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Greetings! Some time ago I wrote a story about a town being sexily taken over by the undead. It was a lot of fun and since people tend to be into monsters here, I thought it was high time to post it! This is the first part of a three part story. Content warnings: there is noncon, weird mpreg, mindbreak, transformation and undead shenanigans of the gross-out kind you'd expect. Of course, you can get the entire book in full on smashwords. (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1103609) If you don't already know, I post a lot of free fiction to my reddit and blog and you can get all those links from my journals and profile as well. Enjoy!

The Homecoming

Among the houses of the peasantry sitting at the foot of a reinforced stone fort, one particular family was having a very early breakfast in the fire light.

“We're at the quarry today,” an older man said, “with your father and cousins.”

Tending the fire was a young man with soft brown hair that nearly touched his shoulders. He wore rough clothing and the house was modestly furnished. There was only one other room with the beds in it and the main room functioned as kitchen and everything else a household required. Outdoors were a few chickens squacking around a roughshod coop and a ways from the house was a well worn outhouse but little else in the way of amenities.

“Why can't I go?” he said, knowing very well the answer.

“Because no one else can look after the fire,” the older man replied, “Arden, be mindful of the house while we're gone.”

It wouldn't do any good to argue, Arden knew this. His Uncle and father struggled after his mother and eldest sister had died, leaving them to fend for themselves. It took quite a lot of effort to keep up a house and when the nobility required the fort to be reinforced their lot would spend ages cutting stone and hauling it up to the tower.

There would be no time to eat, barely any time to do anything else. And his family he knew, needed the money to keep them all fed. But it was, in Arden's opinion, a poor life.

“Marcos is coming back,” Arden said, “tonight.”

“I see,” his uncle said, “he managed to survive, did he?”

“Yes,” Arden said, “obviously. I had Surri read me the letter and he said so.”

“Surri said so, so it must be true,” his Uncle said, with a hint of mocking.

“He's a priest, he knows more than anybody,” Arden said bitingly.

“Learned folk aren't our sort and the battle hardened neither,” his Uncle said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder, “if you run off with Marcos, you'll be dead before the winter.”

Arden shoved the hand away, “I'm not weak.”

“You're not strong either,” his Uncle reminded him.

After breakfast was finished, Arden found himself deep into chore work. His Uncle went to the quarry with the other men of the village and Arden found himself growing greatly bitter that he wasn't with them. Though his frame was a bit slighter than his father or brothers, he still had his strength. He could still swing a sword if he had to. He knew that it was a matter of someone having to be at the house, and Arden was considered an easy enough sacrifice to be put to work at the domestic labor.

The day was awful and dull, Arden was mostly alone at his farm through most of the day. But when supper came around no one had arrived back at the house for it. Frustrated, since his family hadn't told him they'd be gone for the whole evening, he began to pour the stew out back in the garbage heap when he saw a dark figure against the twilight approach the house.

Staring against the dropping sun, he squinted until he could make out its form and shape.

“Marcos!” He said excitedly, abandoning his pot, “you're back!”

Arden rushed to the front of the house, he tore up the road and grabbed Marcos around the waist.

“They said you might be dead,” Arden said, “I didn't believe it!”

After Marcos removed his helmet, Arden looked up at his friend's face. There was something about his eyes, something about him that seemed very cold. But Arden supposed war could do that to a man.

“You must come to the house,” Arden said, “the others are at the mine.”

“Have you invited me in?” Marcos asked.

Looking back at the tall dark figure looming in the doorway, Arden couldn't help but shudder just slightly. It was foolish to do so, he chided himself. It was his best friend, he'd known him since they were both boys. Nothing had changed, only the sky seemed darker somehow.

“Of course,” Arden said, hesitating only a moment.

“Then I'll come inside,” Marcos said, dark eyes turning to a poison yellow in the gloom.

Once inside, Arden set about preparing bread and cheese and fruit, whatever he could scrounge up. He sat it at the table.

