~~~

  Summoning my first undead filled me with a strange sense of satisfaction. I never expected that my so-called "useless" class would turn out to be anything but. And to take the words from my past self, I certainly didn’t expect that the summoned being would be one of the soldiers from my previous life, now formed anew as one of my men.

  Taking command of this very small formation, I couldn’t help but glance at the skeleton. Ironically, it wore the exact same equipment as the one I had just killed. It seems that, to be an undead summoner, you have to kill something that’s eligible to be resurrected.

  “Major… if you can remember, think back to the unit you served with in the 62nd Infantry Battalion. What was the last thing you saw?”

  We walked down a short passage. The skeleton took its time to reply, perhaps stunned by the fact that it now lived again.

  “I forgot, to be honest, Major General…”

  “The only thing I remember was seeing an FPV drone dropping toward one of our technicals… I was in Avdiivka.”

  "At least awakening to find I’m still using gear from the past is something, but I’d really prefer an automatic weapon, like a Kalashnikov…”

  I could tell not everyone had the same training, and yet, despite having no experience with a sword, he had done well against those bats earlier. Maybe the old abilities were being integrated into this new persona.

  Shortly after, the undead skeleton halted and looked into the distance. A small group of other skeletons was approaching. The Major turned to report to both me and Alexander.

  “Hostiles approaching, roughly fireteam size, fifty metres away. Permission to engage?”

  The approaching enemies consisted of a spearman, a knight, and two archers. It didn’t look good for us at this range. I turned to Alexander, seeking his judgement.

  He didn’t seem concerned. Without hesitation, he responded to the skeleton’s request.

  “Of course,” Alexander said. “But remember, let those bastards get closer. We don’t have firearms, so take them out with that rusty sword of yours.”

  But I pushed back. “Two archers, one spearman, and a knight? Our summons are outmatched.”

  “Don’t worry…” Alexander said, placing his cold, ghostly hand on my shoulder.

  “Our soldier knows what he’s doing. He survived the war for that long, until a loitering munition finally got him. He’ll find a way.”

  I turned to see our summoned knight charging toward the hostiles. His sword and shield were intact, and he let out a battle cry.

  “URA!” he shouted.

  The distracted spearman didn’t even have time to react before the knight plunged his blade into the man’s neck, dropping him to the ground.

  The enemy knight realised what was happening and moved to strike our summon. Our undead dodged, then countered with a swift slash. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of an archer firing from the left.

  He dodged one arrow, while another clanged against his shield, barely scratching it.

  He said nothing, just lunged at the enemy knight. The blow was blocked, the shield taking the hit. Our summon followed up with another swing.

  The clash of metal rang out. The enemy knight lost balance and dropped his sword.

  “See?” Alexander sat behind me, smug.

  I didn’t wait. I rushed in to assist our summon. He turned back, catching sight of me mid-charge.

  “Major General! It’s too dangerous. I request that you go to the rear,” he said.

  “No!” I shouted, grabbing a decent sword from the fallen knight. “I’m going to assist you!”

  He didn’t argue; he simply turned back to focus on the fight.

  I looked ahead; an archer was drawing back another arrow.

  He was fired. The shot was meant for me.

  But the undead stepped in, taking the arrow to his chest.

  “Jesus!” I yelled. “Are you good?”

  “Tis but a scratch!” he replied, pulling the arrow out without flinching.

  Without hesitating, I drove my sword into the skull of the enemy skeleton knight below. It crumbled to dust, leaving behind nothing but a small pouch of copper coins.

  “Summon another one!” Alexander called out from behind.

  The knight didn’t wait. He charged toward the two retreating archers, who began backing away to gain distance. As they did, I closed my eyes, raising both arms as blue light gathered in my palms. A circle of wind swirled around the summoning circle. Strange, indecipherable text glowed beneath me.

  Opening my eyes, I saw two more undead rise, one with a spear, the other another knight. They emerged from the ground slowly and saluted.

  Then they joined the fight alongside our first summon.

  “Spearman and a knight,” I said. “The number keeps growing. Do more, and we might have a fireteam… maybe even a squad.”

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  “Maybe we will,” Alexander replied.

  With the reinforcement, the knight moved in. The archers adjusted their position, one fired while the other tried to retreat. But it was too late. All three undead surrounded the shooter.

