The collapse of a gigantic tree was a slow but tense sight.

  The behemoth was almost a hundred feet tall, towering over everything else in the forest. Its dark bark moaned and screamed as it titled, the tree’s own weight ripping its roots apart, and then it fell.

  The entire forest shook. The tree’s crown, long entangled with the wide foliage, made a series of cracking sounds as it was forcefully dislodged. The nearby trees protested, their topmost branches and leaves crumbling, entwined as they were. As the massive tree made its way down, the sky rained wood, and the swirling leaves came soon after.

  The battle had screeched to a complete halt. On the ground, everyone ran for their lives. On the treehouses, survival had become a challenge as everything shook. Several bandits fell, screaming before going silent, and even Reymond himself almost lost his balance before dropping on all fours and hugging the bridge for dear life.

  The remaining five Billies, thanks to their balance, all made it.

  “NO!” a desperate, unwilling scream cut through the noise, flooding everyone’s ears and reaching toward the sky. The sound was so strong that a few bandits grew disoriented, losing their balance and falling to the far-off ground.

  In front of everyone’s eyes, Jericho struggled to hold up the tree—an impossible task, however herculean he might be. One man fought against the odds and did his best, making for an almost heartbreaking sight before the large tree slammed on top of said man and obliterated him.

  Wow, Jerry thought, mouth gaping. Invincible or not, there’s no way he survived that.

  The massive tree had been toppled, landing on and squashing a few smaller trees on its way. An earthquake occurred, as well as a monumental amount of terrified animal sounds from everywhere, before everything suddenly regained their peace. The ground stopped shaking, and the sounds stopped their assault. Everything was as it used to be, save for the massive fallen tree and the death of Jericho.

  Reymond gazed at his opponent; the bald, towering bandit.

  “Will you keep fighting?” he asked. The bandit pointed his greatsword at Reymond, who laughed. “Great!”

  Standing up on the hanging bridge, Captain Reymond swung with force, meeting the bandit’s greatsword head-on. His reflexes may have waned with age, but his battle experience had only grown richer. At this moment, standing atop a swinging, hanging bridge, Captain Reymond was at his peak.

  He roared as he fought, unleashing attack after attack, but his opponent held on. This bandit was shaping up, actually; Reymond’s expertise was met in kind, and any deficiencies were made up by the bandit’s superior strength.

  Captain Reymond had served on the Wall and in the Escarbot army’s elite force for years. He had endured grueling training by the best, fought in endless life-and-death battles, and rose through the ranks until last year, when he retired to enjoy the peaceful life of an inner Kingdom guard.

  He was supremely skilled. No bandit should be able to match him.

  “Who are you?” Reymond asked in shock, their blades entwined in a complex dance of death and metal.

  “None of your godsdamn business,” the bandit spat out in a deep, rough voice, speaking for the first time.

  One strike followed another as they fought, equally matched. Their battle dragged on, but a single mistake would determine the victor.

  Around them, the Billies fought on as well. Most of the bandits had retreated after Jericho’s fall, panickily stomping toward the ladders, sending many of their brethren tumbling to the ground in their blind rush.

  The Billies chased them down.

  Arrows still rained from every direction, but the Billies did not care, for they were zombies.

  Only Reymond was troubled by the arrows, but the bandits didn’t pay him much mind. They had full confidence in their bald leader.

  Suddenly, Reymond struck a hit against the bald man, pushing him back and earning himself a respite. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth to release a tremendous roar.

  “You’ll all die!” he declared loudly. “Surrender and you’ll be spared!”

  Each time a Billy fell was like a nail driven into his heart. He knew that, once an undead was destroyed, they could no longer be reanimated.

  ***

  A particular bandit made his way down a far-off ladder designed to mesh with the bark. Plopping his feet on the earth, he allowed himself a deep, long sigh before breaking into a run.

  The bandit’s usually handsome face was now riddled with worry, while his bare, marble-chiseled chest was matted in dirt.

