“These Brands slow the conversion process. How troublesome.”

  Bruce’s puppeteered corpse wound up for another punch. These cadavers attacked without any fetters that would cause living mortals to hold back. But Calaf was far stronger now than he was when he first encountered Bruce here in the very same cistern. He blocked again, being pushed further into the wall of fungus.

  Dozens of corpses emerged from the walls and dropped from the ceiling. All were ready to do battle as soon as they landed. It was as if this was some sort of nest by which the dead were consumed and converted. Enkidu wasted no time engaging anyone in stabbing range. Corpses lit aflame and burnt into heaps as his flaming sword went wild.

  A group of three corpses fell at the far end of the cistern. They rose to their feet and rushed into position in a triangle pattern around Enkidu, well out of range of his strikes. Each was a Cleric, titled ‘Port Town Monastic Friar.’

  With a sickening, wet peeling sound, the friars’ bodies opened like flowers lengthwise. They erupted in a screaming cascade of vines and tendrils that had replaced all organs.

  Everything must have been under great pressure, as the rot kept coming in volumes that far exceeded what a cadaver should have held. The rot surrounded Enkidu, who swung away and burnt vine after vine. But even the swordman’s inhuman speed was not enough to keep the tide at bay, and it soon washed over him even as he continued his assault.

  Jelena’s fire-imbued knives cut other corpses away. She sliced up a long-dead sailor labeled as “Bart” in the Menu, then burnt another labeled ‘Griff’. She then danced circles around anything that lunged at her.

  That was, until she encountered:

  Jelena froze. The corpse took a swipe at her with an improvised shiv, which she barely dodged. Then, Edward, Overcurious Child burst into another high-pressure bloom of vines that sent Jelena flying towards the far wall. She wound up tangled in vines around her arms and neck, her eyepatch disheveled and revealing her Scoured Brand.

  Bruce and the other unsanctified corpses all chuckled at once. The undead monk reached back to grab the tangle of vines exploding out of Edward. The overcurious child dropped to the floor, deflated, while the vines fused with Bruce’s fist.

  “… The unbranded, though. They are quite easy to convert. In ideal conditions, with the right temperature and shade and dampness like this, the life drains out of them while I can slink right in.”

  Vines began to constrict around Jelena’s neck. She dropped her knives and instinctually reached up to her throat to free herself, but the tendrils writhed to defy her grip.

  “Get away from her you- guh-” Calaf was tackled by a repurposed cathedral guard captain and dropped his spear.

  The guard captain loomed over Calaf, arms clawing at his neck. Calaf beat him away, then grabbed his shield and blocked the corpse’s lightning-fast counterattacks.

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  Over along the wall, Jelena’s struggles were weakening.

  “Yes. A quick death, and then I will repurpose this flesh.” Bruce’s puppet body had something approaching a smile, held taut by rigor mortis though it was.

  Calaf’s shield was Fireproof, yes. But he cast Flaming Sword of Faith on it anyway to get a nice incendiary sheen on the business end. With a leap, he slammed it into the ground, sending a wave of embers flying every which way. The guard captain burned, and even Bruce’s vines caught fire only to be swiftly replaced by new growth.

  “Soon. The Spark of Life cannot be fettered for long.”

  Over by the wall, Jelena let out a sickly gurgling sound. Her arms grew heavy and began a slow fall towards her side. Both eyes grew unfocused. She twitched slightly.

  Brief flashes of Jelena, another face among a horde rife with fungal growths and parasitic infestation rushed through Calaf’s head. She’d be attacking him within seconds. He couldn’t let that happen.

  The spear was not where he’d dropped it. Instead, Karol had it, spearhead still aflame, and was rushing towards the central fungal pillar. She began to climb.

  “Yes, that’s it!” Calaf cheered. “Burn the core. Cleanse this place.”

  “Futile,” Bruce bellowed. “Foolish. Another unbranded for my collection.”

  Calaf turned to his trusty Steel Vorpal Knife he’d been saving for just such an occasion. He leaped forward and sliced some vines away, then took a swing at Bruce proper.

  A mammoth hand grabbed the knife.

  “I knew your parents. Dead on the side of a random road in the plains,” said the entity.

  Another Flaming Sword of Faith incantation set the knife ablaze and burst Bruce’s free hand to pieces. Calaf sidestepped his foe’s tentacled hand and with an acrobatic leap more befitting a Scout class, he sliced Bruce’s neck clear off.

  Bruce’s HP was now in the -3000 range. Still, his head hung on by a series of squirming vines in place of a spine. Calaf ran to the back of the puppet, readied his knife in both hands, and lunged, thrusting the knife into Bruce’s side.