“Are you hungry?” Arden began cutting himself some, “It's been a long time, father will be so pleased to see you.”

“I'm sure he will be,” Marcos said.

Arden looked up at Marcos, he was still so impassive. Marcos used to laugh heartily, shout drunkenly at the Inn until he was kicked out, get into trouble constantly with the other farmers for his tricks, the most lively of them all.

“Are you all right?” Arden said, “sorry, I shouldn't ask a soldier about stories. Was the battle difficult? You seem out of sorts.”

“It was very dark,” Marcos said, sighing, his body seemed to relax suddenly as if a string was cut, “and long. And I saw many terrible things.”

Arden paused in his eating, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Marcos said, “now I'm home, with you, my dearest friend.”

“You are,” Arden said, feeling chuffed he had been recognized, “I was wondering if they were still recruiting, for the war. I have a mind to go. I'm bored here and useless. At least on the field I could be a crier, I'm the best runner there is.”

Marcos smiled slow and easy. If Arden had been looking intently at his expression with a mind filled with wisdom, he would have seen the wickedness behind it.

“They're recruiting, my own contingency,” Marcos said, “wait until the 'morrow and you can meet them.”

“Good,” Arden said, amazed it was that easy, “I can't wait. Would you mind talking to father? I don't think he'll agree.”

“I promise,” Marcos said, “besides, if he doesn't, we'll just make him.”

Arden laughed lightly, but he felt a hint of dread. His father wasn't one to just roll over when challenged, Marcos knew that very well from their hijinks as children.

As the twilight turned into night, the family never returned. Arden went outside and lit a few lanterns and looked at the horizon. He noticed something odd, that the normal sounds of the countryside had gone quite dim. There were no sounds of the night watchman's horse, or the far distant clatter of hooves coming up from the town's singular Inn. There was nothing but an endless and stretching quiet in a darkness that seemed far dimmer than it ever had before, it unsettled Arden to the core.

He went back inside and found Marcos quietly shining his sword at the table, he hadn't eaten a scrap of food. The sword glowed with a strange blue light, it looked enchanted.

“Did a wizard make that for you?” Arden said.

“A necromancer,” Marcos said.

“Really?” Arden said, excitedly “To fight against undead? I didn't know the undead had come, my god! That's horrific! What are we to do if they come here?”

Arden clutched his chest in a panic, it was one thing to fight living men and another to fight the cursed hordes of darkness that scrambled up from fetid graves. It was the stuff of every child's nightmares, banshees and rotten corpses, giant abominations with their guts hanging out all over the place. Scrambling skeletons bursting from the bodies of the fallen. But then the thought dawned on him and everything he had experienced thus far made sense.

“Marcos,” Arden said, “did you fight undead? Is that why you're so cold and silent? I don't mean to offend- I can't help but ask questions.”

Marcos glanced up at him, his smile was thin.

“I did fight the undead,” Marcos said.

“Were you scared?” Arden said.

“Not of death,” Marcos said, “scared that I'd never see you again.”

Stiffly, Marcos got up from the chair. He moved slowly, carefully towards Arden who couldn't quite explain why a rigid terror went all through his limbs.

There was something in Marcos' gaze, some horrible strange darkness. Like a crawling horror, Arden felt it move across his skin. Marcos was his best friend, he shouldn't have felt like that...

And yet.

Arden turned to run and that was when Marcos grabbed him, hauled him by the shirt neck. He began to scream.

“Help! Help!” Arden shrieked, “my friend's gone mad!”

“No one will hear you,” Marcos said, “for you see, they're all dead. I made sure before I visited.”

As Arden was dragged backwards towards the hearth he could see more clearly what might have gone wrong. Marco's face was hollowed out, it was pallid, slightly pock marked with signs of rot.

“Ahh!” Arden let out a scream.

“I met your father already,” Marcos said, “and all the miners on the way here. Our armies tore through them, they died fighting. Are you pleased by this? All brave men. I gave them burials befitting good soldiers. They won't be touched by the dark magic that animates my cursed soul.”

