's it, I swuh... swear! I can't animate dead people! I don't know no magics, I'm just a suh-simple truh-trader!"

This was good. He was breaking, nearly broken, but he was still lying. Soon, though, he'd be more forthcoming. She began hauling on the rope again. The man pleaded, renewed his efforts to remove the noose, begged some more. The noose tightened around the fat man's neck and he whimpered and choked as it dragged him back up into the air.

"While yar swinging there, I want ya to think real careful," Lace said, voice dark and foreboding. "Think real hard 'bout what ya gonna tell me next. 'Cause Puffer here wants us to just leave ya here strung up, let you slowly choke... but see, me? I'm a gentler sort. Motherly, some say." She grinned. "So you tell us everything? I promise you'll still be breathin' when morning comes."

After she let him back down again, Jericho the Trader finally spilled his guts about the necromancer.

***

"To the Esteemed Sheriff of Rolling Hills County:

"I believe that you are in search of both myself, Lace of the Crushstone Mountains, and my partner, Puffer of Kerioth, in connection with the death of a local farmer. Pray do not mistake our departure for flight from justice, for we are guiltless of murder. The man Edward, along with his cohorts, attempted to extort us under threat of slander, intending to force themselves upon us in the manner of beasts. When we refused to capitulate, they turned to open assault. The demise of Edward was born solely of self-preservation. Though I mourn the necessity of his end, my conscience remains clear.

"In witness to this truth, I present to you Jericho the Trader. He is not dead, merely afflicted with a precise dosage of the subtle venom he used to strike down Amelia, Caitlin, and Jonsey. A thorough search of his wagon will reveal the remaining poison and the sweetmeats in which it was hidden.

"These atrocities were orchestrated by a dark sorcerer styling himself Hieronymus the Undreaming, who dwells not far from your villages. By his forbidden rites, the newly buried maidens were compelled from their graves to walk directly to Jericho's waiting transport.

"For what sinister design these maidens were taken remains unsaid; Jericho claims to be a mere pawn, coerced into administering the poison and surrendering the animated remains to his patron. An officer of your experience and cunning will no doubt extract a far more thorough confession from him than we had skill enough to accomplish.

"To demonstrate the nobility of our intent, Puffer and I shall hunt this necromancer down personally. Rest assured, by tomorrow's dawn, Hieronymus will answer to your law.

"Yours in honor and duty, Puffer and Lace."

***

"Wow, that's real good. Like, really good. Like... surprisingly good," Puffer said, awed not only by Lace's ability to write, but her ability to write so eloquently. She'd known Lace could read some but the ability to write whole letters? And make them sound so... proper? It was amazing, and had Puffer wondering about her past for the hundredth time in the year they'd been travelling together.

"Will you teach me someday? To read and write, I mean..."

"Sure," Lace grumbled. She seemed embarrassed, Puffer thought, either from the praise or from reading it out loud to her in the first place. "But right now we need to sneak this wagon into the village before sunrise. We'll pull it up in front of the jail, leave Jericho on the doorstep with this note, and skedaddle."

"Okay," Puffer said anxiously. "And uhm... if anyone sees us you won't, ah..."

Lace furrowed her brow. "I ain't gonna hurt no one, if that's what you're worryin' 'bout! Last thing I'm gonna do is make things worse for us."

Puffer flinched. She'd always hated seeing Lace get mad, especially with her. But after the last couple of days, first with Edward and then Jericho, she felt like she'd seen a much darker side of the woman she'd come to see as a hero. It sort of scared her, even though she knew the woman would never harm her. Lace had her flaws: they were becoming more apparent all the time. But she was still a hero. She was still the woman who could have ruined Puffer's life but instead gave her way to make hers better.

And she still loved her.

"Okay, sorry!" she said quickly. She went back to cleaning up their camp and said, "When do we go after Hieronymus?"

Lace grinned. "Tomorrow night. First you'll sneak into the smith's shed and get me my armor. Won't be stealing since I paid for it. Then if Jericho's directions are true, we should be at the necromancer's before the witching hour."

Puffer smiled nervously. The two had had several adventures together but nothing like this, nothing involving dark magics and midnight raids on vile and sinister dwellings. Lace behaved like it was all second nature and Puffer was trying to seem as casual and confident about it, but she had her doubts.

She had her doubts about a lot of things, actually. But the young half-elf pushed those doubts away for the time being. Whatever else happened, whatever the fallout, they had to put a stop to this necromancer and achieve justice for poor Amelia, Caitlin, and Jonesy.