  “One mistake on the road. Any death for any reason that doesn’t leave you locked away in the crypts, and you too will be with me,” Bruce spoke, despite his vocal cords being run clean through.

  The gargantuan frame of Bruce finally caught fire with the knife embedded deep within him. Bruce continued to gaze dead-eyed and upside down at Calaf even as the flames turned the mountainous corpse into a towering inferno. The vines around Jelena’s neck loosened. She fell to her knees, coughing profusely.

  “Are you alright?” Calaf rushed to her side.

  Jelena coughed up bile, constantly rubbing her neck. It was some time before she could even talk.

  “I’m fine.” She coughed again. “Ah, guess we’re even.”

  “You’ve saved my life at least twice,” Calaf said. “This just repays the one.”

  When Jelena’s breathing was under control, she took Calaf’s hand and helped herself to her feet. She kissed his cheek on the way up.

  “Feel free to repay that one however you want.” Jelena winked.

  All the while, Karol continued to climb the central fungal mound, holding a fire-imbued spear in hand. She held the weapon as close to the burning spearhead as possible, then thrust it into a pulsing pustule at the heart of this web of vines. The core caught fire, spreading to the roots and vines and rapidly burning the infestation away throughout the entire reservoir complex. Vines shriveled right at Calaf and Jelena’s feet, fire racing onward through corridors and aqueducts.

  “Ah, we did it.” Jelena let out a long, fatigued sigh.

  “That we did.”

  Jelena leaned forward. “Working together really helps build camaraderie.”

  “That it does.” Calaf felt a blush on his cheeks.

  “So, got any plans on how to celebrate?” Jelena smiled.

  The moment was ruined as long-imbedded corpses began to fall from the newly burnt-away fungal growth lining the cistern. The central pillar remained, resistant to burning, while the destroyed tendrils took Karol’s footholds away. Then, another corpse wearing a ruined maid apron, buried within the pillar itself, emerged through a thick carpet of mushroom caps.

  Karol grappled with this corpse and fell, twirling, to the ground. The corpse of Marianne, Maid of Port Town, having garnered another handful of negative hit points onto her long-dead Menu designation since her last encounter, landed atop Karol and started throttling and tearing at the former crimson mage’s minimal armor.

  “It wouldn’t be that easy!” Jelena cried, picking up and re-lighting her knives against Calaf’s smoldering shield.

  All around, more and more corpses continued to fall. A veritable hive was here, waiting. Destroying its nerve center only riled up the rest of the army of creeping undeath.

  Armed only with his shield, Calaf set it aflame once more and served as cover for Jelena while she hacked away at anything that came near them. They made their way towards where Karol was being attacked.

  The triangular jungle of gnarled kudzu over on the far end of the cylindrical reservoir smoldered and burned. Enkidu emerged, sword still with a whiff of flame about it, and set about slaying any walking corpse that rushed for him.

  With a mighty, flaming shield bash, Calaf incinerated the late Marianne, freeing Karol. She remained on the floor, too injured to move, as Calaf, Jelena, and Enkidu stood around her, slicing and bashing as the entire horde bore down upon them. Only once the last corpse fell upon Calaf’s shield and set itself alight did the cistern again fall into an eerie, uncomfortable silence.

  Karol’s wounds were vast. She stared up at the remaining rot that climbed up the cistern’s walls. They’d burnt away most of the vines, but the fungus was too thick to ever truly eliminate.

  “C’mon. We’ll get you back to the cathedral. Get you a Brand again.”

  “Calaf. She’s too injured to move.” Jelena said.

  “Then we’ll get a priest in here,” Calaf said, harsher than he meant. “She’ll need healing spells.”

  “It’s okay.” Karol managed, voice giving out. “Without my brother. The Brand is useless. I’ll be resurrected into a world that doesn’t…”

  She coughed up some viscous, orangish fluid.

  “… doesn’t have my family in it. That’s no paradise.”

  Calaf closed his eyes but did not respond.

  “Tell that kind Deaconess that I served.” Karol coughed. “Served the church well. Just like she said. When she cut my Brand away I was so scared. But I did what she requested. I was useful.”

  “I’ll tell her.” Calaf’s face was unreadable.

  “Better to be burnt here than… than…” Karol’s fingers began to twitch off rhythm with the rest of her body. “Than…”

  Wordless, Calaf retrieved his spear, then cast Flaming Sword of Faith. He waited until Karol’s eyes fluttered shut, a last shuddering breath leaving the Crimson Mage, and then plunged his spear into her heart.

  Burnt, to deny her to the rot.

  "Hey Squire, is this going to be a straight up fight, or just another 'shroom hunt?"