“God help me!” Arden cried, “for god's sake this is madness! Marcos! You must be in there, you must remember our friendship! Let me go, please!”

“I remember,” Marcos said, and at this his voice went low and quiet, “I remember how much I loved you. And you spurned me, once.”

“Because I'm not like that,” Arden said, desperation growing, “I didn't hate you, I told you that! I just wasn't that way with men! Let me go, please. I won't say anything, I'll live my whole life not having said a word. You can keep the town, but please! If you loved me, show me still that you love me by letting me go!”

“I love you still,” Marcos said, his face written with pain, “I love you and so I must have you. I must-”

Strange that something so terribly dead heaved with such emotion, that Marcos' eyes clouded almost with tears. Arden thought he could see strange colored drops leave Marco's dead eyes, bright blue and glowing.

“Let me go,” Arden tried again, “maybe I can find someone to help. Maybe there's a cure-”

The dead man's gaze turned wicked when it landed on him and Arden screamed, he shouted for his life. But it wasn't his life that Marcos wanted to steal, it was something even worse. Marcos held Arden down on the floor with one hand, he pressed his other over Arden's heart and thrust dark magic straight into his chest.

Arden's back arched, his eyes rolled back into his head. His heart stopped beating. Quickly, without hesitation Marcos took out a small, glowing blue dagger and cut lightly along Arden's wrists and arms. The blood drops that fell burned into the floor, a symbol glowed around them and then exploded in a violent pink light.

Once again, Arden's heart began to beat, though weakly and with a strange power forcing it. His dark hair turned stark white, the tears that dripped down his cheeks burned scars into his face. Purple streaks dotted his skin like strange tattoos.

“You are damned,” Marcos said, “just as I am.”

“No,” Arden choked, “No!”

“You're mine,” Marcos said, and when he smiled his teeth were like sharp knives, blackened with rot, “I'll have you as I wish, when I wish. This farm where I loved you will become a paradise for death.”

There was a room in the farm house where the family slept, a large bed was in the center that had once belonged to Arden's father, who was now dead. It was there that Marcos carried his friend and laid out his twitching body. The cuts and scrapes from the dagger had healed themselves but Arden's nerves were wracked with supernatural pain.

“Please stop,” Arden croaked, his throat dry, “please! I beg you, you're my friend!”

Marcos was intent on getting what he wanted.

“You have no idea what thoughts of you did,” Marcos said, “you don't know the power of death, not yet. But you will. I'll be sure you understand. I was driven mad by it, mad by thoughts of you in my darkest moment. It was the thought of you that kept me from a clean death! I'm going to have you, as much a duty as a punishment. Don't forget, you made me this! Now, love me! Love me as you should!”

Arden tried to wrench away but he was in pain, he was so weak from whatever dark magic had been worked upon him. He wasn't sure what else to do but scream. Though if the town had already been beset, he had no idea if anyone was alive to hear him.

“Stop!” Arden tried again, “Marcos, please! I love you, stop!”

Above him Marcos hovered, hesitated for a moment. Arden felt the hot tears rush down his own cheek, he was still in there. Underneath all the death and rot. But then the rotten mouth pressed against his forcefully, Marcos violated the only man he had ever loved with a repulsive kiss. He forced Arden's mouth open to accept his thick, blackened tongue. Tears streaked down Arden's face, he was horrified.

He was also becoming strangely aroused, a testament to some dark magic working through them.

“What have you done to me,” Arden said, “you bastard!”

For his trouble, Marcos gripped Arden around his shoulder. Their clothes slid off as if by an invisible hand, magic itself moving to strip them.

Arden didn't want to enjoy it, he didn't want to be privy to such a terrible thing. This wasn't Marcos! It was some horrible monster. He wished ardently for some paladin to approach, to find them here and bring Marcos release into a true death before he'd touched him. He knew his best friend wouldn't have done this, not in his right mind. Not ever, before. But now...the deathly eyes looked at him with a wild hunger.