"Should be easy," Puffer said. "He won't ever see us coming."

***

The forest was dark and unnervingly quiet. Puffer was squatting next to a tree, peeing more from nervousness than a real need. Lace was nearby hobbling the horses, but out of sight. Puffer had made sure to go far enough away as to not have her tinkling heard. She was a nervous peer.

She was just finishing up when she was taken.

The half-elf didn't even realize what had happened until it had. One moment she was making water, the next she was being held from behind by something strong, cold, and clammy. Its hand covered her mouth and when she tried to scream she tasted dirt and decay and something slimy, but made no sound.

The taste of the slimy palm made her want to gag. It tasted like rotting rhubarb and...

...and then she remembered what the poison they'd found in Jericho's wagon had smelled like and she thought, Uh oh...

...and then she lost consciousness.

***

Lace was growing impatient. Puffer had been 'making water' for nearly ten minutes now and she was growing restless. She adjusted her new armor again, admiring its craftsmanship: brass colored scale mail over thick leather, designed for practicality and not to display her body. Too many armorers she'd worked with had preferred showing off her cleavage or legs with low cut armored tops and useless mail skirts; this one had listened when she'd explained she wanted the armor to actually protect her body, not show it off.

Her helm was equally functional with no frills, just a good iron skullcap with a wide nasal bar. Her long blonde hair flowed out from under it and along with her trusty axe, Swing, she knew she looked like oncoming death to those with sick and perverse hearts.

Sick and perverse hearts like the one that rotted, no doubt, deep inside this Hieronymus's chest. She couldn't wait to meet him. Thinking of that encounter had her smiling at first: calling him out by name, letting him plead for his life, then swinging Swing and ending his dark ways.

Then she frowned. No doubt Puffer would disapprove. She'd want them to take Hieronymus alive. For Lace that would be... unsatisfying.

More and more she was seeing the girl as a liability. Sure Puffer had her uses, and truth was Lace did like having her around. She might be naive with a sickenly sweet disposition, but sometimes that was actually a nice counterbalance to the stark darkness of reality.

It would only be a matter of time before the half-elf's sunshine began to dim, though. How it had lasted so long given the life she'd led and what she'd seen so far, Lace did not know. But eventually the crushing evil in the world would seep through her facade and put an end to her naivety. The question was: did Lace want to be around when that happened? Did she really want to see yet another innocent of the world lose hope?

Suddenly a rustling sound brought her back to reality. "About time," she growled. "Time's wastin' and..."

And then she saw it wasn't Puffer emerging from the trees. Instead it was a large man who looked quite familiar.

"What the..?" Lace said aloud.

***

When Puffer came to, the first thing that struck her was the smell of rot and decay. She was laying on her back and staring up at an earthen ceiling covered with vines, but hanging from it were skinned rodents and hares, flies buzzing about them. Puffer wanted to plug her nose, cover her mouth, and that's when she realized that her wrists were bound together above her head by something tight.

Panic. Sheer panic overcame her. She lifted her head, glancing around frantically with her keen half-elf eyes. The light was dim, a single lamp glowing on a nearby wooden table, and the room was no more than twenty by twenty feet in size.

If you could even call it a room. It was circular and made up of dirt and mud and thick, olive colored vines. When she looked down her body, past her yellow tunic and tight leather pants, the slender young woman realized she was resting atop a mound of earth, four feet off the ground. She struggled again and felt the binds at her wrists tighten and then realized the bindings were more vines, like the ones hanging from the earthen ceiling and covering the walls, and that they held her ankles firmly in place as well.

Next she noticed the grave. Next to the tall mound of earth she was resting on was a deep, dark hole with the unmistakable characteristics of a grave freshly dug. Once again the young woman struggled only this time she cried out for help, too.

"Save your voice, dear, save that pretty voice, hmm?"

She froze, quieted. Glancing around she sought the source of the person speaking and in the gloom, which would have obscured human eyes, her half-elven ones saw the faint outline of a tall, skinny man with a hunched back and wearing a dark black robe, its hood up, obscuring his face.

"Where... where am I?" Puffer stammered, her voice high and plaintive. "Let me go!"

A low chuckle filled the dark room. "Oh no, my dear, you're not going anywhere just yet. But when you do it will be into the ground for you." The man paused, seeming to enjoy the look of horror on her face. "Worry not, young one. I prefer my girlies more... compliant, that is all. You're quite lovely. You won't be in the ground very long.

"No, you'll make a fine addition to my brood instead."

