Valerios
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Chapter 33: The Price of Vandalism
🕑 Added 2022-04-13 17:20:33 +0000 UTCJerry’s tower had been vandalized.
The fence, arduously built over the winter, had been torn down in places. The wooden statue had been broken into two, lying on the hard ground, and Jerry’s shoemaking bench had also been destroyed. At least Shorty’s grave was undisturbed in the backyard, and the insides were seemingly safe as the door was still closed and locked.
Above said door, a grim message had been left in a dark red color.
‘YOU ARE NOT WELCOME. LEAVE, MONSTER.’
It resembled blood but was really just paint.
As soon as Jerry had crested the last hill and laid eyes upon his tower, he’d frozen. His gaze wandered over the fence, the statue, the message, and his heart was filled with great sadness. The culprit was obvious; right before the tower stood a large bunch of Pilpen villagers, holding shovels, pitchforks, and a bucket of red paint.
They turned around as one and stared at Jerry, clearly terrified out of their minds at getting caught red-handed; both literally and metaphorically. However, this was no time for jokes.
The undead saw everything a heartbeat later. Crimson flames immediately lit up their eyes, and the hatred they exuded brought Jerry to his senses.
“Master,” Boney spoke icily, “I implore you. Please let us massacre them. We will burn Pilpen to the ground.”
Jerry shook his head. Boney’s flames flickered. Clouds covered the sun above.
“You are too soft, master!” he said in a harsh voice. “You graced them with your kindness, risked yourself and us to help them, and they repay you with humiliation and disaster. They absolutely must die. They deserve it.”
Axehand grunted in agreement.
Jerry could sense their emotions; all his undead were practically shivering with rage and indignation. To them, Jerry was the most important thing in the world, and he had just been treated as an outcast. They wanted nothing more than to run at the group and kill every man and woman they encountered.
That was just their nature. Undead were fiercely loyal individuals.
Jerry, too, felt anger shimmering in his heart, but for a different reason. These people had invaded and vandalized his home; what an intrusive, disrespectful action. They had even destroyed the wooden statue his undead had gifted him. It was shocking, striking, and, in his eyes, completely out of the blue.
For the first time in a while, Jerry was truly angry, but though his heart boiled, he was in control.
“Let’s see what they have to say first,” he said.
Boney did not respond.
The undead procession walked towards the villagers, who quickly assembled themselves. At the very front stood Murdock, his red feather glinting in the afternoon sun, while behind him were two dozen villagers of Pilpen—the entire village, practically, save for the children. Even Ashman was there, holding his wife’s hand and gazing at Jerry in abject terror.
Now, the undead stared at the villagers, and the entire disorderly bunch stared back. The villagers’ knuckles were white around their weapons’ handles, their lips were clenched, and their eyes were filled with a combination of fear and resolve.
Murdock himself had a gaze as sharp as a hawk’s, staring at Jerry with the full force of his misguided hatred, as if he wasn’t the one vandalizing another’s property.
Despite the clearly armed grou[, however, Jerry did not feel particularly threatened—even in the off chance they for some reason attacked him, Axehand by himself was enough to make short work of any suicidal villagers. If anything, they were the scared ones.
The undead procession stopped twenty paces away.
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Jerry.
“The meaning, necromancer,” replied Murdock, his voice full of derision, “is that we want you gone.”
The villagers cringed and seemed to shrink, all of them suddenly feeling an urge to hide behind Murdock’s back, Ashman included.
Jerry frowned. “And did you have to paint slurs on my walls to say that?”
Murdock ignored the question, too arrogant to plead guilty. “On the orders of Pilpen’s Mayor,” he said, glancing back at Ashman, who seemed content to remain hidden in the crowd, “we have to ask you to leave.”
Jerry’s frown deepened.
“Mast—” Boney tried to say, but was interrupted.
“Why are you guys doing this?” asked Jerry, staring at the villagers’ faces. Some dodged his gaze, while others drew courage from Murdock’s presence and glared. Many looked away in shame. “I have been nothing but good to you. I protected Holly; I saved you from the bandit attack; now, I also got rid of Jericho the Green and his Greenskin bandits, securing peace and safety for Pilpen. I was even going to make shoes for all of you…”
Jerry looked at them again, and this time, his eyes were earnest, and his heart was heavy. He continued, “Let alone doing something so ugly, why do you want to send me away?”
Murdock was unimpressed.
“Because you are a necromancer. You bring only death and misery to our land, and even having you nearby makes us unable to sleep. We do not care if you say you’re good; we do not want you here, Jerry necromancer. Letting you in was a mistake. Now, you have to go.”
Jerry crossed gazes with the older wizard, who was clearly anxious but resolute too—these villagers wouldn’t come all the way out here if they weren’t.
