"Perhaps I really should keep my mouth shut," I muttered, staring at their numbers.
There were so many of them far more than a hundred. The dead stood shoulder to shoulder, arrayed in a familiar phalanx formation. A dim, ghostly light flickered in their empty eye sockets.
We were walking straight into a trap.
I glanced around quickly, searching for an escape route. A rocky ledge on a distant hill might be our only chance. If no other path revealed itself, we'd break through to it.
Our squad of ten had stepped right into their snare. Then more dead began to slither from the shadows, closing the circle. They emerged from the darkness as if from the earth itself. With each passing second, the space around us shrank. Spears woven from the very fabric of night were already aimed at our hearts.
And among them one stood apart.
He wasn't made of flesh. His body was formless, shaped from smoke and mist, almost transparent. A ghost. His face blurred and shifted constantly, becoming solid for brief moments before dissolving again into vapor.
[image]
Then he screamed.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
The cry struck like lightning. My eardrums burst I felt something rupture inside my skull. Blood began to drip from my ears. The world trembled… and then fell into silence. All that remained was a deafening hum, echoing through my head like a war drum.
The undead moved in unison, as one lifeless organism. The deadly ring of their phalanx tightened with every heartbeat. There was nowhere to retreat only that rocky hill. Its slope was steep, nearly sheer climbing it wouldn't be easy. But I had a plan.
Even without hearing each other, we knew what had to be done. We bolted for the slope, fighting off the dead with everything we had.
I reached it first. Raising my shield overhead, I crouched. One of the Spartans sprinted toward me, leapt, stepped onto my shield, and with all my strength, I hurled him upward. He caught the edge, strained, pulled himself up. The ledge stood at least four meters high.
The next soldier grabbed his hand, the third clung to the second. Together, they formed a living ladder.
I remained below, holding the line. The dead were already upon us and I stood in their path.
Rotten hands reached for me. Shadow-forged weapons thirsted for my life. There was no time to hesitate. Gripping my spear, I charged, driving it with fury into those who got too close. Several corpses fell, turning to dust. One more breath, one more chance I shoved the others aside, sprinted, and in one bound grabbed a waiting hand and climbed to safety. Without looking back, we fled far from that circle of death.
We broke through on sheer will. The dead came at us from all sides, but we fought our way clear. Reaching our pre-prepared position, we rejoined the main force.
"The battle won't be easy," Heron said, eyeing the approaching avalanche of corpses.
His voice was muffled my hearing hadn't returned after that unholy scream. But I understood his meaning. Through the trees, shapes began to emerge. Bones clattered against armor. Spears scraped the ground.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!" the ghost's scream tore across the valley.
It echoed through the cliffs like a war horn. And the tide of the dead surged forward.
Heron gave the signal.
The Spartan assigned to the trap touched a torch to the lines of straw and dry branches we had set. Fire burst to life in an instant. Flames roared skyward, forming a burning wall in front of us, leaving a narrow passage leading straight to our formation.
And then, the battle began.
Living and dead clashed in a savage, merciless melee. These undead were unlike any others no staggering, no mindless wandering. Under command, they moved as one, like trained soldiers. Their strikes were precise, their formation impenetrable. We weren't fighting rotting corpses. We were facing a dead army.
*Thwip*
An arrow shot from the darkness struck the shaft of my spear. Only a lightning-fast reaction saved me I had time to turn my weapon and block the blow. Then came a hail of arrows from the enemy's ranks.
"Shields!" Heron shouted.
The second row of warriors immediately raised their shields above our heads, shielding us from the barrage. The front line was locked in combat and couldn't retreat. But the dead didn't care. They felt no pain, knew no fear. We, on the other hand, suffered wounds.
"We need to kill their commander," Heron said calmly, finishing off the corpse that had lunged at him. "Rear guard, with me! Spartans, hold the line! Damocles!"
Five men pulled out of formation. I stepped away from the front, and another warrior immediately took my place. The seven of us began to circle around, moving along the arc of the burning trap, shields raised against the arrows of the dead.
