It had been an exhausting week while also being the last week Azrath and Potabeau would remain in their hometown. The small town of Eldergrove, perched on the outskirts of the expansive Vale of Shadows, far from the borders of their continent. Twas not accustomed to danger. It wasn’t even accustomed to *action*. Life in Eldergrove typically revolved around quiet trade, the occasional harvest festival, and a lot of waiting for something interesting to happen. So, when rumors spread that a raiding party of orcs was headed their way, everyone in the town collectively panicked.

  Naturally, Azrath the young necromancer and his ever-witty companion Potabeau were not exactly prepared to protect a town they’d always thought of as a temporary stopover on their long journey to “greater things”.

  "Alright, Azrath, here’s the deal," Potabeau said, pacing back and forth near the town gates, his hands clasped behind his head. "The orcs are coming, and we’re expected to do something. So, why don’t we just... raise a few zombies and get this over with? I mean, how bad can it be? Last time it worked charmingly well."

  Azrath, holding his dusty grimoire and glaring at the horizon, was less enthusiastic. “Potabeau, we’re not just raising zombies for a town defense. This is supposed to be a prolonged battle. We can’t go in half-baked, or we’ll look like complete fools again.”

  “Well, I did suggest a musical approach,” Potabeau said with an exaggerated shrug. “But fine, no music. I get it. You want something “more tactical”, huh?”

  Azrath sighed. “The last time we raised an army, it was... well, chaotic. Not *exactly* what you’d call ‘tactical.’” He thought turpidly of the small army of shuffling undead they had summoned before. “We’ll need more than a few clumsy zombies to hold off a real threat. Maybe we could—”

  “Maybe we could do something else?” Potabeau interrupted, grinning. “Look, im not feeling the ‘make a killer zombie’ today. But hey, let’s make our weirdo musical vibe official! We’ll raise the dead, and I’ll give the orcs a performance to remember. Zombies marching to a symphony!”

  Azrath glared at him but knew deep down that there was no way to reason with Potabeau when he was like this. The undead were already ambling aimlessly at the town’s gates, and Azrath, reluctantly, raised his arms and muttered an incantation.

  The earth shook as dozens of bodies crawled from the dirt beneath the walls of Eldergrove. Azrath focused on directing them—this time, at least with a little more order. Potabeau, clearly not content with just zombies, started drumming his fingers on his legs.

  "Fine. Zombies, fine," Potabeau said, only half-paying attention. "But you do realize that this is only temporary, right? I mean, they’re not exactly the *sturdy* kind of soldiers. They’ll last, what? A couple hours? And then they’ll start losing limbs, stumbling into things... It’s just a matter of time."

  Azrath took a deep breath. “Look, Potabeau, we’ll hold them off long enough for the broken parts to be reanimated and then—-”

  Before he could finish, the distant war cries of the orcs could be heard echoing through the Vale. Azrath knew Potabeau, knew the dead, but had yet to taste war. Potabeau glanced at Azrath with a grin.

  “Well, guess that’s our cue. Let’s see if my zombie symphony can get us through the day!” He banged his hand on his knee, as though conducting a great orchestra, and then began loudly shouting orders to the confused zombies. “Alright, zombies! Let's do this thing! March in formation! No more shuffling around! I want to see some rhythm here!”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Azrath massaged his temples as Potabeau began to march alongside the zombies, mimicking their movements like a captain leading an unruly parade. To Azrath’s surprise, the zombies—albeit sluggishly—actually started to line up in some semblance of order, moving as if guided by an invisible conductor. It was hardly perfect, but for the first time since their failed attempt to employ the undead, there seemed to be some level of cooperation.

  The orcs arrived at the edge of the town, and upon seeing the assembled undead, they paused in confusion. A few exchanged uncertain glances. Potabeau, seeing his moment, popped his head out and shouted from behind the undead ranks.

  “Prepare to be astounded, foul invaders! You have no idea what’s coming!”

  The orcs looked at each other, clearly unsure whether to laugh or fight. The zombies, meanwhile, were still stumbling around, tripping over their feet but at least holding their ground.

