As Alistair and Basic emerged from the pub into the night, Basic turned to Alistair in a smirk, as if he had conquered the mighty Skippy.

  “Free drinks, Alistair, can you believe it? Who needs gold when you have me?“

  Alistair is unresponsive, his heart pacing, observing his surroundings.

  “You can’t enjoy anything, can you?” said the bald headed swindler.

  The townsfolk wandered aimlessly, their movements sluggish, their expressions vacant.

  “Something's off,” Basic murmured, his usually unshakeable optimism tinged with unease. “It’s quiet, don’t you think.“

  The darkness of Rogue pressed in on them, the air thick with an unspoken menace. Every step they took, the more of the ghoulish villagers began to notice them.

  Alistair, desperation clear in his voice, pleaded with Basic, “We must make for the gates at once!”

  But his plan to retreat was cut short by the sound of Skippy's rage boiling over from the pub they'd just left.

  Basic looks to Alistair, “Probably met a new friend.“

  “Basic!” The giant moans.

  “Now!” exclaimed Alistair, taking off.

  The duo rushed to the gates of Rogue, observing the townsfolk wander aimlessly.

  “Don’t let them touch you!” called out Alistair, as they maneuvered through the crowd.

  The duo contorted their bodies, avoiding the methodical thralls.

  The gate was towering, nestled by the moonlight – fortified walls forming a prison around them. Chambers where guards, or ghouls, could lurk, hung beside.

  Alistair pushes on the wood, his feet digging into the dirt as he slides backwards.

  “Sir! Help us!” Alistair shouted through the passage, hoping for a miracle.

  “Oh yeah… I forgot about him.” said Basic with an earnest smile.

  As Alistair and Basic swapped opposing looks, the ground shook erratically.

  Their bodies began to gyrate as the magnitudes drew closer.

  “Aren’t you just forgetful…” called out a grizzly voice echoing off the prison walls.

  Emerging from the shadowy passage, came Skippy, illuminated by sporadic flashes of light that revealed his skin, now mottled with rot and shadow.

  His minions, now similarly afflicted, wreaked havoc in their path toward Basic, tearing through the roadside stands and the dazed, zombie-like townsfolk with brutal indifference.

  “Oh, hey Skip…,” said Basic with a sheepish laugh.

  “I’ve killed myself for you…” grunted the giant looming over his decaying form.

  “And this is how you repay me?“

  “I don’t understand the hostilities…” said Basic, looking for comfort in Alistair. “If I’ve repaid you, then what’s the problem?“

  “Ahhhhh!” roared Skippy, charging at Basic in a homicidal rage.

  Alarmed, Basic calls out to Alistair, “It’s your moment, Alistair, cheese him!“

  The nobleman was a heap on the ground.

  “Ahhhh!” he cried, sounding more like a startled tea kettle than a battle cry.

  Caught between the two, Basic looked from Alistair’s trembling, fetal position to Skippy’s oncoming mountain of rage. With both sides screaming, silence seemed the least heroic option.

  So, he screamed too. “Ahhh!“

  The three yells tangled in the air like a choir of madness. Seeing the hate blazing in Skippy’s eyes, Basic squared his shoulders and made his decision.

  “You want me, big boy? Come and get me!” he shouted, before letting out another wild cry to match Skippy’s and charging straight toward the giant.

  But just as the clash seemed inevitable, chains flew from the hands of the zombie-like townsfolk, wrapping around Skippy and his crew. The giant struck away two men at a time until they began to surround him.

  A desperate struggle ensued. The townspeople, sick and weakened but numerous, slowly manage to subdue the enraged Skippy and his minions. It took an entire horde of these afflicted souls, to finally bring Skippy down, their own sickness evident in their labored movements and pained expressions.

  As the echoes of conflict began to fade into the oppressive silence of Rogue's night, a distinct bird call sliced through the tension.