We leapt through the wall of flame. Fire singed our clothes and left angry welts on our skin but we pushed on.
The Phantom reacted to our movement, regrouped, and sent a portion of his army toward us. And then I saw him. Tightening my grip on the spear, I stepped forward and hurled it with all my might.
The tip pierced through his head effortlessly, exiting from the other side without causing the slightest harm.
"Heh-heh-heh…" came a vile, hollow laugh. It wasn't coming from his mouth it was as if the very air itself was mocking us.
He was incorporeal. How do you kill something like that?
The figure rose into the air and flew straight toward me. I drew my sword and charged. As he neared, I swung with all my strength in a wide arc but the blade passed through him without leaving a mark.
He nearly touched me. I rolled to the side and struck with my shield, trying to create distance. Useless. He didn't care.
He moved through the shield as though it didn't exist. His dead hands wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground. The cold of his touch was unbearable like death itself tightening its grip on my throat. I gasped, feeling my strength fading.
Mustering the last remnants of my will, I raised my sword and struck. But before the blade could land, he hurled me like a ragdoll right into a swarm of the undead.
I crashed hard, landing in their grasp. Twisting my body, I slashed in a wide arc, cutting down the nearest corpses. They piled on, grabbing at my shield, my arms, trying to hold me down. But my strength was far beyond theirs. Roaring, I broke free, hurling them away, refusing to die.
Through the heap of bodies, I saw the Phantom again. He had already killed one Spartan and now held another, draining the life from him. His body went limp, like a soul had fled it. I was watching my brothers die before my eyes.
"Damocles! Distract him again!" Heron shouted.
I understood his plan. The moment he grabbed me and threw me he became corporeal. I had struck too slowly then.
I surged forward like a beast, cutting down every undead in my path. The sword became an extension of me. The ghostly commander noticed me, let go of the dying Spartan whose final drop of life spilled out, and turned to face me. I discarded my shield and charged harder, raising my arms high, aiming the blade downward.
"AAAAAAAH!" I roared, unleashing every ounce of rage.
My weapon sliced through his head again and once more, it did nothing. The blade passed through like smoke. His hands clasped my neck again.
Cold as death.
He looked me in the eyes. And I realized he was draining my soul. I was sinking into a void. Darkness swallowed me. Everything inside me screamed. My body weakened. I fought back with everything I had. I refused to surrender.
"RAAAARGH!" Heron's roar shook the air and in the next heartbeat, the Phantom's head was severed. His form dissolved into smoke.
Heron had made it in time.
I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Terror turned to emptiness in an instant. I gathered myself quickly this wasn't over.
The undead no longer fought with coordination. Their movements became erratic. We had broken them. Now we had to finish it slay every last one.
I panted heavily. Death had been so close when his eyes bore into mine. Pain flowed like a river. I couldn't resist much longer.
"Let's hope that was the last of them," I croaked.
"I think it was," Heron replied.
We survived the battle. The undead were dwindling, their strength fading. Despite their numbers, we destroyed them all. We lost ten men to defeat this cursed force, slaves to the Phantom's will.
The raven that had guided us from the beginning landed on a branch nearby, staring at me as intently as ever.
Hours passed as we completed the rituals and buried the fallen. It truly felt like this was their final resting place. I could feel the land itself exhale a sigh of relief and gratitude.
"Damocles, go to Chrysappa. We'll return the remains of our brothers to Sparta. We'll stay in the city a while to rebuild our ranks," said Heron.
"Yes," I answered simply.
Even now four years after the war's end it continued to claim lives. It felt endless.
For the first time in my life, I was alone. Truly alone. And no matter what, solitude was hard to bear.
*Kraw*
"How could I forget about you…" I said, glancing at the raven that still followed me.
I wasn't in a hurry. I let myself drift in time, in the fleeting taste of freedom. It was a chance to clear my head and rethink everything.
The raven glided down and perched softly on my shoulder. I froze. Looked at him. But he didn't move. He didn't even consider leaving. Just sat there.
It seems… my true trial is still ahead.