Arden was held down. He was going to be used like a woman, he could tell. The powerful, nude body of Marcos' was marked with injuries, holes where arrows had gone through. Mottled flesh that oozed drops of bright blue blood. It dripped against Arden's naked pallid skin, dotting it.

“My god, please stop!” Arden said.

He tried to block it out, being entered. But he couldn't no matter how he tried not to enjoy it. The dark magic was swirling, it was building. He could feel it enter him along with Marcos' massive length.

What was this? Was it death itself crawling into him from deep places, was it un-life creeping from the mired depths to claim him? Arden knew nothing about magic, he knew nothing of sorcery or necromancy. All he knew was the feeling of his best friend taking him with some dark and evil magic, against his will.

“I love you,” Marcos mumbled, “from the depths of my soul, I love you-”

A hissing sound, a damning whisper in Arden's ear.

Marcos thrust hard inside Arden's innocent body. He pressed himself so deep Arden thought he'd cause some injury. But the magic knew what to do, the cursed symbols grew around them. That was when the feeling of pleasure grew to desperate heights. Arden felt it moving through his limbs, felt his own blood coming to life.

“No,” Arden wept, “please no! I don't want to feel this-!”

Frantic thrusts met against Arden's backside, he felt himself shaking from it. Trembling all over. Was he going to reach his finish like this, being raped by his best friend's wicked corpse? Arden screamed, he came. His eyes rolled back into his head from the pleasure and the pain.

The spell around them exploded in a beautiful magenta light. Arden's eyes went wide, the last vestiges of his mind snapped like a twig against the onslaught of necromantic magic. Everything became red and then it went completely, mercifully dark.

There was a gentle touch against his cheek.

“Arden,” a familiar voice called.

Arden opened his eyes. Everything was dark. It was silent in the farm house. There was a deathly silence outside. But it wasn't bad any longer, it was good. It was right.

“Come awake, my love,” Marcos called.

It sounded very far away but Arden managed to focus his eyes.

“That's it,” Marcos said, tenderly, “come back to me.”

Once sat up on his elbows, Arden could see his best friend who was clothed in only his shirt and trousers. Some time must have passed, the disarray of the room had been straightened up. There was a jug of water nearby, and some cleaning rags. Arden could see the scars on his arm cleared of any blood, they glowed an almost pink color like sacred, magical markings.

“I've brought you a robe,” Marcos said, “clean up. Refresh yourself. We must go together and meet our friends.”

“Friends?” Arden said, his voice came out at a strange, warped whisper.

He didn't consider that even his speech had become cursed by undeath, and merely wondered if his throat was dry.

“Yes, my contingency remember,” Marcos said, “you're a very important soldier. They must meet you, to be sure.”

The eyes of the dead knight were diabolical and Arden finally noticed how he felt strange and dreamy. There were things he had cared about before. Things he had concerned himself with that had all fallen away into dust. The knight was his master, his best friend, Marcos. Marcos was the one who would hold him down and- his mind trembled. He shook all over.

With a gentle hand, Marcos calmed his shaking. He touched his face tenderly, gave him a kiss on his forehead.

“I'll help you, over here,” Marcos said.

He guided Arden to the table the family used for washing up. Arden gratefully splashed tepid water on his face, he scrubbed hard. He cleaned himself with his cloth, between his spunk spattered legs. Marcos was busily putting on his armor, Arden glanced at Marcos' strong arms, his enormous muscles and the strange mottle of his skin before quickly glancing back to his own mirror.

He could see himself in the tarnished glass, his hair was white. His eyes were a glowing, limpid violet. The marks on his body were artful, looked like they had meaning. Had they always looked this way? He wasn't sure. He wiped himself dry with a worn, white cloth. He picked up the robe that Marcos had laid out for him.

“What are these symbols along the edges?” Arden asked, “it's very fine, isn't it?”