Just then three figures emerged from behind him, stepping with jagged and unsure steps toward her. She recognized the first one immediately: Amelia, the girl they'd seen buried and later rise from the earth. Like the other two she was completely naked, shadows dancing on her pale and surprisingly clean skin. She had a great body: medium sized breasts, flat tummy, a patch of dark brown curls between her legs. The girls at either side of her were similar, though their physical properties varied. The one she decided was Jonesy was very short and had much larger breasts that either of the other two, the kind of breasts Puffer liked so well. The taller one, Caitlin, had little in the way of breasts but had a gorgeous body just the same: long, lithe torso and golden curls between her legs.

They were exceptionally attractive. Except for their faces.

"Oh gods!" Puffer shrieked when the reality of those horrific faces set in.

Their heads rested upon their shoulders as though their necks couldn't support their weight. Their mouths were open wide, impossibly wide, their tongues hanging out of their mouths, their teeth yellow and razor sharp. And their eyes glowed with that green necrotic light Puffer and Lace had seen in the cemetery several days ago. Meanwhile their hair, which had no doubt been well kempt in life, was wild and strawlike and each a tangled mess.

The sight of those three faces sent ripples of revulsion down the half-elf's spine and brought tears to her wide open green eyes.

"Oh, my apologies," the man intoned, his voice high and cracked and dripping with malice. "I don't have much use for their faces, I forget to keep them fresh." With that he raised his hands and a dark, ethereal voice emanated from his throat, speaking words that sounded vile in Puffer's ears. As he spoke the three girls froze in place. Puffer watched in horror as their heads snapped from side to side, their hair rose into the air, and tiny cries of echoey pain issued forth from their chapped lips.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the three zombie-girls looked more or less normal. Dead still, to be sure, but not grotesque. Their heads were held high, their mouths closed in vacant smiles. Amelia's long brown hair looked full and shiny; Jonesy's shorter blonde had a bounce to it; and Caitlin's coppery hair was even done in a long braided ponytail like it no doubt had been in life.

Only their eyes remained truly repulsive: dead and glowing with that eerie, necrotic green light.

Puffer found herself struggling again as tears rolled down her cheeks. The girls were getting closer, still walking in that herky-jerky way, and she feared what would happen when they reached her. But the slimy vines holding her wrists and legs were as strong as steel and as tight as a trap. She couldn't slip through them anymore than she could break them.

She was caught. Tied up. Vulnerable.

"Wha... what do you want?" she whispered.

The man finally stepped forward. The golden light from the lone lamp showed his features more clearly, despite the hood: he had a long jaw, wrinkled with age. A pointed nose, a hunched over back, but a tall and proud bearing just the same. His long robes were layered in deepening shades of black, his skin white as bone. He said, "You know who I am?"

"Her... Hieronymus?" Puffer squeaked.

He smiled. "I am the dreamless one. I never sleep, a curse that would have driven most men mad. But I have profited from it, for in only five years I've gone from being a pathetic, failed wizard to what you see now. A master of life and death. A conjurer of the living and the dead. And I need attendants as I study and hone my powers, Puffer. Which is where these girls come in.

"Which is where you come in."

Where was Lace? The thought suddenly struck her. Was she here? Had she been taken too? If so then all hope was surely lost. But if not, perhaps if she could keep him talking it could buy her friend enough time to get here and rescue her before this monster harmed her.

"You... you want me to serve you?"

He chuckled. "Oh yes. Serve me. Yes, you will serve me, Puffer."

"How do you know my name?"

"Did you think I'd let that fool Jericho perform his tasks without supervision?" he said, sounding offended. "No, my dear, I kept him under tight observation. A scrying device in his wagon let me witness you and Lace's ambush and subsequent interrogation of the fat fool. I have to say he held out longer than I thought he would, but of course he told you two everything in the end. And I heard her read for you the letter you left for the sheriff. I was relieved you didn't give away my location in it. That buys me time to have some... fun, tonight."

He sighed. "But Jericho will wake up eventually and no doubt tell the sheriff everything he told you. So I will have to move my little nest come morning. A shame. I rather liked it here. Thankfully I'll have help during the move. Amelia's help. Little Jonesy's help. Caitlin's help... and yours and Lace's help, too." She could see his lips twist up in a smile, though darkness still obfuscated his eyes.

Puffer's blood went ice cold. Did this mean he had Lace, too? Was there another room like this one where she was tied up?

The three girls were surrounding her now: one at her feet, one at her head, one on the side opposite the grave.

