This couldn’t be real. Somehow, Brin had convinced himself that these creatures from his nightmares would stay in his nightmares. That was how he’d gotten himself to be able to sleep at night. He’d convinced himself that they were gone, that they were far away, not even real anymore. He’d told himself that he was protected, that he’d never have to worry about them ever again.

That’s why it felt like an impossibility. It was an impossibility. The dead don’t move. They don’t get up and walk and kill. They don’t hunt little kids and they definitely don’t do it twice in one lifetime. Yet here he was.

The undead soldier casually stood and faced him.

With slow, unthreatening movements, Brin slowly withdrew the bottle from his backpack and placed it in a loop at his belt. His mind gibbered in horror, his thoughts reeling, but for some reason his body was calm, like it knew what to do. His hands didn’t shake.

The undead cocked its head to the side, but was content to watch Brin make ready.

Brin withdrew his sword from its sheath. Then, oh so slowly, with the kind of slowness that you use when a police officer asks you to put your gun on the floor, he gently set the backpack containing Marksi on the ground. His first goal would be to get away, and to draw the undead away from Marksi. If he couldn’t get away… well he had some other tricks. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The undead raised his spear into the guard position.

Brin raised his sword straight up in front of him, a fencer’s bow that he’d seen Hogg do, then got into the guard position. He flipped the switch with his thumb.

The world stopped. The individual raindrops fell noticeably slower in the air. He needed to move; he didn’t know exactly how much time this would last.

In the first second, he dashed to the right. The sword sped up his perception, but it sped up his body even more than that, so he took five steps in the time it felt he should be taking one. The forest flew by around him, hardly more than blurs.

He glanced back, sure he’d already lost the undead, but he realized that he’d never given Hogg enough credit for how much he’d handicapped these things back then, because the undead was keeping up.

In the second second, Brin weaved to the side, but the undead moved to match him perfectly, as if inertia didn’t apply to him at all. The soldier made up the space between them and shot out with the spear as quick as an arrow.

Brin deflected it with a forearm, and even the glancing blow cut through his leather armor to scratch his skin. He swung his sword, and the undead jumped back. Brin turned and ran.

In the third second, Brin ran wildly. He needed a place where the undead wouldn’t be able to dodge, some kind of narrow gap. He saw a log fallen over a wide and lazy stream, more like a pond in slow motion. Or it could be moving quickly for all he knew; he was moving fast, splashing through fields of raindrops.

He ran to the log, and during the fourth second, he crossed it. It only went halfway through across the stream, so he leapt the remaining distance. When he hit the ground on the other side, he immediately turned and fired his wand.

Just as he’d hoped, the undead was in midair–no way to dodge. A beam of fire burst from his wand… but it was too slow.

The undead threw its spear into the ground, then jumped off it, over the fire beam which only singed the end of one foot.

During the fifth second, Brin turned to run, but something slammed into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. A stone. The undead had hit him with a river stone.

He rolled to his back and brought out one of the other wands, one of the illusion ones. He fired it, and the undead dropped the second stone he’d picked up and jumped to avoid the bar of illusory flame. He left the stream and charged him, spear forward. Brin had one more illusion wand, but he knew it was useless. The undead could see heat, he wouldn’t be fooled a second time.

Six seconds. The undead was limping now, but he still closed the distance while Brin got to his feet. He lashed out with a swing from the side. In terror-fueled anger, Brin stepped into the blow, with one arm up to block and the other swinging his sword around.

His blocking hand caught the shaft of the spear, but he wasn’t strong enough to stop it and the blow came through. His helmet saved him, the spear glanced off it, but then slid onto his face. It sliced deeply into his cheek, glancing against his cheekbone and away. Brin’s sword hit its target, too, gouging a deep wound into the undead’s unarmored side. A notification appeared, one like he’d never seen before.

You have been scarred.

Title granted: Scarred

System Override: Scarred unlocked.

Your wounds heal 10% slower.