  From the shadows materialized a figure, his demeanor nonchalant amidst the surrounding chaos. “Oh lads… You actually came?” he quipped, stepping into the sparse light, his silhouette gradually becoming more defined.

  Alistair's gaze sharpened as Bill, former leader of the Flock, revealed himself. An intuitive realization dawning that this individual was intricately linked to the sinister unraveling of Rogue.

  “It’s him.” the nobleman relayed.

  Despite the gravity of their situation, Basic retorted, “What, didn't have the spine to meet us at the pub… Too scared to face us directly?“

  Alistair stood, trying to spare himself, “Let it be known that I didn’t want to come here.“

  The bandit leader's laughter, a blend of amusement and something bordering on admiration for Basic's persistent courage, filled the air. “Fierce—like a mother dove protecting her nest. ” He responded, his amusement evident.

  The shadows began to congregate before him, awaiting Bill’s word.

  “How is this possible?” bemoans Alistair.

  With a casual stride, the leader approached, the humor in his eyes belying the seriousness of his next words. “For too long, I flapped amongst the clouds… The whole time I should’ve slid in the shadows.”

  Bill sauntered over to where Skippy, still bound and defiant, lay. Effortlessly placing his foot on Skippy's broad shoulders, a gesture of dominance over the subdued giant.

  Turning to address Basic and Alistair again, Bill's tone took on a mockingly apologetic note. “A day ago, this sort of prey would’ve been too much for my wings to carry.“

  “For a man who hates birds, you really seem to love them.” quipped Basic.

  Bill's next words chilled the air, “The bald one goes first. Basic—Plain—whatever they call you.” He gestured toward his goons, signaling them to seize Basic.

  Alistair, desperation clear in his voice, cried out, “Stop! I have something to say!”

  He spoke loudly for the living citizens who hid away in the surrounding buildings.

  “Tonight, it starts with us. Tomorrow it begins with you… and all you hold dear… Sir, if you are out there. Your debt has yet to be repaid. Stand with us, and bring light back to our lands.“

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Bill, seizing the moment to twist the knife further into the heart of Alistair’s fleeting hope, steps forward. With a theatrical flourish, he echoes Alistair's call to arms, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “’I echo my friend's call.” he taunted, sweeping his gaze across the gathered crowd.

  “Come and join us.“

  The call was made and the night only grew quieter.

  The haunting silence lasted for a minute until it was broken by a chirp from Bill, signaling the horde to collect Alistair and Basic.

  In a final effort, Alistair attempted to scale the wooden exit. Trying to grab at anything to leverage himself away from the coming horde.

  “We can’t let them touch us!” The nobleman cried.

  But as the words left his mouth, Alistair's warning came too late. Turning around, he was met with the sight of Basic, in a display of both bravery and recklessness, having applied a rear naked choke to one of the sickly individuals. Basic, seemingly oblivious to the danger, grunted in satisfaction as he mounted the man like a backpack.

  Alistair let out a shriek, a sound that was equal parts terror and disbelief at Basic's heedless action.

  The Gatekeeper appears out of the shadows next to him.

  Before Alistair could react, the gatekeeper lunged at him, his hands transforming into instruments of torment as he clawed viciously at Alistair's face. His screams pierced the night, a chilling soundtrack to the violence inflicted upon him.

  In a desperate attempt to escape the brutal assault, Alistair's hands flailed, finding the cover to the opening that the Gatekeeper had used when they arrived. With no other option, he repositioned his head through the opening, seeking refuge from the relentless eye rakes.

  His head now hung upside down outside of Rogue, gazing into the abyss beyond Rogue's gates.

  “Sir… Sir!” Alistair's screams of desperation broke through the night, his voice strained with pain and fear.

  Meanwhile, Basic, oblivious to Alistair's plight, had engaged another shadowed foe with a similar reckless abandon. Grappling with the enemy in a surreal mimicry of combat, Basic grunted with satisfaction.

