by Einsword
Right to the very end, he gripped the hilt of the blade that had claimed hundreds of lives. The world blurred, and the sea breeze struck his face for the last time with its biting scent of salt. His eyelids fell, swallowed by a thick darkness. He didn't yet know that he would never smell the sea again. After all, to breathe, you need lungs—and to feel, you need flesh. Death on the battlefield was supposed to be a long-awaited release for a soul burned to ashes. But instead of peace, he received a dubious deal from a god of the dead. Now, he is a sentient undead in a harsh, alien world. He has no skin to feel the bitter frost of the icy wastes, and no vocal cords to scream in pain. He travels with companions whose shadows hide far too many secrets. Instead of the familiar weight of steel, he is left with unknown magic and a voice echoing directly inside his empty skull. The memories of his past life are shattered into pieces, and an unseen puppeteer has already arranged the figures on the board. But he is a soldier. And if higher entities believe they have acquired a compliant bone puppet, they are dead wrong. Because bones know no fear.