*Keep him talking!* she thought. If Lace was out there she needed time to get here. She said, "Is... was Lace right? About what you're doing with these girls?"

He said, "Hmm? Well, I suppose someone with her dark disposition would assume the worst, that I'm fucking them. Making love to dead things. Disgusting." He smiled. "But oh yes, I use them for that. Quite often. Why not? They bring me such pleasure... and they don't seem to mind. And neither will you." He seemed to consider for a moment, then said, "Although, warm flesh might be a nice change of pace. Before yours becomes as cold as theirs. Lovelies?"

With that final word the three girls got to work. Puffer gasped and squirmed as they ripped at her clothing, tearing her shirt to shreds. Her underclothes went next and as they worked on that she felt the vines binding her ankles together retract, only to be replaced with one on either leg, spreading them wide. The necromancer walked up and held up a wicked looking dagger.

He sliced through her favorite pants, cutting easily through the thick green-dyed leather as Amelia removed Puffer's boots. The girl cried out and squirmed, but it was pointless. Soon she was completely naked on the pile of dirt, the cold and slimy vines snaking up her thighs, holding them far apart.

"Quite lovely, yes, your elf blood gives you such... delicate features," Hieronymus breathed. He reached over and traced a finger around one small, pink nipple. "Warmth in skin... I'd forgotten the novelty of it." Suddenly his wrinkly hand was cupping her small breast and Puffer cried out for him to stop.

"Shut her up," he said, eyes still fixed on her breast.

With that she felt Amelia's cold, dead lips press against her mouth. Puffer gasped in surprise, allowing the dead girl's cold and slimy tongue to enter her mouth, to play against her own. Just like with the hand in the woods her lips formed a tight enough seal to prevent Puffer from making any sound.

"Much better," Hieronymus sighed. "Ah, two beauties locked in passionate embrace. Does it bring heat to your skin? Does it bring heat down here?"

Puffer moaned when she felt his finger against the folds of her sex. She bucked her body, for all the good it could do, and recoiled inwardly at his violating probing. His fingers trailed around her labia, then, tickling her flesh, making her squirm and writhe against all her restraints.

It was odd. Despite everything her body began to react to these strange and perverse violations. She felt her flesh warming, indeed, especially between her legs and in her chest. She moaned softly against Amelia's cold dead tongue, found her own dancing against it of its own free will. Puffer felt sickened by this reaction but curious nonetheless.

So strange. So... wrong.

Then she felt it: Hieronymus's bony finger pressing against her hole, sliding up and down her labia and gathering up her own wetness first, then pressing hard. Puffer groaned and whimpered as it slid inside her tightness. There was no ability to resist it and very little desire to do so once that fateful touch was made.

"Ahh," Hieronymus chuckled. "Yes, oh yes you're an eager one, aren't you, my lovely? So damp and ready..." He sawed his finger in and out of her as the girl squirmed and cried.

Puffer felt such shame mix with her pleasure that tears rolled down her cheeks. How could she find joy in this, of all things? The young woman knew she had an abnormally sunny disposition, that she always looked for the good in everything. But this was just too much. How could she find any good here?

She couldn't help but think back to the times she had lain with Segimond, the man who had gotten her to start thieving in the first place. How eventually he started coming to her bed, and how even after she realized she did not love him, the pleasure she got from their lovemaking had seemed a more than adequate consolation prize for staying in a loveless, controlling relationship.

But the shame of this was far worse. This was a necromancer doing this to her, a murderer of the vilest kind! And yet when Amelia's tongue exited her mouth and she pulled away from her lips she could hear herself moaning with wanton desire.

The orgasm building in her suddenly plateaued as Hieronymus pulled his finger out of her quivering body. He said, "Ah, my, yes... perhaps I should leave you warm after all. Perhaps you'll be compliant without first having to rise from the grave?"

"No!" she protested. The vines holding her in place, cold and damp, seemed to tighten around her warm, flush thighs. Even that stimulation brought her a microinch closer to release, and she whimpered in self disgust. "Lace, oh, Lace!" she cried, hoping against hope her friend would arrive soon and deliver her from this hell.

"Don't worry my dear, your friend won't be interrupting us," the necromancer said as he crawled on top of her body. "An old friend of hers is dealing with her right now. When she joins us later she'll be as compliant as my lovelies are... as compliant as you will be, soon, one way or another..."