It was a beautiful robe, it looked like something a wizard would wear. There was a breeze between his legs when he put it on but Arden didn't mind. It made him feel freer than he would have been in trousers, he trembled a little at the thought of being had again.

But he stopped himself from thinking of it further. No, he wasn't supposed to. There was some danger to that, some quibble he couldn't recall offhand.

“You're beautiful like this,” Marcos said.

“I prefer handsome,” Arden said.

“Handsome, then,” Marcos said, a slight smile on his rotted face.

Together they walked out into a hazy morning, a mysterious fog sat thickly across the fields. It shrouded everything and obscured the spindly shapes lurching a far distance from the house. Even the sun seemed limpid, hanging in the haze thick sky like a pallid dot.

“Where are we going?” Arden said.

“To the center of the fields. Hold onto my waist,” Marcos said, “I'll take you there faster, this way.”

Gripping the knight's mid-section, Arden felt himself being spun and pulled. It was like riding the wind, moving and hurling through space. They weren't human, they were fog that flowed and moved with the fetid air that hung heavy and thick, they were the howling wind and screaming skies filled with crows. Until they were dropped, whole once again in the middle of a great field covered in corpses. Arrows jutted up from bodies, it looked like a battle had been fought, peasant and soldier all struck down.

Arden laughed lightly feeling rather giddy, and prodded a corpse with his foot. It was deathly still here, quiet except for the sounds of groans coming from some distant place.

Far from him in the field stumbling around, Arden saw a familiar face.

“Farmer Orwen!” Arden shouted, “Hello!”

He waved enthusiastically.

The farmer stared at him and began shuffling towards the familiar voice, he tilted his rotten head. His jaw hung loose, nearly dangling off and some of the skin around his face looked like it had been chewed away. But there was intelligence in his gaze, a knowingness.

“There you are, knighted bastard. We brought the fort down,” the farmer snarled at Marcos, “now where is our reward? Where are our families? When are they to be ressurected?”

“We struck a deal,” Marcos said quietly, his voice as lifeless as his body, “as you know, one half was delivered. The other half, later, when the keep is secured.”

“I suppose I'll have to accept that,” the farmer said, he lurched towards Arden, “I can see what you were busy with in the meantime, Marcos. He was always a fetching young man with a strong mind, good on you for keeping him.”

“Hello,” Arden said, excitedly, “are you ready for the market? I think I can hear it already starting in the town square!”

Looking as alarmed as something rotting and undead could, the farmer glanced at Marcos with a disapproving look.

“Does he know what's happened to him? What have you done to that poor man? Come here, boy,” the farmer said.

“He knows somewhat,” Marcos said, “the loftiness of the magic may have been quite a lot for him.”

“Does he know what we are?” the farmer said, “stand here, Arden. Let me get a look at you. Not too gnawed upon are you? No, no injuries to the head I can see and just as handsome as ever. Is he really dead?”

“As dead as we are, just in a different way,” Marcos said, “he's a progenitor.”

The farmer shuddered, lip curling in disgust.

“Oh, dear sweet Arden what a curse you've got,” the farmer murmured, “couldn't keep your hands to yourself when it was him, could you? Revolting bastard. Arden, I'm so sorry. Your parents are dead, everything you knew is changed. But I'll take care of you, yes? I've got the farm now, yeah? And someday soon, you'll be in the keep.”

The farmer attempted to pat Arden's shoulder but his arm fell off. Arden reached down and picked it up, handing it to him gladly.

Arden said, in a dreamy tone, “The keep? I haven't been there since I was a child. I'm all right Owen, I'm with Marcos now. But I think you need a bit of fixing up.”

“Mad as anything,” Owen said, “mind what I said. If you have any troubles, I'll look after them. It's the least I could do after-”

“After what?” Arden said, glancing over the fog sodden fields.

