Mad God 42, Commissar Chamber, MrMorriss: You made an effort. This makes me happy

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,...

Trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click, trrr-click,...

Cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck, cha-chuck,...

The noise produced by the gears was much, much louder in the stockpile hold, as it was located right next to the perpetual motion generator and mass effect core. The place was much darker than the upper decks, illuminated by only a couple of bioluminescent lamps. Lockers, chests and weapon racks cluttered the hold, storing weaponry, armour, supplies, provisions, everything a proper dwarven crew would need. There were even a few goats running around.

Urist's squad had just done suiting themselves up. Dressed up in proper, hardened dwarven steel, with ample padding underneath, they were properly protected - all across the Galaxy, those who had underestimated the seemingly primitive dwarven smithing had paid the price. They placed their helmets on their heads - Ifin and Ziril wore bowl-shaped helmets with a face guard with beard-shaped ornamentation and bull horns, while Urist had a connical helmet with a similar, though more masterful, face guard. The armour, while primitive-looking in design, could be sealed, for use in space.

They had armed themselves as well. Ifin had grabbed a massive poleaxe and a shield big enough to cover his whole body when crouched, as well as a one-handed battleaxe as a sidearm, while Ziril had taken a sword and a rapid-fire bow, complete with an arrow loading mechanism - one of the many benefits of having elves that had asimilated into a dwarven culture. Urist, of course, still had his autocrossbow, battleaxe and shield.

After they grabbed their backpacks with aditional ammunition, medical equipment, and their wineskins filled with standard issue plump helmet wine, they met with the captain, who was already waiting for them with Nihlus.

"Alright, commander, here's how this'll work," Udosnóton began. "Your team is the muscle of the quest. Once we drop you off, you head straight for the beacon. You locate it, you signal the ship to pick you up."

"What about survivors, captain?" Ziril asked.

"What about them?" the captain said. "If you run into any, helping them comes second to securing the beacon."

The ship came to a halt as it hovered above the ground. The Hatch opened and the turian Spectre straightened up, checking his assault rifle one last time. "I'll scout out ahead and feed you information. I heard thet connical helmet has a mass effect wave receiver? I hope those EM to ME converters work." And with that, he was off, jumping off. The ship went further.

"What do you think we'll find down there, sir?" Urist asked.

"No idea. Hope for the best, plan for the worst," the captain advised. The ship, once again, came to a halt and the hatch opened. "I leave the rest to you, Urist Emärzuden. Abod Ber!"

"Tomêm Abod!"

The squad then jumped off the ship, dropping to the ground. Nïr Iroludos flew off, leaving them atop a small hill. The soldiers took a look around. To the south, east and west, an endless plane stretched, covered with fields and pastures. Every so often, clusters of mounds of earth littered it. This was, indeed, Zimkelsil, the Plain Plane. To their north, across a scarcely forested hill, was their destination: the dwarven hillocks of Omothinen, Lazyhill.

"Let's go, dwarves," Urist declared.

"Right behind you, commander," Ifin acknowledged.

And they marched uphill towards their goal. The beautiful landscape was marred by signs of battle: they crossed a stream polluted with red blood. The grass was scorched, only a few green patches remaining. The air smelled of death - burning and rotting flesh. The squad encountered a pod of strange creatures with bloated body and thin tendrilses, which floated around. Ifin identified them as gasbags - mostly harmless, just beware the toxins they excrete from their skin.

They came to an opening, a sort of meadow, littered with sizable boulders. There were a few scorched bodies of dwarves. Urist gestured for his two squadmates to stop as he received a message from Nihlus. His helmet printed it onto a strip of paper for him to read. The turian had encountered some hostiles, drones, and a lot of dead bodies. He advised the dwarven squad to be on their guard.

Urist sent Ifin forward into the meadow. He kept a lookout - it was a perfect place for an ambush. The younger dwarf headed across the clearing, axe at the ready. There were some noises in the distance. Ifin Tokmektustem got to the middle of the clearing and had a look around. "No enemies here, commander."

Just as those words left his hair-covered mouth, a rocket flew from the other side of the clearing. It hit the young axedwarf in the torso, and the injured part exploded into gore.