  “Azrath!” Potabeau called back, “Do you seriously not have some special necromantic power to make these guys less, you know, zombie-like and more, battle-ready? I mean, *please*.”

  Azrath growled in frustration, then turned his gaze toward the orcs, who were now charging forward, laughing at the ridiculousness of the zombie formation. It was clear the undead weren’t going to hold them back for long.

  "Fine. You want something more... strategic?" Azrath muttered under his breath, summoning a more complex ritual from his tome. “Let’s see if this works.”

  He reached deep into his well of necromantic power, channeling it differently than before. The earth rumbled once again, but this time, the ground beneath the zombies shifted violently, and the dark energy swirled in a focused, controlled direction. In an instant, the zombies' movements became more precise. Their groping hands steadied, their eyes narrowed into a determined gaze. They began to march forward, forming a proper defensive line.

  Potabeau, ever the dramatist, raised his arms and shouted, “*Behold!* The second Zombie Symphony!”

  The orcs, momentarily stunned, were now faced with an organized undead force—no longer the erratic chaos they’d expected. The zombies’ march had become synchronized, their arms raised in the air like soldiers ready for battle. Potabeau, ever the entertainer, stepped forward with a mock-heroic pose.

  “What will you do now, orcs? You can’t defeat the Undead Symphony! Surrender or prepare to face the—”

  Just as he finished, the first orc broke the line with a mighty roar, charging toward the undead in a fit of rage. But instead of the expected disorder, the zombie army reacted swiftly, some staggering to block the oncoming assault while others reached out with surprising accuracy.

  “Whoa,” Potabeau muttered, his eyes widening in genuine surprise. “I didn’t think that would actually work.”

  Azrath, looking smug for the first time in hours, nodded. “Necromancy isn’t just about raising the dead. It’s about directing their essence, giving them purpose. It’s not about chaos. It’s about control, and your musical directions definitely began their unity of mind.”

  “Right,” Potabeau replied, still in disbelief as the undead began to drive back the orcs. “So. if that control involves the occasional marching band routine as well, the zombies are okay with that. Better off if you ask me…”

  The battle raged on as the zombies, now more disciplined, managed to hold the orcs at bay. The orcs, realizing that their assault wasn’t going as planned, slowly retreated.

  “Alright, alright,” Potabeau said with a grin as the orcs began to fall back. “We got them, Azrath. We did it. Zombie Symphony for the win! I mean, who would’ve thought music could be so effective in harmony with deadfolk?”

  Azrath, his mind still on the battle, allowed himself a small smile. “It’s not just music, Potabeau. It’s organization.”

  Potabeau shrugged, watching the orcs retreat into the distance. “Sure. Whatever. Control, music, a good ol’ *marching band* vibe—it all works. But tell me, Azrath, what’s next? You’ve got all this undead power now, and yet, there’s still something more to learn, isn’t there?”

  Azrath’s mind clicked as he considered Potabeau’s words. As they began heading back to the town’s square, he remembered the wise man of Eldergrove, who had been observing their little undead experiment from a distance. The elder had always been cryptic, but now, with the battle won, Azrath was ready to hear his wisdom.

  As they approached the elder’s hut, the old man spoke, his voice like gravel. “You did well, young necromancer,” he said, eyes twinkling with mystery. “But there is more to your art than just raising the dead. I can show you a way to use necromancy with the very earth itself. You seek power? Power that is not bound by flesh, but by the very land? Use necromancy on lava to craft obsidian. An ancient technique. A tool that could forge things... much greater than an army of zombies.”

  Azrath’s eyes widened. “Necromancy on lava?”

  The elder nodded sagely. “Yes. The process is... delicate. But it’s yours to learn.”

  Azrath felt a surge of anticipation. If he could master this... he could build something far more powerful than mere zombies.

  “Well,” Azrath said, a grin spreading across his face, “looks like our work here is far from over.”

  Potabeau gave a half-sarcastic clap. “Great. Undead fire. What’s next, a zombie volcano?”

  Azrath just smiled. “Something like that.”

  And so, the duo found themselves preparing for a new chapter in their necromantic journey, their earlier victory now a stepping stone toward an even greater—and far stranger—adventure.