Exist

The story concept came to me a I was wondering about what it would be like to 'live' as an undead. It's not terribly original, I know, but hey, here's to hoping I give you a good read regardless.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prologue: Flee

When you boiled it down to the barest essentials, you were no longer safe anymore.

Sure, you could pretend you were safe. You could talk of the Argent Dawn and alliance with the Night Elves and the fact that the Scourge's sudden offensive from Naxxramas had been blunted. Maybe if you talked long enough and loud enough, people might actually believe you.

But in truth, you weren't safe. Anywhere. Not in fortified towns. Not in the villages. Not anywhere.

And every once in a while, that simple fact was driven home anew. Often with unpleasant results.

Amelia walked alongside the wagon, keeping her gaze low as the caravan trundled their way through the woods. Another group that was all but ready to abandon Lordaeron and head for Kalimdor and the island city of Theramoore.

In truth, she bore rather mixed feelings over this whole affair. That she was leaving these accursed lands and to a new place – one relatively free of the Undead's curse – was of course a good thing. That she would be – at long last – reunited with her father, who was apparently off defending themselves against the Horde over there.

Still… the prospect of leaving the lands she had grown up in, of leaving the only life she'd ever had behind… it wasn't the most comforting of thoughts.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "There's nothing left for me here." She whispered in an attempt to still the disquiet in her heart.

It was a mistake. As soon as she uttered those words, the memories she had done her level best to bury were dredged up again, swirling around in her mind and forcing her to come to grips – yet again – that her mother and brother were both no longer of this world.

The cold fury – tinged with stark fear – of the Undead that had so suddenly left her bereft of her sibling and parent, caused her to close her eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm herself down. A single tear rolled down her cheek, one that she angrily wiped away. She needed to be strong.

A scream suddenly broke through the misty path. Then more, rising both in volume and rapidity. Amelia whipped her head up, catching flashes of movement on both sides of the wood. As one of them paused, stumbled by some root, she saw clearly his rotting skin that revealed his skeletal grin. An Undead.

Fighting hard against her sudden shortness of breath, she glanced towards the rear of the caravan, where a trio of man dressed in dark robes were walking forward slowly, their ornate staffs glowing a sickly yellow. Even as she stared in consternation, a former member of the caraven rose again, stumbling with an uneven gait as he joined the melee.

Bursting out from the leafy undergrowth, two undead zombies, eyes glowing with unearthly malice, leapt directly at her. Instinctively she ducked, and one of them sailed over head, crashing into the wagon she had been walking besides. The other managed to rake her with its claws, but the wounds were shallow, and rolling Amelia was able to put a fair distance between her and the beasts.

All around them, more and more cries heralded the increasing numbers of undead that had appeared – seemingly from nowhere – all around them. As Amelia staggered to her feet, clutching her wounded arm, she glanced around wildly, trying to find some escape from the evil that had come upon them.

It was their eagerness to slay all in their path that gave the few survivors their slim opening. As the undead fell upon the rest with savage fury, a select few rallied together in their panic, seeking to break through into the nearby woods where perhaps safety might be found.

As part of that tiny group, Amelia struggled for breath, and for the strength to keep pace with the rest of them as they rushed for the trees. As her legs pumped frantically, she heard the screams of unlucky stragglers as the ghouls – aided by their superhuman endurance – brought them down with grim efficiency.

As they passed through the threshold of the trees, all was lost except for the sound of ragged breathing and the blank fear. The Undead were known for being efficient in their work. Very efficient.

Still, after several long minutes of running, and with no sudden appearance of Undead to tear her to shreds, Amelia dared to let herself believe they had been able to escape – that they would be able to live.

But even now, Death's cold tendrils reached out to seize her.

Abruptly she stumbled, collapsing to the dirt ground as the world spun around her. Fighting nausea, she pulled herself to her feet – only to collapse once again. A violent fit of coughing wracked her body, and when it passed, she could feel her strength steadily ebbing away.

"No…" She whispered, trying to deny reality. "Please, no…"

She'd heard the stories. She knew the symptoms of the Lich King's dread plague, draining the body of all strength even as it claimed the essence of its hosts, converting them into the mindless undead, bound eternally to the will of the Lich King

"Please…" She whispered, too exhausted to even shout for help. Not that it mattered – who would come to her aid. The party she had been fleeing with had long since vanished further into the woods by now.