  Alistair's condition grew dire. His eyes, once a clear and determined gaze, now mirrored the abyssal darkness of Rogue itself, bloated black and lifeless, with the light within them fading to a haunting grey. Trapped, his head stuck awkwardly through the opening, his body dangled precariously, the weight of it slowly suffocating him. All the while, a madman assailed his limp form with relentless strikes.

  With his spirit ebbing away and his situation seemingly hopeless, Alistair's survival instincts spurred one final, desperate action. His leg, flailing in the throes of suffocation, managed to kick open the latch. It was a feeble gesture, the last vestige of his will to survive against the overwhelming darkness.

  The gatekeeper, momentarily stepping back to savor the spectacle of Alistair's suffering, unwittingly allowed for a brief respite. The release of pressure from Alistair's neck caused him to slump to the ground, a lifeless heap, save for the soft moans that escaped his lips.

  His body, responding only on one side, began a pitiful crawl for freedom, an effort mocked by the gatekeeper's derisive laughter.

  But then, a noise cut through the night. It was an attempt at laughter from Alistair, a sound so weak and fraught with agony that it left the gatekeeper momentarily puzzled. His confusion turned to horror as he looked up through the gate's opening, only to see Sir, the once-missing companion, charging forth like an avenging specter. In his hands, a lance, its point aimed true and driven by righteous fury.

  The gate burst apart beneath Sir’s charge. Iron hinges screamed and wood splintered as the rusted knight broke through, his armor burning orange under the torchlight.

  The first wave of shadows rushed to meet him, their mouths open in silent wails. His blade flashed and they fell. Each swing cut wide arcs through the smoke. Every strike burned the air with sparks, and each step left streaks of black blood across the stones.

  Basic, thrilled by the spectacle, laughed until tears streaked his cheeks. He pumped his fists with every swing of Sir’s sword, cheering louder each time the knight struck. When the shadows began to pull back, Basic’s grin widened.

  “You cannot stain what is already dirty!” he shouted, elated.

  Bill retreated to the rooftops, the rhythm of the fight slipping from his hands.

  He steadied himself with a sharp bird call, shrill and quick, and his creatures obeyed. A handful turned from the melee and ran to the chains that bound the sleeping giant.

  The links shattered. Skippy rose, slow and heavy, his frame blotting out the torchlight. His eyes were hollow and gray, the shadow leaking from his pores like smoke.

  Sir turned, his breath hot against the metal of his helm. For a moment, seeing Basic cheer him on amid the ruin made him proud. Then he saw the giant rising behind Basic and that pride froze into dread.

  The rooftops came alive. More shadows dropped from above, landing in heaps around the knight. They tore at him, dragging him off of Steed. He swung, cutting three down at once, then another two, his blade ringing against stone as it passed through them.

  One leapt onto his back, as another attempted to claw his exposed throat. Sir gritted his teeth and rammed the tip of his sword backward through them both. When he finally broke free, the plaza floor was carpeted with their remains.

  Basic turned at the rumblings behind him and saw Skippy’s arm sweep through the haze. The hit was like a battering ram. The world flipped. Stone cracked. He crashed through the wall of a house facing the square.

  The blast rolled through the plaza with the same force that had shattered the gate. Only Basic’s shoes remained where he had stood.

  “Not him, you fool,” Bill shouted toward Skippy. “The wannabe hero!“

  Skippy then lumbered toward Sir. The knight pulled his sword from a body and turned to face him. His armor was dented and dripping with black ichor. Smoke pooled behind him where the gate still burned.

  Inside the ruined house, families huddled together. Basic groaned awake among them.

  “Are you okay?” a child asked. “How are you not dead?” said another.

  Nearly twenty men stood around him, gripping tools and scraps of iron for weapons. They watched him warily, not sure if he was savior or curse.

  “Leave us,” one shouted.

  “Yes—begone from here,” Basic replied, still dizzy, not realizing they meant him.