  The archer realised his mistake.

  All three struck. Blades and spears tore into him over and over until he collapsed and disintegrated.

  Seeing one of the archers down, I quickly summoned again. This time, the bow emerged first, followed by the arm and the rest of the body.

  The new archer stood, then joined the fight.

  Alexander watched, nodding approvingly as he continued to explain…

  “The more undead soldiers you summon”, Alexander began, his tone cautious, “the more powerful you’ll become. Your body will start adapting to the changes... though it won’t always feel good.”

  He paused.

  “You might experience discomfort, even pain, as your power grows. But just remember, just because we can summon the dead doesn’t mean we get to play gods.” He looked at me firmly.

  “I’m telling you this now because… if there's ever a moment we both die, I’d rather meet my end in heaven than be dragged to hell.”

  I glanced at him. “What happens the more we summon skeletons?”

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “From the old shit I read back in the library… the more you summon, the easier it gets. You won’t need fresh kills to bring the same types back. But there’s a catch. The more you rely on one type, the more you're bound to it. Eventually, you get locked in. That means no fancy demon lords or dragons later on.”

  I nodded slowly. “We don’t need those.”

  I looked down at my skeletal troops.

  “Skeletons are powerful. We’ve got our dragons anyway, real ones. I’ll make sure we’ve got pilots ready when the time comes.”

  Alexander gave me a long look. He didn’t like that answer. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tension. Still, there was a shared understanding building between us, a desire to push this necromancy further than anyone expected. To make it something formidable, something terrifying. But right now, my force was the size of a fireteam. There was still a long way to go before the world knew our name.

  While I was lost in thought, I noticed movement ahead, my four undead returning. They carried the last enemy archer by the shoulders like a fallen trophy. Quiet and efficient, they dropped the skeletal body in front of me, disarmed it, and stepped back.

  I examined the body, no different from the others. Without hesitation, I picked up a sword and plunged it into the fallen skeleton’s chest. The light in its eyes vanished as it turned to dust.

  I turned away.

  Within moments, a new form rose from the earth, a fresh archer, now bound to me. I stared at the unit standing in formation before me, something like pride swelling in my chest.

  Then, for the first time, they spoke, introducing themselves with clear, echoing voices, except for one.

  The second undead knight stepped forward. “Corporal Nikolaevich Zhukov”, he said.

  The spearman gave a curt nod. “Private Roman Aleksei.”

  Then the archers followed suit.

  “First Class Private Baranov Dmitri”, one said.

  “Second Lieutenant Maxim Leonidovich,” the other added with a salute.

  Only one remained silent, Major Dasha Feofil. She stood at the head of the formation, silent but watchful. Her presence felt commanding, even among the dead.

  I looked at them all, my unit, my undead. Our fireteam was growing, and soon, the world would remember our names.

  God forbid every summoning drags back the soul of a real soldier from a past life. I can’t imagine having to learn each name, each division, each tragedy from Ukraine or whatever hellhole came before it. Maybe that’s mercy. Maybe that’s the price.

  But I’ll admit, there’s something better about skeletons with fragments of personality and emotion than a mindless, efficient killing machine. Something… human. They didn’t speak much, but after killing the fourth enemy skeleton, they stood tall and saluted like men who’d just won a righteous fight. They looked proud.

  We took that as a sign to rest.

  “Good work, men,” I told them. “Seems like we’ve got a few more on our side now. Take a break; we move out at nineteen-hundred hours.”

  The skeletons seemed to respond well to it, whatever echoes of feeling were left in them. The archers started gathering firewood, one wandered off in search of something edible, and the others set up a perimeter. They didn’t need to rest, not really, but maybe instinct demanded they go through the motions. Habit from their former lives, still clinging.

  Thirty minutes passed.

  The fire crackled strong, illuminating the warped bones and faded gear of the fallen who now served again. Bat meat, tough, greasy, cooked on sticks. A poor man’s meal, but it filled the air with scent. Most of the skeletons stood guard, their hollow sockets constantly scanning. A few gathered closer to Alexander, who was debriefing them, talking like they were still in a command tent back in the old world.

  The second knight, Corporal Zhukov, lay on the ground near the fire. Beside him was the spearman, Private Roman Aleksei. He hummed quietly, voice soft, but steady. The song caught me off guard.