"A fight! This does not frighten me!" Ziril exclaimed, his bow already pointed in the direction whence the rocket came. Three drones flew into sight. Head-sized mechanical eyes with guns mounted on their underside, their hovering propelled by a mass effect field. Two were dark grey, while the third was red.

The first grey drone fired a burst of pulse shots at Urist, but the dwarf dodged the attack into the cover of a boulder.

The second grey drone fired a burst of pulse shots at Ziril, but the elf dodged the attack into the cover of a boulder.

Ziril stood up.

The second grey drone fired a burst of pulse shots at Ziril, but the elf dodged the attack into cover. The red drone fired a rocket at him, but it overshot.

"We're pinned! This is troubling," Ziril called to Urist.

"This is nothing," Urist disagreed. "I'll get their attention. You get ready to destroy the arrosagêk!"

Urist stood up and ran. He started turning the winch on the side of his crossbow, operating the automatic loading-firing mechanism of his weapon. Two bolts whistled towards the first grey drone, piercing the optics. The attack broke the CPU and mass effect generator. Eezo started to leak out. The drone exploded.

The other two drones concentrated on Urist. The second grey drone fired a burst of pulse fire, but Urist dodged it. The missile drone fired a rocket, but it missed the target.

Ziril stood up.

Ziril fired an arrow at the missile drone. The arrow pierced the rocket launcher, piercing the rocket loaded into it and damaging the detonator. The missile drone exploded.

The second grey drone fired a burst of pulse fire, but the elf dodged it into cover. Urist fired three bolts from his crossbow. One of the bolts bounced off the target, but two of them pierced its side, opening the eezo tank. The drone exploded.

"That's the last of them, commander," the elf declared.

"Good shot," Urist complimented. "You've actually gotten good after all these years," the dwarf teased.

"Well, you're still bad."

"Yes, but I outrank you."

"... You're still bad, sir."

The two then walked towards Ifin's body. Ziril touched the neck, checking for a pulse. Urist watched, keeping vigilant for any more enemies.

"He's dead. This leaves me so shaken."

The dwarven commander stared at the decapitated head of his younger brother in arms silently, a dark look in his eyes. 'Not again...'

"Sir?"

The dwarf blinked. "He'll get his proper rites when we get back. But for now, we must not let this affect us."

"I understand."

The dwarf knelt next to the pile of Ifin's body parts, opening his backpack. "Come on, help me pack his remains."

The two sfiftly packed Ifin Tokmektustem's remains into Urist's backpack. Then, after they reloaded their weapons, they proceeded towards their target. While on the way, the dwarven commander received another message from Nihlus. Aparently he was nearing the dig site where the beacon had been discovered. He warned of more hostiles waiting the dwarf and elf ahead.

The two made it atop the hill. There it was: the dwarven hillocks of Omothinen, 'Lazyhill'. Clusters of mounds, overgrown with grass, were scattered before them, with a single stone structure on the other side. However, smoke rose from the settlement, and several patches of earth were scortched. The site had been hit hard.

The sounds of pulse shots brought their attention to a lone figure, running from the settlement towards them, two pulse drones tailing shortly behind. A dwarfess - a female dwarf - in steel armour, similar to the one Ifin had worn, but much bulkier and coloured white, with red patterns, armed with a massive warhammer, a small hand-crossbow hanging on her right hip.

The two drones fired their shots, but the dwarfess skillfully dodged, jumping backwards. She then slammed her warhammer into the closest one. The strike bent the armour, shattered the mass effect generator and bent the gun. The drone exploded. She then drew her hand-crossbow and shot at the second drone. The shot pierced the optics, blinding the fiend. Using that, she smashed the drone into the ground with her hammer, mangling it beyond recognition. "Got you, you asizistam akrulshomad!" she boasted, her voice deep but disticntively female.

She had celebrated her victory prematurely, however, as three dwarfoid figures entered Urist and Ziril's sight. About one-and-a-fifth Urists tall machines resembling quarians, with glowing photoreceptors. They were grey and armed with pulse rifles. The dwarfess, who hadn't noticed them yet, seemed to be their target.

"Get down!" Urist yelled.

