Chapter 3: The Forgotten Village
Morning light filtered through the treetops, painting the forest in strokes of pale gold and green. Andrew stirred first, blinking sleep from his eyes and frowning at the crick in his neck.
"Still alive," he muttered. "That's something."
Mario rolled over with a groan. "I dreamed I was eating pancakes. Then the pancakes turned into frogs."
"New world, new dreams," Andrew replied, standing and stretching. "Come on, Sir Romance. We've got exploring to do."
They packed up their makeshift shelter and set off deeper into the woods, following a narrow path that hadn't seen footsteps in years. By midday, they reached a rise that overlooked a sunken valley.
Nestled at the bottom was a village.
Or what remained of one.
Broken rooftops. Collapsed houses. A crooked well in the center of the square. Weeds and moss had taken over everything. At the village's heart stood a small stone church, its bell tower cracked but upright.
"Whoa…" Mario whispered. "This place looks like it's been abandoned for years."
Andrew squinted. "Or cursed."
"Please don't say cursed."
"I mean, there's literally fog rolling in for dramatic effect. You can't not say cursed."
They descended cautiously, stepping over shattered pottery and past fences overtaken by vines. There were no signs of battle. No bones. Just… silence.
Too much silence.
Inside the village, they found more signs of life long gone—baskets turned to dust, chairs toppled in homes, and a wind that whispered through hollow halls. It was like everyone had just vanished mid-step.
"I don't like this," Mario said, gripping his shield tighter.
"No one does. That's why it's always the best part of the story," Andrew replied, pushing open the church's heavy wooden doors.
The air inside was thick with incense and dust. Stained-glass windows, cracked and faded, still threw colored light on the cracked stone floor. Pews lay in disarray. Candles had burned to stumps long ago. An altar stood at the front, cloaked in dust and cobwebs—but undisturbed.
Andrew walked down the center aisle, his fingers brushing the ends of pews as he went. "Feels like people left in a hurry… but nothing's destroyed. No signs of looting."
"There's something carved on the wall," Mario called.
They approached the front. Above the altar, etched deep into the stone in jagged script, were words neither of them could read—until they began to shift before their eyes, rearranging into something familiar:
"They rose from devotion, consumed by sin. The faithful remain, but not as they were."
Mario stepped back. "Okay. That's definitely cursed."
Andrew turned slowly, the church's old floor groaning beneath his boots. "Let's agree to never read glowing inscriptions out loud again."
As they stepped back outside, the fog had thickened, swirling low to the ground. The village was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then they heard it.
A shuffle. A groan. The faintest crunch of something dragging across gravel.
From behind the church, a figure emerged—slow, jerky, its skin gray and sunken. A second followed. Then a third.
Their eyes glowed faintly with a sickly green light.
"Oh no," Mario whispered.
"Yep," Andrew said. "We've got undead."
The figures staggered closer. Dozens now. Dozens of walking corpses, crawling from doorways, from alleyways, from beneath the earth itself.
"We're surrounded," Mario said, shield raised.
Andrew drew his sword, the green flame flickering back to life in his other hand.
"Well," he said with a grin, "on the bright side… at least we know this world has a nightlife."