"Please… somebody… anybody… help." Tears of anguish and terror rolled slowly down her cheeks. Slowly, she lifted her arm to drag herself across the ground, trying to move, to flee. Somewhere. Anywhere.

The effort failed, of course. She was just a simple village girl – what could she do? After a backbreaking effort, she finally managed to slump down in a sitting position, her back resting against a sturdy trunk.

She didn't know how long she lay there on the cold earth, feeling the dulling ache slowly spread through her body. It was all she could do to keep drawing in air, feeling her body fight hopelessly against the darkness seeking to overthrow it.

Suddenly there came the pounding of feet, and a trio of undead appeared in her line of vision. The lead one who would have been entirely skeletal if not for the few forlorn strips of flesh clinging to his skin, bent down, staring at her closely.

A single arm was drawn back, flexed into a claw that would be brought down upon her skull with all the unholy might it could muster. Sobbing frantically, Amelia tried to twist around, trying to avoid a blow she knew would bring death. And then worse…

"Leave her." The voice was cold, imperious. "She'll be one of us shortly enough." One of the men in the dark robes spoke even as he calmly pushed aside a branch. "Chase down the others."

Without another sound the three of them whirled continued their chase through the dark woods, intent on hunting down those whose legs still afforded her strength to flee..

The necromancer glanced idly off into the distance, obviously waiting, while Amelia just sat there – shivering as a strange numbness slowly spread through her entire body. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of her own hand, lying sprawled on the ground.

Even with her darkening vision, she could see the grey pall that had fallen upon her skin.

What will it feel like? Will it hurt? I don't want to become one of them. I don't want to die. I don't want to die, please, help me help me I don't want to die- I … She had lost her mother and brother to the undead. She didn't want to join their ranks. She didn't want to fight in service to the Lich King. She didn't… she didn't want…

Help me… Even her mind was slowing, shutting down as her body succumbed to the dark power the Lich King wielded. Her breathing became raspy, her eyes hooded. Her fingers twitched – independently of her will.

No… I can't… my eyes… keep them open… A futile effort. The world was lost to her, and her eyes slid shut.

Her consciousness dimmed, fading in upon itself. It shouldn't have ended this way. She should have been reaching the harbour by now – boarding a ship bound for Kalimdor. She should have been away from the Undead…

She hadn't stopped crying once since she'd realized what had happened, and even now, she could still feel the tears on her cheeks.

It shouldn't have ended this way.

Father…

Abruptly she felt something grab her roughly by her hair, tilting her head back.

"Drink this." Something was inserted between her lips, and a vile taste filled her mouth. Her body convulsed instinctively at the horrid taste, but lacked the strength to do much of anything else.

Whatever that liquid was, it didn't appear to have done much good. The last bright spark of her consciousness faded, and then all was cast into the abyss…

"She's taking a long time to wake."

"I barely found her in time, damn you! Of course it'll take longer this way."

"Hrmph. The others say she was already gone by the time you reached her."

"If she had been, she'd be Scourge, and she'd have risen by now. And of course she'd be dead. Real dead."

Harsh voices were the first thing that penetrated the thick fog in her mind. She squinted slightly. Where-? What had happened?

Suddenly, she remember with a jolt all that had transpired. The caravan she had been with had been attacked, she'd fled… and ended up infected with the Plague. What had happened. She wasn't… she couldn't really…

Fear chose that moment to shove its cold spike into her gut. Slowly, dreading every second of it, she forced her eyes open.

She stared up into a stone ceiling, elaborately carved. From several nooks and crannies fetid water dripped down, though thankfully none fell on her. She had apparently been placed lying down.

Something felt strange, though, and it took her nearly a minute of thinking to finally get it.

There was a silence in her chest. She felt the stillness. The stillness that no man alive had ever lived to tell off. No man alive…

The cold spike twisted sharply.

Slowly, she raised a shaking hand in front of her face. It was pallid and grey. Across her arm to her elbow was a tear in the flesh. She remembered that wound. She'd received it when the attack started. It had burned terribly and she remembered uttering a silent curse for that wound.

Now, she would have given the whole world to feel that pain again. In its place was but burning emptiness.

The shock of this discovery swirled together with the cold dread in her heart, exploding from her mouth in a long and steady wail of terror, rage, and despair.

She was now one of them. One of the beings that had slain her mother, her brother, and her village. One of those trapped between life and death – cursed to walk the earth until they were torn apart or whatever vile sorcery that granted them the pale mockery of life finally extinguished itself.

One of the Undead.

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