Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius' vigilant gaze passed over the undead warriors surrounding him.

He identified nine potential threats.

Three warriors from the Sleeping Country looked over, slow as if their fur-clad attire weighed their movements. Still, Tycon knew not to underestimate their swirling swordplay or their capability to rapid-fire their horn bows.

Their military doctrine demanded that each of their best could shoot three arrows in the span of one-and-a-half seconds.

A Kingdom swordsman with a wide-brim, feathered hat crinkled his long mustache. It was likely that he at least had sword techniques equivalent or better to First-Circle spells designed to confound and confuse.

...And his sword was likely enchanted.

Two tall scouts stood up, their bare chests painted in the style of natives of the Eastern States. One of them carried a longneck rifle... a potential threat to Tycon's Gold-Rank physique.

Their translucent flesh varied in shades of green, grey and purple and they still bore wounds and injuries suffered decades or centuries past.

Appearing amongst them so suddenly, the various men and women of the Realm stared blankly, unsure what to make of his presence-- all but three.

Two humans and a minotaur clad in piecemeal armor common in the Free Nations narrowed their eyes... but made no offensive movements.

Wise.

Ultimately... the ghosts were armed and armored as they were in life. If they attacked as one, Tycon would be reasonably inconvenienced.

A tall, scarred human with a thick beard readied their sword-- long and slightly curved in the style of the Sleeping Country.

Orcish runes ran the length of his blade... common practice in the Free Nations.

The stylized image of a flame was etched onto his shield, the symbol of the Holy Country's deity.

He wore thick metal plates, armor popularized in the Kingdom.

Beaded jewelry in the style of the Eastern States hung from his neck, sporting the symbol of the thunder god.

The man was an adventurer... and may have even had somewhat of a reputation before his death.

Yet despite the fellow's domineering aura, the well-worn but cared-for equipment he wore, and the notches on his shield counting his personal kills... Tycon knew he was superior.

As for the reason: he was alive and his opponent was not.

However, perhaps as a result of the adventurer's confidence, the fellow's peers began drawing their weapons.

Slow... and still cautious, they began to fan out on the muddy riverbank, encircling Tycon.

"This one... yet lives..."

"Death... has not yet claimed him..."

"It's not... fair... not fair..."

Tycon stared fearlessly into their leader's eyes.

He leaned his head forward, biting his bottom lip.

"F*ck off."

In an instant, the ghosts disappeared... all but the tenth.

Tycon returned his curved blade to his spatial ring... growling to himself in disdain.

"Even here... warriors without the will to fight are worthless..."

He pivoted sharply, staring down the last of them.

"You," He pointed at the final warrior's back. "You should not be here."

"L... living?" The girl trembled slightly in surprise.

Slowly, she turned to face him...

Tycon took a breath, scrutinizing her features.

She was familiar to him... an impressionable and inexperienced brunette, her hair cut short to avoid dealing with some of the Holy Country's more troublesome military regulations.

The translucent flesh on her right cheek had been worn away, the smooth bone underneath clear to see.

Where an eye should have been, set its socket, instead glowed a dim silver sphere.

The girl was undeniably deceased... a ghostly shade of her previous self.

She tilted her head with her lips slightly parted, and she spoke in a light, feminine voice... "You're... alive, aren't you?"

Rena of Leopardon wore trappings typical of a rank and file Munifex from the Holy Country, well worn and comfortable. She even carried a military crossbow that looked to be in serviceable condition.

Most of her form remained solid... most of the left side of her face... most of the right side of her body.

She did not die with a complete corpse.

The fact weighed upon Tycon's conscience.

Rena leaned forward, blinking her one eye...

Tycon watched her patiently.

She nodded to herself, then lifted her weapon up... "Become... like us..."

...Tycon reached over, snatching the reload tool off of her belt.

Tyrion crossbows had draw weights of over 200 ponze, something the small and lithe Rena would not be able to draw back manually.

"G... give it back," She complained in a small voice.

Tycon lifted it out of her reach, "Who is *us*, young lady? We're the only ones here."

Rena stopped for a moment... allowing her jaw to slacken.

"Become... like me," She finally whispered. Her small smile crossed only half her face.

She drew close, again earnestly trying to take back her reload tool," Now... give it back or... or I'll hate you forever."

"Your threat is meaningless," Tycon sighed... "Why would I care about your feelings? I don't even care for the judgment of gods."

"Bro!!" A gruff voice came down from overhead.

Tycon glanced up, watching Hades, god of death and the dead, float down in his dark, billowing robes.

The orc could fly.

Of course, the orc could fly.

...but why were they taking a boat instead of flying to their destination?

"Not cool, man," Hades grumbled as he landed.

Tycon raised an eyebrow... but his expression changed upon seeing the state of his companion's clothing.

"Ah, the splash," He inclined his head. "I apologize. It was not my intention."

"Yeah!?" The massive orc crunched down on his teeth while he rubbed his face in indignation, "Well, OB-viously!! But ah... you know what? I was *really* mad about the splashing... but since you said you're sorry, I GUESS it's fine."

The orc clenched a thick fist, alighting a green burst of flames all around him.

...That was all it took for him to dry himself.

"Still mad, though," He murmured... "but just a little."

The orc's frustration at getting... wet was asinine.

"Granted," Tycon pursed his lips. "This girl. She should not be here."

Hades looked over, furrowing his thick, grey-skinned brows... "Yeah? Why not?"

"Rena is a follower of the Eternal Flame," Tycon groaned. "Her spirit should have been... reabsorbed by that particular deity, no?"

"...Should be obvious, then," Hades shrugged. "The Flame didn't accept her."