So, this is a one-shot. I have zero plans or intentions of continuing this fanfic further unless people want more. This fanfic premise was born out of frustration and anger, without a plan or even a structure. I made this as a proof of concept for myself, and to helm me re-find how I write.
Anyways, take with a grain of salt. Thank you for your time and enjoy!
CHAPTER 01 – Wiedergänger
The Band of the hawk has just won another battle. The light cavalry are returning after having ran down the retreating Tudor forces.
A pair of men get to piling bodies for disposal.
The law of causality hangs over the head of someone that doesn't belong here…
Someone that doesn't belong in this world – someone they're about to meet.
. . .
"Well, at least we're not shoveling shit!"
"You can say that again Earl."
The two continued hauling bodies on top of the pile.
"Aright, where's the fluid the alchemist gave us?"
"The gasoline? It's right here."
"Well, let's get to it. This is going to STINK!"
A dark cloud obscured the sun as they doused the pile of bodies and lit it with a flint and steel.
They were just ready to leave when-
"Say Earl, did you hear something?"
" Nah cousin. I-"
They did hear something. The cloud thickened, throwing their area into a shadow.
"Did we accidentally-"
Something like a pike-weapon burst forth from the pile of ablaze corpses as one of the submerged bodies frantically wriggled its way out, grazing a shoulder of one of the workers – the injury tearing through clothing and drawing blood.
They both responded appropriately by screaming.
"Wiedergänger! Run for it!"
The two sprinted for their lives as the supposed undead crawled from the pile of ablaze bodies of the dead, coughing and hacking as a familiar red substance from his own throat emerged.
A male figure, covered in torn rags and pants ablaze, crawled out of the pile as swiftly as he could.
He swatted the flames off of his garments, crawling like an animal out of the burning heap of bodies to safety.
He gasped for air again, crawling farther away from the bonfire of corpses behind him.
The person looked around, still holding the spear in his hand.
After taking a moment to process, he finally allowed himself to catch his breath.
He vomited, his brain and stomach sick from the ungodly smell and the unhygienic situation.
Silence.
He vomited again.
He tried to call out, only to cough and hack as his throat ached from the vomiting fit.
Silence.
Once again, he tried to call out for help, but nothing came out.
He recollected his breathing and tried to speak again. Something. Anything. A squeak would be preferable.
"Hgkrck" He succeeded in that and not much farther.
He tried again.
"Heugh!"
The same non-word sounds emitted.
He looked around.
No one came. His only company was a pile of aflame corpses.
One of the fingers twitched, followed by a groan. One of the dead bodies lifted its head and turned to look at him.
The corpse smiled.
The clouds parted, shining the sun on the pile, driving out a visible evil spirit that was in the carcass.
The stranger held the spear in his hands.
At first, he remained silent, then started laughing. The mad laughing got louder.
He continued until a violent sneeze snapped him out of it.
In silence, he paused, looking at himself, smelling himself.
"… This… isn't… a dream… A nightmare…"
He fell over, unconscious. Breathing through his mouth from how awful the stench burnt his nose.
Silence.
He felt someone put two fingers on his neck.
"… He still has a pulse?!"
The next thing he felt was an ice-cold sponge on his leg, washing "the bad stuff" away.
"Look at his leg. He's got cuts all over it. Same goes for… Well, EVERYWHERE!"
The sponge went away, was dunked in some sort of liquid, then he felt it scrub his face, getting more of the dried blood and disgusting fluids off of him.
"He's even got wounds on his face! Look at these twin-gashes across his cheek."
"Well… What should we do with him?"
Pause, then the other one answered.
"Wait, are those our wagons over there?"
"They are! Look, Pippin's over there too!"
"Flag him down! Tell them we found someone."
"Aye!"
A pair of tracks faded into the distance.
The stranger felt the sponge wash at his body again.
"... You seem awake. What's your name, stranger?"
"Hmm-rm, irmshm, Jrrrn-hmm" He responded, again, not able to convey what he wanted.
"… Tell you what? Until you're better, you're getting the designation "Zed", after the Wiedergänger nonsense you stirred with those two folks doing their job. That sound good to you, Gentleman Zombie?"
"No! My name is-" His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horses and a wagon.
He heard the sound of someone dismounting, followed by a shadow that blocked-out the sun, finally allowing not-Zed to open his eyes a little.
He saw a giant with a Viking haircut, a blonde guy with knives, and a child.
There was a flag waving behind the wagon: a blue sky-pointed sword, flanked by matching-colored wings over a white field.
"… No… Please no! Don't you dare tell me-"
"So, Judeau. Who is he?" The big one turned to the small guy with the knife-belt.
"… Please God! Any universe but this one! PLEASE GOD NOT BERSERK! ANY ISEKAI! PLEASE, JUST NOT BERSERK! ANY UNIVERSE BUT THIS ONE, I'LL EVEN CONSIDER GOBLIN SLAYER! PLEASE, JUST-!"
"He doesn't seem able to speak at the moment, so until then-…" Judeau smiled. He turned back to the barely conscious stranger.
"Ser Zed, this is Pippin and Rickert. I'm Judeau. We're part of The Band of the Hawk. Pleasure to meet you!"
Not-Zed panicked, but he couldn't move. He tried to kick and scream, but his body wouldn't obey him.
He could only think of a single word in his mind (which, to be fair, would be any of ours if we were in his situation).
"NO!"
In his mind, he could only scream.
As Judeau and Pippin assisted him onto a stretcher before lifting Not-Zed into the wagon, he continued to do the only thing he could do: Breathe and think.
Once they loaded him on the wagon, Not-Zed passed out.