As the fog of the morning lifted, Arden realized where the groans were coming from. There were crumbling skeletons holding axes, they glanced at him and nodded in his direction. Some of them had bits of flesh still clinging to their forms and heaps of still twitching human meat were slumped at their feet. Along the edges of the field, Arden could have sworn he saw the white glowing form of a woman, as if she were a ghost. And coming up from the ground at that very instant not a few feet away, was a rotten man.

“Dammit! He's come up late. Let me help you,” Owen said, wielding his shovel, “hold on, don't peel what's left off. It takes ages to sew it back on, I may only have one arm but I can still dig with it!”

“Damn you to hell!” the corpse screamed, as it bloomed from the earth like a rotten flower, “What is this nonsense? I'm stuck in the mud! Wasn't my betrayel good enough for you, or are shovels only used for the nobility? You codswalloping bastards! Get me out of here!”

“Shush now,” the farmer said, “I'm here with Marcos, we're getting you up.”

“Marcos? Damn him too!” The corpse screamed as it writhed in the earth.

“I like this place,” Arden murmured, “it's so lively.”

If it was madness or mercy that had warped Arden's mind, it was hard to tell. This was his village after all and farmer Own was a kind man, he always had been. He was helping the unfortunate soldier in the ground get out, which made it seem even more true. The skeletons bowed low as Marcos lead Arden towards the large, sinister symbol that burned in what had once been his father's fields. And Arden understood that his family wouldn't wake, that they were sleeping quietly in the earth. They had fought, they had tried to save him-

And if his thoughts went that way his mind would blank and tear itself apart.

“Ah, he's finally arrived,” the skeleton in fanciful, ochre colored robes spoke in a woman's voice, “the lover of our great Commander, Marcos the Ruiner. And what is your name, sweet one? Death birther of shadows?”

“Arden,” he said, dreamily, “where's the market? I hear the commotion but I don't see any stalls. I was hoping there'd be pastries.”

“Arden the mad, then,” the skeletal woman said, narrowing her glowing eyes, “you're the cornerstone of this whole place, do you know what a magical focus is? What powerful elements of the unliving earth do? I can see the vacancy in your eyes from being stuffed with such powerful magic, we're lucky you still remember who you were in the slightest. Now stand here, in this center. You are damning everyone here to eternal servitude, in the name of our great necromancer.”

“The what?” Arden said, he had heard the word spoken but he didn't understand exactly what they were talking about it.

“Our necromancer,” the skeleton woman repeated, “he raises the dead out of love. And you were loved by Marcos, and so Marcos was corrupted and taken into undeath by his wicked magic so he could have you. And here you are, very handsome. I'll give you that. Too bad about the brain but I can't fix that, not without doing more damage. Now hold still...”

The skeletal woman used her bony hands to push Arden gently to the center of the symbol. It glowed around him, it spread out into the sky. He could feel it moving through his limbs.

It felt amazing. It felt incredible! It felt like, what he had felt laying under Marcos while his blood had been spilled it felt like-

For a brief moment, Arden's sanity returned. Horrors overtook him, the corpse that had unburied itself. Owen the kindly farmer rotten and dead. And what he said, that they had betrayed the town. His eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a cry that echoed in the deadened fields, that caused the undead hordes to pause in their cruel work and look up to the darkening, death tainted sky in mystical admiration.

“Very good,” the skeletal woman said, “you've done well.”

Arden blinked as the glowing light died, coming back to his strange mental haze.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

The land was as it should be again, everything was well. He was painless, suddenly.

“I want to go home,” Arden said, as some longing struck him.

“Keep what little wits you have about you,” the skeletal woman said, “your work is over. Marcos will come to you when his duties are done. You've seen enough for now, I think.”

After Arden spent a few hours sat on a large stone admiring the hazy glowing sky, Marcos finally took his hand and began to guide him home the old fashioned way. It was a slow and ambling walk, perhaps because Arden felt a little out of sorts and Marcos didn't want to shock him with more magic. Marcos nodded at the town butcher in the field who had been hacking up dead bodies. The man leered at Arden with half a face exploding with pointed teeth. There was a glowing woman they met along the road that Arden recognized as one of his mother's old friends.