  The man from the alley stepped forward, eyes wild.

  “I told you to stay in the shadows. Now you’ve doomed us all.“

  “How have you been?” Basic said, blinking through the dust.

  They shoved him toward the doorway. “Leave!” they cried.

  He tore free and spat, “Leave and fight your battles, eh? It isn’t my home, yet I fight what haunts it.“

  Blood dripped from his lip. “If I can enter your stronghold, how long before they’re able to do the same?“

  The men stared at one another, uncertain, then turned toward the sounds of fighting outside.

  Skippy swung at Sir, who rolled beneath the blow and cut deep into the giant’s arm. Black smoke hissed from the wound. The creature roared and hammered his fists down, shaking the ground. Sir ducked, stepped in, and drove his sword through the giant’s chest. The blade burst from the back of his ribs. For a heartbeat Skippy froze. Then he grabbed the knight by the leg and flung him into the plaza wall. The impact crushed stone and armor alike.

  The men poured out of the house. Basic followed, shouting after them, “Be free, boys!“

  They hit the line of shadows with a fury that surprised even Bill. The men swung their tools and hacked through the enemy. They roared and cheered each other’s kills. The alley man smashed one to the ground and turned to Basic, grinning wide. Basic laughed and returned the gesture, pumping his arm in victory.

  The fighting grew louder. The plaza rang with the noise of blades and courage. For a moment, the tide turned. The shadows faltered and began to slip back toward the alleys.

  Then the air went cold. The firelight dimmed. One of the men stumbled and fell to his knees. His arm darkened to black. Another dropped his weapon and screamed. The corruption spread like oil, moving from man to man. Their cheers turned to cries.

  Basic froze, watching as their flesh cracked. “Ah!” they screamed, clutching their faces as smoke poured from their mouths. Their bodies convulsed and reshaped. Bones twisted. Skin hardened into ash. The alley man looked at Basic with wide, pleading eyes before his mouth stretched into a scream that never ended. When it stopped, twenty shadows stood where twenty men had been.

  Bill’s laughter carried down from the rooftops. “The fool grows my army for me.“

  “Everyone back inside!” Basic shouted, his voice cracking.

  Skippy wrenched the sword from his chest and slammed it into the ground. The sound silenced the square.

  Basic then faced Skippy, trembling.

  “Well… If this is it,” he said, “I’m not going out like them.“

  He ran. Skippy thundered forward to meet him. Their cries met at the center of the plaza, one deep and monstrous, the other sharp and furious.

  The giant’s hands closed around him, preparing to smash the bald fool into a red paste. Then the world flipped. Basic twisted, lifting the creature off the ground. Skippy’s legs thrashed as Basic swung him overhead and drove him into the stones. The plaza erupted in a shock of smoke that rolled through the streets.

  Bill gasped as the haze cleared. Skippy lay broken, his head buried in the ground.

  Sir stood again, his armor torn and streaked with blood and shadow. Together, he and Basic rallied toward the remaining shadows—two men who refused to die.

  Bill retreating through the gate, whistled for his minions to follow.

  Basic stood in the center of the ruin, chest heaving, sweat and blood running down his face. He flexed his arms and laughed at the sight of the shadows retreating.

  “Go on! Migrate south for winter!” said Basic, directed toward the fleeing Bill.

  Sir succumbs to his injuries and crumbles as the last remnants of shadow disappear.

  “Sir, we did it! That was unbelievable! Did you see that, Alistair?

  At the edge of the plaza, near the gate, Alistair lay motionless. The morning light caught his face for an instant—pale, eyes half open, his body already blackened by the shadow that had taken him. He didn’t move.

  “… Alistair?“

  Basic’s grin lingered as he looked around the empty square, unaware of the silence that had settled over it.

  The plaza of Rogue was quiet except for the wind, and the faint echo of Basic’s laughter fading into the dark.