Valens dashed through the streets, deaf against the voices in his head, the emotions in his heart, the cold, hard weight settling around his shoulders. He pushed on even as golden lights sprinkled across the sky, Celme dragging a tired Selin from his back, Nomad beating against the crumbled buildings with one body flung over his shoulder.

“I need a new set of skin,” he had told Valens when he questioned the reason for it. Broken Lands or not, the Undead making an appearance to the public was hardly considered a common thing. Valens couldn’t find it in him to say anything about it.

I’m too tired.

At each passing second a new set of frequencies appeared in Belgrave, screaming as if announcing the coming of a mighty figure. Golden lights accompanied their arrival, flashing and sprinkling across the air like a show of sacred fireworks.

He saw out of the corner of his eyes Templars bounding across in crowded groups, often headed by Dawnkeepers who seemed in a rush to deliver justice of their Divine. Too late, they all were. The floodgates had already been opened, and the city of Belgrave had long since fallen to the damned.

As they passed through Anguiler Street, Valens swept a gaze across the rich part of the city once lively with all sorts of celebrations. Now it had lost its former glory, lending the jewels and the high roofs, the long acres and the fancy gates to the silence. The rich were likely the first ones to get out of this madness.

Not all of them, it appeared, since there was an odd man standing on his giant balcony, holding a pair of red ribbons in his head, youthful face brimming with joyful harmony. The smile on his face stretched wide when his eyes fell on Valens’s group as they dashed past the Gray Mansion, and without hesitating, he waved a hand at Valens as though sending off a much-cherished friend to a long voyage.

You’re a sick man, Mr. Gray, aren’t you?

It took turning multiple corners barricaded by the crumbled buildings, climbing up sets of stairs and dashing past the Church’s men, who fortunately weren’t in the state of mind to take a good look at Nomad. They even made a stop at Valens’s former clinic to retrieve the Wretched Mother’s sphere and a few other things.

Felt like crossing a list he didn’t know existed. Paying last dues to this city, which served as a true home for weeks to an unknown stranger. Bearing the pain of leaving it to the wicked creatures.

Up through a hill, they followed Nomad as he led them to a secret Gate which connected the Underworld and the Broken Lands. It was hidden underneath a bare patch of earth, already dug through as Nomad had used it once. An intricate machine welcomed them inside. Looked like a futuristic design with all the metal and manastones fixed tightly between its gears.

A single tap from Nomad set the whole thing in motion. A great circular ring in the middle of it began turning round. Slowly at first, then impossibly fast to the point that it distorted the air around it. A storm of Void mana fueled its operation, and the dimensions of it… were too layered for Valens to make much sense of.

I need to get better at this. Need some time to study Void.

“There’s a city,” Nomad said as he laid the corpse of the young man down on the ground. “A frontier close to the Dead Lands. A city-state ruled by the Ashen Banner Guild. They’re rather lax with their operations and accept any adventurers willing to venture into the Broken Lands.”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“The Ashen City is a good pick,” Celme chimed in, eyes still bloodshot. “I need to kill fifty Skarnveils for my trial.”

“Difficult creatures to deal with,” Nomad said, nodding his head. “But not as slippery as Shriekers and Hollows. We’ll get it done.”

Valens fell silent as he regarded Selin after a long time. Nomad had the whole Undead Legion after him. Ranks upon ranks of former warriors out to get him. Celme had essentially betrayed her own Guild, which decided to help an Ancient’s kid bring apocalypse to Belgrave. Valens was… well, he was in a unique situation. He could’ve stayed in the city and tried to work his way to the higher-ups of the Church, but if even Captain Edric nudged him to go away, then chances were those people wouldn’t take kindly to the second coming of Surgemasters.

Selin, on the other hand, could join the string of people who were about to be relocated to another city. Melton was a big kingdom even if it had lost its capital. It had dozens more to replace it.

“I want to come with you, Mr. Kosthal,” Selin said simply to the silent question. “I have nothing left in this city. Nowhere to go. If you’ll take me, I want to be a part of this. I can cook. I can clean. I can—”

“That’s enough, Selin. You’re coming with us,” Valens said. “I’m not leaving you here.”

I don’t care if you cook or clean. We’ve been through so much together.

“You ready?” Nomad muttered as he jerked a bony thumb at the corpse of the young man on the ground. He looked around twenty, with green eyes still wide open, skin perfectly smooth save for the lump on his scalp.

A blunt object killed him. Perhaps a fall.

“You want me to peel his skin off, then fit that to your bones?” Valens asked, even though he knew the answer. A part of him rejected the idea. Dead or not, people had the right to be left in peace. Skinning this man would be against the Codes, as well.

What Codes?

“It is either that or you go without me,” Nomad said, voice rasping.

Valens decided to do it. Breaking the Codes had already become a tradition of sorts for him in this world.

…..

The grueling work of stitching new skin across an undead’s bony frame took some time. On more than one occasion, Valens wanted to reach for Apathy to silence his thoughts, but decided against it as he told himself he might be doing this a couple of times over in the future.

Ding!

[You have learned the skill ‘Fleshthread - (Adept).’ Do you want to register it into one of your skill slots?]

“Would you look at that!” Nomad said as Valens managed the last stitch around his knees. Thanks to the vein-like threads binding certain patches of it to the Heartstone, the skin would keep its healthy smoothness for some time. “I was right, then, when I told you you could earn a living in the Underworld. Those Bone Collectors ain’t got nothing on you, I tell you that.”

“I’d rather keep a more limited customer list for now,” Valens said as he lifted a finger and set the rest of the young man’s body ablaze with Inferno. That was the tradition around here, and he didn’t want to send this man against his will to the Underworld to become an Undead in the Eternal War.

I’m sorry, friend.

“Suits me just fine,” Nomad said as his green eyes gleamed unnaturally in the dark of the cave. Selin and Celme had wisely turned their heads while Valens carried out the operation, and for good measure Valens managed a Blockage to mute the sounds. The best he could do with what he had at hand.

Valens then turned and regarded the spinning circle of the Riftgate. The void’s touch was all over his skin, much similar to the time when the Lightmaster transported them out of the Rift with the keystone. This time, they would be venturing into the Broken Lands, where the dwellers and the damned took a more active approach to the humans.

Viremeth, was it? Something tells me whatever it was that showed me a glimpse of that city didn’t do it just for the sake of it. It’s important, isn’t it? I need to find that place.

There was also the case of over two hundred stat points waiting to be allocated and new skills he didn’t have the time to go over. Those would have to wait before they could find a place to settle down.

He felt the Caligian notes he had stuffed in the pocket of his coat. There weren’t too many of them, but it would be enough for a start.

“We’ve waited enough,” he said, taking in the rest of the group. “Let’s go.”

Then they walked into the Riftgate, and the Void’s hold welcomed them in its warm embrace.

......