I feel my body stir, long wasting in this darkness, as something pulls at my soul. Fighting through the filth and mildew surrounding me, I break into the air, the cutting air. I feel naked, my flesh torn from its final resting place. Something calls me to life again, and I’m not alone: the crypt is filled with desecrated forms, weathered by death’s kisses. Shambling, their bony feet clack against the stone floor. I take a step and hear no similar sound.

An old habit grips me, and I reach for my sword. My hand grasps nothing but dark shadows.

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