***

"Back for round two, eh?" Lace grinned. In one fluid motion she pulled her axe off from her back and hefted it in both hands. Around her the wind seemed to pick up, causing the branches of the trees to sway this way and that, casting gyrating shadows on the forest floor. The evil moon, Inkis, was at half-shadow high above, shining its deathly light through the branches upon Lace and the newcomer.

That newcomer before her was the Big Farmer, Edward. The man she had killed only a day earlier. And he looked dead: his head lolled to one side, tongue fat and swollen and hanging out from his gaping mouth. His skin was waxy, his beard caked with dirt, and his eyes glowed green with necrotic light.

"Ya don't seem Hieronymus's type, too big and old and ugly," she muttered as she circled away from the horses. Quake and Bright Eyes, hobbled though they were, were trying to bolt. They succeeded in lunging and falling on their knees, rearing back and trying again, all the while whinnying and snorting in unabashed terror. "Yer scaring my horses. Stop doing that!"

And with that the woman leaped forward and swung her axe in a sweeping motion that landed with a loud *thunk* inside his ribcage. Black ooze splattered out and leaked down the walking corpse's side. Big Farmer reached down with lightening fast speed, grabbed the haft of the axe, and wrenched it out of Lace's grasp. He then pulled it out of himself and flung the weapon away.

Lace was dumbstruck. Even knowing the thing was already dead didn't mitigate the shock of it surviving such a blow or of her being disarmed so easily. Edward had been strong, but this strong? This fast? Not even close.

She hopped back, giving herself some space, and the creature closed in quickly with its erratic motions, like a marionette being dragged across the stage.

Never one to fight on the defensive, Lace leaped forward again, this time landing a closed fist blow across the monstrosity's ugly face. The punch landed with a satisfying *crunch* but, before she could think, the thing struck out at her, too, only using its clawed fingers, raking across her new armor, tearing into the metal and dislodging a line of scales in the process.

*Claws?* she thought, staring at the thing's hands. Yes, the farmer's fingers had lengthened a couple of inches into sharp, boney razors, black with its ichor and as sharp as Swing after a whetstone. She said, "So once again yer armed and I'm not, that it?" she mused aloud as her hand went behind her back to find her dagger.

The creature lunged forward again and she leaped back again, this time circling around a tree to put an obstacle between them. When she got the dagger free she cried out in rage and lunged for him, this time burying the blade into its neck, all the way to the hilt. As she did that the creature's claws raked against her armor some more, and more and more scales flew off. It worried Lace to think of what those blows would have done to her skin.

Unable to pull the dagger out quickly enough, Lace let it go and dropped to the ground, rolling away and then leaping back up into a squatting position. The undead farmer was fast but so was she. He came at her once more and once more she dodged and rolled, getting closer to where she thought Edward had thrown her axe.

The creature made a throaty, gurgling sound as it ran at her again. But this time before she could get out of its way something from behind grabbed her and held her in place. "What?!" she growled, trying to break free.

It was too late. Edward was before her, clawing at her armor again, ripping through the freshly forged scales and tearing into the leather beneath. Cotton flew from the layer of padding under the armor as Lace struggled against whatever was holding her still.

Whatever it was, it was strong. But Lace was beginning to see red. She jumped, planted one foot on Edward's chest, and kicked. The living corpse stumbled back and fell to the earth just as Lace went sprawling to the ground as well. Something hard and brittle crunched behind her as she fell upon whatever had been holding her.

Lace rolled to one side and leaped up. On the ground was a crushed skeleton, a large one, larger than humans. Orcish, she thought, and remembered that these forests used to be lousy with the brutes before the first Great Goblin War. During its sequel the greenskins had tried to retake these woods and many battles had been fought here. How many orcs had fallen? How many goblins?

How many skeletons rested beneath the earth, ready to claw their way up the way they had at Rolling Hills Cemetery? At least those skeletons had been human sized.

Lace's confidence began to wane. But she didn't have much time to consider her options. Edward was back on his feet and stumbling towards her again. Knowing that her armor wasn't going to offer much more protection, Lace decided to keep her distance and think.

What she needed was her spear. But that was secured on Quake. Did she have time to reach him? Could she do so without risking the horse's life? No, it wasn't a practical idea. What else?

"AHH!" she cried out. Pain. Horrible pain in her back. She spun around and saw that, sure enough, there was another animated skeleton. Only this one was wielding the unmistakable craftsmanship of an orcish warhammer. Its eyes blowed green, its jaw was missing, and like most orcs it stood well over seven feet tall.

The armor had saved her, she knew. But even more of it was compromised now. She wished she had her shield. But she didn't have it and she didn't have any time, either. Looking around in a sudden panic, she saw two more sets of glowing eyes appearing in the forest's darkness.