  I made it! Brad thought as he ran. Hah! Let those suckers kill themselves. I’m out of here!

  His right leg suddenly went cold. He tumbled to the ground, and when he looked behind him in confusion, he saw an arrow sticking out of his thigh.

  “What?” he muttered, unable to believe it.

  “You must be Brad.”

  A large, menacing figure walked out of the woods. It was a dark-skinned man, machete in one hand and bow in the other, while his eyes bore a storm.

  “I— Yes, sir!” Brad cried out. The cold receded from his leg, letting in a burning itch which quickly turned into searing pain. “Ah!” he screamed. “My leg! Fuck, fuck, my leg!”

  “You’re lucky it was your leg,” the man above him rumbled. “I aimed for slightly higher.”

  Cold sweat poured out of Brad’s face.

  “Who are you?” he muttered.

  The man’s eyes were suddenly filled with darkness.

  “I’m Holly’s father, you filth, and I’m here for revenge.”

  “Holly?!”

  Brad’s mind exploded with fear. “It was a joke!” he yelled. “A joke! I love her! She loves me!”

  The man put away his bow, grabbing the machete with both hands. His grip tightened.

  “I’ve caught many animals, boy,” he said, “but you’re the dirtiest of them all.”

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  He took a step, raising his weapon high.

  “No!” Brad screamed, crawling backward. He was already so blinded by fear that he couldn’t feel his pierced leg, couldn’t think. However, no matter how fast he crawled, the looming man was faster.

  “No!” Brad screamed again. “Spare me! I will give you anything, I swear! I won’t do it again! Men, help me! Help!”

  But, how could anyone come to his assistance? It was Brad himself who had run away from his men. The machete fell.

  “Burn in hell, you son of a bitch.”

  “NO!”

  Brad’s scream continued even after his head had been severed. Eventually, his body slumped, and to the side, his head stilled, eyes forever frozen open.

  Derek stood over the corpse for a moment, taking in the grim spectacle. He shook his head. Then, wordlessly, he placed the bloodied machete on his shoulder and walked away, leaving Brad’s body as food for the forest critters.

  Revenge had been had.

  ***

  On the ground battle, however, the situation had been growing more and more hectic. There had only been eight guards at the start, half of them dead already, but a steady stream of fleeing bandits rushed down the ladders. Some chose to keep fleeing, but a few joined their brethren and fought against the undead.

  Headless was being overwhelmed, what with his head tossed aside, and Boboar was struggling to make it. In the end, he was just a strong boar, and many bandits were experienced enough to jump aside when he charged.

  Jerry was assisting them from the side, having hidden in the bushes again, and Boney intercepted whoever approached said bushes, but it was a downhill battle.

  That all changed when Axehand felled the tree and turned on the bandits, his bark-sprinkled axe-hands shining in the moonlight. They’d frozen, then roared and charged him; with their superiority over Headless and Boboar, their confidence had resurged.

  Axehand released a mocking grunt. His thick white bulk erupted with strength, chopping them apart as one would vegetables. The bandits were powerless to resist; more were felled with each swing, like saplings before a lumberjack, until their roars turned into screams and confidence turned into panic.

  The tables had turned.

  “You’ll die!” a bellow suddenly came from above. “Surrender and you’ll be spared!”

  The bandits reacted as if they’d seen the light; they dropped their weapons at once, some still running and others falling flat on the ground. Axehand’s blade paused in front of a man’s throat.

  On the treehouses and bridges above, the panicking bandits dropped their weapons and screamed their surrender. Even the black bandanas faltered, and the bald man facing Reymond hesitated.

  “Stop.” He raised a palm. “We surrender.”

  His voice was low yet echoed over the entire battle.

  “Give me your blade,” said Reymond.

  “Over my dead body.”

  “…Just don’t try anything funny.”

  “I won’t if you don’t.”

  “Good.”