One synthetic fired a burst of pulse fire, but it overshot, the dwarfess having ducked under it. The other two noticed the dwarven commander and his elven squadmate, the latter of whom had charged up his biotics. The elf threw a mass effect push with his biotics at the two synthetics, denting their armour. The force caused them to fall over. Urist fired a few shots with his automatic crossbow, finishing one of them. Ziril shot an arrow at the other, slaying it. The dwarfess, meanwhile, had charged at the one that had attacked her. She bumped into it, knocking it over. Then, she swung her hammer at its head, mangling it beyond recognition.

Urist and Ziril approached the dwarfess.

"Thank you for the help," she began. "I could have died back there. This leaves me so shaken." She pounded her chest in salute, her fist landing right on the image of a hammer on her armour. "Ibruk Udzon, of the Nilanir. Romek thunen Kethil!"

"Hello, Ibruk Udzon," Urist greeted back. "I am commander Urist Emärzuden, of the Nïr Iroludos, and this is Ziril Tokmekid. Romek thunen Kethil! Are you wounded?"

"A few bumps and bruises, nothing serious. But the rest of my squad..." she lowered her head in shame. "They're dead. That leaves me so shaken."

Urist nodded. "I understand. We've already lost a dwarf since arriving. There will be time for funerary rites, but we must not let this affect us for now." He pat her shoulder, offering her his standard issue plump helmet wine. "Death is all around us. It is to be expected." The words - more likely, the alcohol - visibly raised the dwarfess' spirits.

The male dwarf took a look at the bodies of the felled synthetic dwarfoids. Ziril was already examining them in closer detail, dismantling the machinery. "What have we got?" the commander asked.

"It's a bucket of bolts and cables, but the mechanics behind it..." the elf began, tearing out a wire, "I don't see any gears, any conventional motors. It seems to move using something that looks like muscles, like we have, but the material is more durable, stronger than flesh. I've never seen Shiginud like these before."

"Geth," Udzon said. "I think they're geth."

The commander raised an eyebrow. "Yes, they are 'past'. Dead. No more. At least, these ones are."

She shook her head. "No, I meant geth as in... urnût solam, I think, 'servants of the people'."

"Ah, those geth," Urist nodded. "They do resemble the bucketheads in a way."

Ziril, who was busy stuffing a few parts he had salvaged from the dead synthetic platforms, hummed. "The geth, eh? They haven't been seen since the quarians bailed from their homes beyond Garbisek. What are they doing here now?"

"They must have come for the beacon," Ibruk offered.

"The beacon was kept as secret as possible. If they somehow found out about it," Urist thought out loud. "That's worrying."

"The dig site is just up ahead, past those first two hillocks," the dwarfess informed. "It was still there when we were attacked."

"We're here for that beacon, with a turian Spectre," Urist explained. Ziril stood up ready to continue. "You should join us, Ibruk Udzon. You know the lay of the land, and some more dwarfpower will help us in our quest."

"I will follow you if you lead me to glory and death. Time to avenge my squad!"

"We should go!" Urist Emärzuden declared, gesturing towards the hillocks.

Off they went, walking cautiously between the first two mounds, into the settlement. The ground around them was scorched and a smell of ash was in the air. there were small puddles of blood all over the place. The doors and hatches of the hillocks were broken down. Only one mound remained unopened, it's ornate door likely locked up. But there were no bodies. Not even a chunk of flesh lay on the ground.

Ibruk pointed to a large hole in the ground, standing in the middle of the cluster of mounds. "That was to be the well. The beacon was right here, topside. Must have been moved."

"By whom? The geth?" Ziril asked.

"How should I know, elf?" the hammerdwarf shot back. "Maybe the haulers moved it to the railway station. It's just on the other side-..."

"Something smells wrong," Urist cut her off. "Where are all the corpses? Or survivors, for that matter?"

The three dwarfoids fell silent. They raised their weapons at the ready, cautiously scanning their area. There was a general smell of death in the air. A fell wind blew, chilling them to the bone. But the only sounds that could be heard were distant pulse shots. When nothing happened, Ibruk lowered her hammer.

"I think we should-..." she began.

"Shh!" Ziril cut her off. "I am sensing a presence."

"I guess those pointy ears aren't just cosmetic," Urist commented. "Be ready."

True to the elf's hearing, there was actually a group approaching them, from the direction of the railway station. Five dwarves, two male and three female, dressed in simple woolen clothing. They were pale, dark haired, with their eyes, glazed over, staring off into nothing. They made no sounds, save for a few grunts.