How many more skeletons would rise? She could not know and suddenly she realized she could not win. That thought, though, the thought of losing a battle, filled her with such anger that the red she saw turned dark crimson. A burning fire within her began to ripple across her body. She felt her muscles constrict, her firsts clench, and then she roared with such rage that the sound would be heard for miles.

Turning away from the skeleton she charged at Edward. She wanted her dagger back. And she got it, though not without a cost: though she didn't feel it, the creature had raked its claws against her thighs as she bore in, shredding the leather there and drawing blood. Lace spun, driving an elbow into the dead farmer's face, then spun more until she was behind him. With one fluid motion she dragged the dagger across its throat, this time severing it three quarters of the way through before she withdrew it and dropped to one knee.

She'd sensed more than heard the skeleton approach. It crashed into the walking corpse as she rolled away. Lace ended up next to something she'd been hoping for: a fallen tree branch, thick as her thigh and as long as she was tall. With an evil grin she grabbed it, hopped to her feet, and charged at two oncoming skeletons.

They were no match against the thick tree limb, which sliced through them like a sythe through wheat. An explosion of bones later and the two were rendered inert.

Spinning back toward her main antagonist she saw that it had done her favor: in getting back up Edward had stomped on the skeleton's skull. It too seemed down for good. Better yet, the big farmer's head was at an impossible angle, hanging onto its torso by only a few inches of flesh.

More sets of glowing eyes were appearing in the darkness behind him, but all she had to do was sever the head, she thought, and this nightmare would be over. Just as when Puffer had knocked over that tombstone, killing this corpse would put an end to the rising tide of skeletons.

She was wrong.

***

All she had to do was wake up and this nightmare would be over.

Puffer was wrong.

Despite closing her eyes tightly and wishing for a dream, reality held. The necromancer was on top of her still, angling his sweaty cock against her bare pussy. Puffer whimpered and struggled, but the vines holding her only tightened against her naked thighs and wrists.

"Hold still, deary, hold still... damn you, be compliant!" Hieronymus cursed.

Then it hit her: Hieronymus was a necrophiliac. He was trying to have sex with her more for the novelty of it, the novelty of "warm flesh". But he was used to corpses and even living corpses no doubt just laid there while he fucked them. They remained "compliant". That's how he liked them.

The half-elf renewed her struggles. Though the vines held her fast they could not keep her entirely still. "Stop, stop, stop!" she panted.

"You want this!" Hieronymus hissed. "I can smell your desire! Hold still!"

"No! Please, stop!" she cried. She felt the head of his cock against her pelvis and she shifted, bucked, fought back with all her might.

It was true that her body was hot, that it was confused and wanted release. But that wasn't her fault, she realized in a flash. If someone tickled her she would laugh whether she wanted to or not. If someone played with her pussy well enough she would reach orgasm whether she wanted to or not. All she could do was struggle against it as well as she could, make it clear to both him and herself that she was trying to fight back. It was the only way to mitigate the shame. The only way to save herself.

Finally Hieronymus roared his displeasure. "LOVELIES!" he yelled, pointing at Amelia. "KNIFE!"

Suddenly there was a blade against her throat and Puffer froze in place.

"Ahh, much better, deary," Hieronymus hissed. "Struggle again and die now. Your flesh will still be warm enough, though I'd prefer being able to stare into those pretty eyes of yours as you cum for me..."

Puffer, defeated, whimpered but did not move.

***

Lace was a whirlwind of destruction.

She spun in place, swinging her long branch-turned-club and crushing skeleton after skeleton in the process. At her feet rested the head of the dead farmer who, thankfully, had collapsed once it was severed from his body. Despite her hopes, though, killing the corpse hadn't dropped the skeletons.

Her rage was beginning to ebb, the adrenaline running its course, and that wasn't good. There were so many. For every one she destroyed another seemed to stumble out of the darkness. It was like back at the cemetery: soon she would be buried beneath a pile of the things, only this time she wouldn't have Puffer around to save her.

*Puffer!* she thought. Where had the girl gotten off to? Lace pushed the thought away. The possibilities were too horrid to consider. She had to focus on the task at hand.

And then the fucking corpse was standing again.

"Are... you... kidding... me," Lace panted. She stopped spinning in place and nearly stumbled in her dizziness. The trees swam before her and she felt her stomach roiling. Meanwhile the headless corpse of the big farmer was rushing at her.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

END OF CHAPTER 4