  Reymond organized the descent from above, arranging the captured bandits into lines in front of the ladders. Jerry, meanwhile, had rounded up the ground-level guards under Axehand’s watchful eyes.

  “Good job, everyone.” The necromancer smiled. “You did great.”

  The undead cheered; the battle had gone perfectly, everything according to plan. Of their numbers, only three Billies had fallen, and Jerry hadn’t even had a chance to use his back-up skeletons. It was a resounding, near-perfect victory.

  “I must say”—Derek approached—“I did not expect things to go this smoothly.”

  “Neither did I!” Reymond showed a big smile. “This plan sounded far too ludicrous to work.”

  “Why?” Jerry asked. “Details aside, we just had the world’s greatest lumberjack cut down a tree. Seems fine to me.”

  “Details aside, he says.” Reymond laughed. “You’re a piece of art, my boy, a piece of art. I have to admit, I never expected to fight side-by-side with a necromancer.”

  “How about with a friend?”

  Reymond gave a piercing glare. “Aye,” he finally said. “I could do that.”

  Jerry smiled. “You totally kicked their asses up there, Captain,” he said. “I tip my hat to you and the Billies, and also to Derek, who managed to land that shot.”

  “You don’t have a hat, Master,” Boney said.

  “It was nothing,” Derek said. “In fact, I did so little that I’m ashamed. Credit goes to the two of you and all our undead friends.”

  Jerry turned toward his undead, giving them a warm, proud smile. “Yeah…”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Boney stepped in, motioning toward the waiting bandits, “but what should we do with them?”

  “We’ll get to that. Let’s look for Jericho’s body first.” Derek cupped his chin. “There was a hefty bounty on his head, if I remember correctly.”

  Reymond winked. “Oh, you do.”

  “Good, then let’s—”

  “Wait a moment,” the captain spoke up, turning to the leader of the black bandanas. “Show me your wrist.”

  The bandit stared, and Reymond stared back. A moment later, the black-bandana man raised his left hand and pulled down the sleeve, revealing the tattoo of a simple, small, multicolored feather.

  Reymond gasped. So did Derek.

  “Sworn…” the captain said. His gaze darkened. “What the hell do your wizard overlords want with this forest?”

  “As I said”—the Sworn leader raised his sleeve again—“none of your goddamn business.”

  Reymond frowned. “No, you will tell me, or—”

  As if on cue, the earth rumbled. The undead, relaxing thus far, suddenly tensed up. Jerry, Derek, and Reymond looked around, while the bandits were all terrified and huddled closer together. The black bandanas instantly formed a defensive formation. They were disarmed but not tied yet—there had been no time.

  The earth shook again, and the air rumbled as if the world was about to explode. A sense of tremendous, horrifying power assaulted everyone, making their ears ring and their eyes waver. The earth moaned and howled, the wind picked up, and the entire forest shook.

  “This can’t be good,” Jerry said.

  The crown of the massive, fallen tree exploded. Wood and leaves flew everywhere as a hole was created in the debris, allowing a single figure to step through. The second he appeared, the air turned dense, the forest turned greener. Terror gripped everyone’s hearts like a cold, iron hand.

  Jericho stood there in all his glory. His wild dark hair fluttered in the wind, his seven-foot-tall body pulsing with power. He was practically steeped in green blood, but even as everyone watched, tendrils of golden energy crawled up his body from the ground below, healing him, closing his more than deadly wounds, reforming his organs.

  His body was filled with golden crevices which slowly grew thinner. As he stood there, his mere presence exuded undeniable, utterly dominating power. Gone was the refined man, gone was the razor-sharp grace. He was a beast of rage, a man pushed to the brink, a natural disaster waiting to happen, an absolute monster. In front of this force of nature, it didn’t matter how many they were; there was nothing they could do. Death was certain.

  Jericho’s eyes shone green as he turned them at Jerry and roared, “I WILL FUCKING DESTROY YOU!”

  “Oh, come one!” Jerry said. “That’s so unfair!”