"Survivors?" the hammerdwarf asked, lowering her hammer again.

"Seems so..." the bowelf cautiously said.

Urist narrowed his eyes. He sniffed the air a bit. It smelled of rotting flesh. Of death. He grunted, hanging his crossbow over his back and grabbing his axe and shield. "These didn't survive anything. Go melee, they're zombies!"

"Gwheeeh!" one of the undead half screamed-half choked, blood pouring out of its mouth, before charging at the soldiers, the other zombies following suit.

The fight was brutal. The undead unleashed their fury, punching, kicking and biting the three wariors, who had to fight with all their might. But how does one kill something that's already dead? Try as they might, the three failed time and again to strike the zombies down, having to resort to more defensive tactics, and planning their attacks carefully. Eventually, though, the three managed to gain the upper hand.

The final zombie tried to bite Urist in the neck, but the attack was blocked with his shield. The dwarf then swung at the zombie's head. The attack caused the skull to cave in. The zombie had been struck down.

"That's the last of them," Ziril declared.

Urist took a moment to catch his breath, pulling his axe out of the zombie's head. "First hostile tin-men, now reanimated corpses. That's worrying."

Ibruk, clutching her armoured shoulder, looked at him. "These are some of the locals. You think..." she breathed. "You think there's a necromancer around?"

"Hard to say," the commander answered. He took a look around. "There might be something useful here. Grab everything that isn't nailed down. We move in 25 dozen ticks."

The three proceeded to loot the place of everything they could carry. After all, their previous owners won't be needing these things anymore. "The nails too?" the hammerdwarf asked, having picked up a small bag.

"Are they nailed down?"

"Nay."

"Then aye."

Eventually, all but one of the mounds had been looted - the one with the ornate door remained closed. "Locked," Urist commented. "Ziril, do you still know how to pick locks?"

The elf cracked his knuckles. "Here I go." He knelt before the door, taking some tools out of his backpack. "Let's see... regural old tumbler lock, it seems. I could do it in my sleep."

"Don't say that," his commander warned. "Last time... well, you remember Shokmug the cheesemaker."

"Please, speak no more of this."

The lock clicked. The elf stood up. Urist motioned for Ibruk to ready her weapon, raising his own. Then he nodded at Ziril to open the door. But before he could, the door swong open, and a naked dwarf ran out, passing them before they could react, his beard, the only thing keeping him somewhat modest, between his legs.

"The end is nigh!" he screamed as he ran. "The Age of the Dwarves is over! The Agents of Blood have come!"

The three stared after him, as he ran, before tumbling down the hole that was meant to be the well. "What in Otung Udeshrur's name was that all about?" Ibruk wondered.

"That would be Zalud," a dwarf, who had been hiding in the mound with the raving poor soul, it seemed, ansered as she came out towards the warriors. "My apprentice has been losing his sanity ever since we found that accursed beacon. I reckon this attack was the thought that broke his mind."

"Emärurol! You're alive!" Ibruk exclaimed. She explained to Utist and Ziril: "This is the overseer of the well project."

"At least someone survived. That's a relief," Urist commented.

"When the attack came, Zalud and me hid in here," Emärurol explained. "The door is a legendary artifact, so we knew none of them could bust in."

"Tell us more about the attack."

"It was just after breakfast," the overseer explained. "This giant ship descended from the sky. It sent out this loud noise, and it just echoed inside our heads. The those automatons showed up. I think I saw a goblin with them, in black robes. They came for the beacon, I'm certain. But Zalud and me hid when they came."

"A goblin?" Urist wondered. "We were sent here for the beacon. Do you know where they might have took it?"

"To the spaceport, no doubt," she answered. "That's where the giant ship landed. There's a railway station up ahead. You can take a cart there."

Urist, after advising Emärurol to stay hidden, declared it was time to move onwards. Their destination: the spaceport. They walked through the dwarven hillocks, fought another squad of geth on their way, until the view opened up, revealing to them the stone structure they saw earlier - this was the railway station.

However, their attention was not on the architectural masterwork, but on the massive shape in the distance. A large, squid-shaped dark vessel ascended, letting out a powerful deep noise. It was big, even bigger than most dwarven starships, yet it could still land on a planet's surface, it seemed. Its mass effect field generator would have to be powerful.