“Hello Greta,” Arden said, nodding at her, she had been dead for years.

She turned her head, her sorrowful eyes went wide at the sight.

“Oh Arden, I haven't seen you since you were a child,” she said, “we forgive you. Myself and all my children.”

“Are those the small lights that follow you?” Arden said.

“That they are,” her ghostly brow furrowed, “are you feeling all right Arden?”

“Oh, I'm fine,” Arden said, “a little tired. Just going home from the market.”

The stern form of Marcos loomed nearby, he was observing a skeleton that was hacking up a body in the field. The armor made Marcos look so impressive, quite frightening really but Arden didn't want to linger on what the spikes and skulls and strange necromantic symbols meant. Thinking that way, his head would begin to hurt and he would start to scream.

“I see,” she said, warily, “I suppose the death curse affects us all a little differently.”

Once home Arden sat on the floor of his dark and empty farmhouse and stared silently into the shadows. He could hear the sounds of the inner earth from under his knees. The worms and insects churning, they came to him up from the blood stained earth gladly. They knew his kind and loved them. His mind began to play cruel tricks, he could still hear and see his brothers. If he wished it, their dream selves would talk to him just as they had before. His father chided him, how dare he let Marcos into his heart. How dare he side with an undead knight and kill them all-

“Arden,” the voice snapped him from his imaginings.

“Oh, hello. How long have you been here?” Arden said, tilting his head slightly, “I haven't prepared the stew.”

“There won't be any menial labors for you,” Marcos said kindly, “I've called in skeletons from the fields, they'll help you with anything you need here or anywhere.”

Arden looked curiously at him, “then what do I do on the farm? What job do I have?”

“We won't be living here for long, we're going to take the keep for our own,” Marcos said, “just lay with me because I love you.”

“Oh,” Arden said, not entirely understanding anything, “are you going to make love to me now?”

“Yes,” Marcos said, a slow and wicked smile growing on his face, “now, come to bed.”

In bed, Arden was swiftly stripped of his robe. He felt some terrible memory rising up, he felt his body tremble at the thought. Marcos held him down, he had an experienced man's lust and forcefulness. Arden hadn't laid with anyone, though he had thought about girls at the Inn. He wasn't quite the same. They would couple none the less, if Arden wanted it or not. Forced onto his back he felt Marcos push his way inside his broken and death wracked body. It felt horrible at first, like some strange thing invading his insides, then it felt good. Arden felt the magic begin to crawl through his veins, burst from the inside with affection. It was like he could feel the desire Marcos felt for him.

“Oh!” Arden cried, “why does it feel good?”

“Because I love you,” Marcos hissed, “and all this death is the proof of it!”

Marcos turned him over and held Arden's thigh aloft in his hand and ravaged him. He pressed into his insides, he groaned his pleasure.

“I can feel your insides getting softer,” Marcos said, “you're producing what you need to be bred.”

“What?” Arden said, body trembling, he didn't understand.

“The horrors that will come from you will taint this land and grow its necromantic power,” Marcos said.

He leaned his body over Arden and whispered into his ear.

“You are the cause of this place, don't forget,” Marcos said, “you refused me and now I have you under my thrall forever.”

“No, please,” Arden said, his mind momentarily coming back to him, “I don't want this curse!”

Marcos fucked him with such intensity, the bed creaked under the strain of their coupling. Groaning, Marcos released his cum inside of Arden's body, held him down and made sure every drop remained where it should.

“This is your punishment,” Marcos said, “for not loving me. And your greatest reward.”

“Ahh!” Arden cried out.

No one living heard. No one ever would, the land swelled and darkened under the onslaught of the undead. The skeletons in the field turned their head slightly at the sound, they acknowledged the power of the one they served. The fields were alive with corpses and the bright sky would never be again.