  Shaman – Встанем.

  "Beside those who are no longer here with us, we shall rise."

  It struck a nerve.

  A soldier’s ballad from the past. A song about death and unity and rising again. About brothers left behind. About ghosts.

  I stepped closer.

  “From what unit did you serve?” I asked quietly.

  He glanced up mid-verse, voice no longer singing but still calm.

  “18th Guards Motor Rifle Brigade,” he said. “Part of the 42nd Guards Motor Rifle Division. Died close to the Donbas region... I was only eighteen, sir.”

  Eighteen. Still a kid. A kid thrown into a hell he didn’t ask for, like so many of us. Just another face beneath a helmet, crushed under the steel gears of someone else’s war.

  That was me too.

  Just another conscript in a war that chewed through lives like shrapnel through soft skin. A name scribbled into a registry. A memory someone might not even mourn.

  The more I think about it, the more I realise what the Kremlin did, what they always do. Cloaking ruin in flags and anthems. Turning slaughter into duty. Roman Aleksei, that poor bastard, probably died thinking he was doing something righteous. Just like I did.

  Sometimes I wonder, were Alexander and I ever really patriots?

  Or were we just two ghosts who believed the lies too long?

  But maybe that question doesn’t matter anymore. Not here. Not in this place where death is currency and memory is a liability.

  This new world, this hell, it doesn’t care for banners. It doesn’t care for propaganda or patriotism.

  It only demands one thing from me:

  Revenge.

  And these undead? They’ll help me. Maybe out of duty. Maybe madness. Maybe they don’t even remember why. But I do.

  It's the one thing that keeps my body from collapsing under the weight of everything I've lost.

  Still… there's a shadow hanging over all of this.

  I couldn't help but feel that my previous self, whoever I was prior to all this summoner business, must have had something different planned. Something other than revenge. Alexander's manner of speaking, his glower out at the horizon with those lifeless eyes, it’s as if he knows something I don’t.

  I’m not stupid. Neither was he. If I really wanted something, I’d figure out a way to get the world to pay it back. That’s the type of person I was. And perhaps, perhaps there’s more than just vengeance for our sweetheart beyond. Perhaps it’s another war altogether.

  “Our special operation…”

  Alexander’s voice hung like smoke.

  I didn’t trust it. Not entirely. That phrase has got too much blood on it.

  But I had no choice but to see it through.

  Mid-bite on the blackened bat flesh, I glanced around. The fire spat low in the rubble surrounding us. Ash hung suspended in the air like snow. The others, my callings, trickled in slowly, half-circling the flame. Tattered armour. Missing jaws. Hands still shaking from a previous life.

  Alexander entered last. He stood at the edge of the fire, gaze fixed into the darkness past the ruined stone arch.

  “It is here,” he grumbled.

  I discarded the stick, chewing the last mouthful, and stood. Wiping the grease on my sleeve, I blew out hard. Every muscle screamed. Every breath was borrowed.

  Alexander nodded. “Just past that ridge. The famous altar of the Greater Pasture.”

  And then, in front of me: “Are you ready?”

  I didn’t respond.

  Instead, I extended my arm, palm to the ground, the same as before. Intent. And this time, without pause, it replied.

  The circle came alive. Brighter. Louder. The whispering was no longer whispers; it was chanting. Rhythmic. Ancient. Starving.

  Skeletons poured from the circle, not only infantry this time. I could see archers. One of them was spear-equipped. Another was with a battered tower shield and displayed the crest of a centuries-dead empire. A skeletal hound limped out behind them, ribs showing, eyes aglow with embers.

  Alexander gave a soft laugh. “Now this is more like it…”

  More of them. More power. My army was growing. I wasn’t just some unlucky bastard with a cursed class anymore. I was a commander.

  And I could feel it, right there behind my thoughts, him.

  My past self.

  Lurking. Waiting. Watching.

  And near the altar, Alexander said… that’s where our minds would finally converge.

  The thought chilled me more than the wind ever could. What would I learn? What would I become? I didn’t know.

  But I did know one thing.

  I tightened my hold on the rusty blade at my belt.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  The summons started their advance. Quiet. Disciplined. Determined.

  The flames behind us flickered out.

  And in front, at the altar, the dungeon boss waited.