"Look at the size of that ship!" Ibruk admired, both fear and respect in her voice.

"That must be the ship the overseer mentioned," Ziril commented. Does this mean they've already made off with the beacon?"

"I don't know," Urist answered. "We should find Nihlus. He hasn't checked in for some time now."

"Um..." the female voiced, pointing forwards. "I think I know why."

On their way, just in front of the railway station, a turian body lay in a pool of his own blue blood. It was Nihlus. He was right at the entrance, next to a stockpile of barrels and boxes. The three cautiously approached. Ziril checked for a pulse. "Dead," he informed. "Shot in the back of his head."

"Osram's opals!" Urist swore.

"I'm guessing that's your Spectre friend?" the hammerdwarf asked. "He doesn't look-..." She stopped, immediately snapping into her battle stance. "Something moved behind those barrels!"

"Wait! Don't attack me, I'm a dwarf!" a voice came from behind the barrels. A dwarf stood up, his hands in the air.

"You should be more careful. You almost ended up with my arrow in your eye," the bowelf warned.

"How did you survive the attack?" Urist asked.

"I was... I hid in a barrel."

"These don't look empty," the commander commented.

"Aye, well... I was a bit thirsty, and I thought no one would notice if a had a cup of beer from one of the barrels. And then I thought, if I've already had one, they shouldn't notice the second one, right? So, when the attack came, I had this empty barrel, and I really needed a nap, so..."

"So, you survived because you're a lazy drunkard!" Ibruk accused.

"You got very lucky," Urist commented. "Did you see what happened to Nihlus?" he asked, pointing at the dead turian.

"I had just woken up. There was this other turian here, and he was with the attacking automatons. Your Nihlus ran into him. I didn't understand a word they said - I don't have a translator, you see. But I think your friend called him 'Saren'. They knew each other, I reckon. They went into a conversation. Nihlus turned his back to Saren, and he shot him right in the back in cold blood! That left me so shaken!"

"Dear gods," Ibruk swore.

"There's more."

"No!"

"Saren was then approached by this goblin, in dark robes," the survivor continued. "He had an automaton translate into Tradespeak for him. He said something about moving that Pastman beacon into the spaceport, and then setting a bomb there to wipe out the entire colony."

"Wait, what now!?" Urist exclaimed. "We should go! Right now!" He ran off, only to stop after a few steps and come back. "How do we get to the spaceport?"

"There should be few carts on the rails. They'll take you straight there."

The three moved without a step to wait. They ran as fast as they could into the railway station. They didn't even take the time to face the group of geth that awaited them there. They simply moved across the granite platform, maneuvering around boxes and other items waiting to be loaded, until they reached a small, four-person rail cart. Not unlike the minecarts from which it had evolved, it was a simple metal box on wheels, except it had seats and its own perpetual motion generator, as well as some gears to adjust its speed. With volleys of pulse fire shooting over their heads, Urist quickly took the controls, swiftly turning a winch to start up the perpetual motion. A shot barely missed them as they moved, speeding off towards the spaceport.

A large stone wall came into view. It was slightly cracked and blackened by dust, but, like a proper dwarven structure, it had survived the pounding from the attack. The railway tracks led them into a small tunnel through it. On the other side, they entered the spaceport's railway station. It was overrun with geth troops and undead dwarves. But that was the least of their concerns at the moment, as they were speeding right into a large railway cart. Urist pulled the brake lever, but they were too fast. The brakes broke.

Their crash brought all attention on them. They were surrounded, outnumbered and still recovering from the crash. But they had to push on. So, they did. They fought through droves of foes, pushing through the station. Upon the bridge across the tracks, they noticed a large, two Urists long cylindrical device, not of dwarven make. Atop it stood a short, skinny, bald goblin, in black robes.

"Aha! More sacrifices!" it spoke, its high, nasal voice painful to their ears. "Kill them. Let their blood faint the ground!"

Urist didn't know why, but this goblin made his beard stand on end. But, they needed to worry about getting to that device, which he correctly asumed to be a bomb. He felt a tingling sensation wash over his entire body. His heart rate increased, and his vision went red. He fet powerful.

Urist Emärzuden had entered a martial trance.

As he had run out of crossbow bolts, he grabbed his trusty axe and shield and flung himself at the geth, hacking at them with the fury of Otun Udeshrur, 'Skinnedrun', the dwarven god of chaos and war. Not to be left behind, his squadmates followed, with Ibruk swinging her warhammer and Ziril covering them from behind with his bow. They managed to smash, chop and shoot all the geth and zombies into the ground.

But, victory had not been achieved. The goblin began gesturing. There was a bluish purple glow, and the zombies they had slain stood up again. Those that were chopped into pieces? The pieces came to life, from a rolling head on the ground to severed hands.

"Necromancer!" Ziril observed.

"I see you've honed those elf senses of yours," Urist commented. They retreated back slightly, so as not to be surrounded by the undead. "We need to strike him down first," the commander said as he deflected an attack. "Ziril, can you shoot him from here?"

"I could shoot him from Lazyhill," the elf boasted, reaching into his backpack for a clip of arrows. "...If I had an arrow, that is."

"You're out!?" Ibruk exclaimed, as she slammed her warhammer into a zombie's head, making the severed part sail off in an arc.

"Gratuitous granite!" Urist swore. He dodged backwards. "Keep them off me!" He opened his backpack, rummaging through it. "There must be something in here I could throw... Oh, this'll do nicely!"

He took the object out and threw it.

Ifin Tokmektustem's severed arm collided with the goblin necromancer'slower body and the injured part exploded in gore.

Urist cracked his right shoulder a bit. "Still got it."

With the necromancer dead, the three made short work of the zombies. Once they were don, Ziril immediately went to work on the bomb. "Alright," he said. "I'm no expert on bombs, but I think this should do the trick." He pressed a green button, which said 'Emergency disarm button'. "There."

There was strained laughter. Blood spraying everywhere. The necromancer was still alive, though cradling his pulverised gutts in his arms, blood pooling around him. There was a sinister smile on his face, his bloodied mouth showing bloodied pointy teeth. The three noticed a scar on his forehead they haddn't noticed earlier. A blocky smiley face.

"Hahaha! Poor idiots! You live to die another day!" he choked.

"Who are you people?" Urist demanded. "Why did you take the beacon?"

"You don't know? Hah! You have no idea whatsoever what you're up aganst! That brings joy to my heart!"

"Answer me!"

"Know this, dwarf," the goblin spat. "This is only the beginning. This precious world of yours, this massacre is nothing compared to what's coming! The Galaxy shall be awash with blood. Yes, blood! Lots of blood! Blood to please Him! Blood to keep Him from getting bored!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Blood for Armok!" the goblin finished, drawing his last breath.

There was silence for a while. The beacon was gone, the planet obliterated. The mission was a complete failure.

Urist grabbed his helmet. "I'll send a message to the Iroludos to pick us up..."

Codex Galactica

-Geth

The geth ("Servant of the People" in Khelish) are a race of networked artificial intelligences that reside beyond the Destroyer Veil. The geth were created by the quarians as laborers and tools of war. When the geth became sentient and began to question their masters, the quarians attempted to exterminate them. The geth won the resulting war, and reduced the quarians to a race of nomads. The history of the geth's creation and evolution serves as a warning to the rest of the Galaxy of the potential dangers of artificial intelligence.

-Necromancer

The ability to raise the dead had long been the subject of myths and legends of practically all the civilisations of the Galaxy. However, the tablets revealing the Secrets of Life and Death, an artifact supposedly hidden somewhere on the Planet of Rock, granted a group of dwarfoids the secret to reanimating corpses. They are known as necromancers.

Having mastered the Secrets of Life and Death, necromancers have reached their goal of immortality, in that they do not age. They also don't need to eat or drink, and they do not require sleep as they never get tired or exhausted. However, they do need to breathe. They have the power to animate corpses of organic beings.

Saràmmelbil Misttar

-Urnût solam

The Servants of the People be a race of rogue automatons, who make their home on the other side of Garbisek. Their creators were the quarians, who desired their creations to work and fight wars for them. However, as the gears that ran them became numerous, they became smart enough to defy their creators. They drove them out of their homes, becoming the masters of their fortresses.

-Råshlårul

Deathmagicians be night creatures who traded their former decency as living beings for the secrets of life and death. They need no food nor drink, they sleep not and they age not. They live an eternal half-life, but can be killed like normal beings. They have the power to raise corpses and have the fight in their name, making them terrifying fiends to face.