As for Jerry himself… he was angry, of course, but more than that, disappointed.
“So you want me away?” he asked again. He looked at Ashman, only now realizing that Holly was missing from this assembly. “Even you, Ashman? I thought we were friends.”
The pretend-Mayor clenched his teeth. “It had to be done,” he responded. “We… Pilpen cannot coexist with a necromancer.”
“But why?”
“Because we’re terrified.”
And that was true. Jerry was shook. He knew people were afraid of him, of course, he’d always known—but that’s exactly why he did his best to be friendly and approachable. Why he protected them. Why he would help them with anything they needed, and why he’d made it clear on every opportunity he got that he was not an evil necromancer. He even got rid of their bandit problem—though he didn’t do it for them.
At the end of the day, Pilpen was the only village that accepted him; everyone else had instantly kicked him away.
And despite that, despite spending four months together—or at least in close vicinity—they still couldn’t get over the simple fact that he was a necromancer? That simple, understandable, yet ridiculous prejudice?
Despite his best intentions, they had to vandalize his home, and weren’t even the slightest bit remorseful afterward? What kind of joke was that?
Jerry felt a burning, bitter pit in his chest.
This is unfair. I did my best, and yet these people refuse to treat me as a person. They prefer to treat me like shit. Why?
His temper flared.
“Is that so?” he said, anger building up as his tongue dripped venom. “You are a pathetic little human being, Murdock. I have not mistreated you once despite your repeated provocations, and yet you can’t even sleep when I’m anywhere nearby? Is that right?”
“Precisely.” The wizard glared back, heedless of the crimson-eyed undead lusting to tear him apart. He was convinced that Jerry wouldn’t attack them unless provoked, and he was right.
But Jerry had other ways to fight back.
“You are a lying bag of shit,” he replied. “You can’t sleep with me around, sure—but maybe, if your cheating lover slept by your side, you would manage?”
The revelation fell like an anvil. Murdock froze. Melissa froze, and she unconsciously clenched Ashman’s hand so hard it hurt. He looked at her with wide eyes. The villagers glanced at each other in puzzlement.
“You—” Murdock struggled to speak. “What the hell are you talking about? I like men.”
“Sure you do. You know, once upon a time, I noticed that Melissa was a great man of the house. Is that why you’re so fixated on her?”
Whispers erupted instantly. “What?” Melissa acted surprised. “I—I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m married to Ashman! Right, honey?” She turned to him, but his eyes were hollow and wide as saucers. It didn’t matter how well she faked it; in Ashman’s heart, at that moment, all the pieces fell together. He saw the image he’d been struggling to avoid. His hard-fought love crumbled.
He died inside.
Murdock shouted out, “What nonsense is this? Are you so bitter that you’re spouting bullshit? Are you this pathetic?!”
“You would know pathetic, wouldn’t you? You left your life in the city and settled in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, only for a woman who would never put you before her husband. Tell me, Murdock, how does it feel to have your loved one ignore your sacrifices and sleep with another man every night?”
“Shut up! Shut up! You—Shut the fuck up!”
Murdock was shocked, broken, and furious. With every word that left Jerry’s mouth, the older wizard fumed and frothed. By the time Jerry was done, Murdock was beyond himself with rage, and the villagers, who were beginning to catch on, had formed a large circle around Ashman and Melissa.
She was speaking sweet words, proclaiming her love to Ashman, but he knew the truth. He knew her, and he knew she was lying by the way she looked to the side, by how her fists were clenched as she spoke, by how her dark hair jumped over her eyes as she gestured animatedly…
He truly did love her. And unable to blind himself any longer, Ashman’s eyes were filled with tears, and his rotund face scrunched up in an expression of utter bitterness, and his jaw trembled as he raised a hand and slapped Melissa to the ground.
Murdock turned around.
“STOP THAT!” he shouted, sparks lighting up his fingers. “LEAVE HER ALONE!”
Ashman stared back, unafraid of death, because what did he have to lose?
And Jerry stepped forth, arriving within five steps of Murdock, saying, “Use your magic, Murdock, and I will kill you.”
Murdock’s gaze was filled with hatred. Even the villagers looked at him appalled now, and nobody moved to help Melissa, who was holding her cheek in shock.
“You!” Murdock’s eyes sparked. “It’s all your fault! You sick, abominable, dead thing!”
“No, Murdock, it’s all your fault. The one who ruined your life… is you.”
The wizard’s features froze on his face before contorting into a caricature of hatred. In a few moments, his life had crumbled. How could he not lose himself?
“DIE!” he screamed, raising his sparking hands at Jerry. A purple lightning bolt shot out, instantly crossing the air—
—and meeting Axehand’s thick, non-conductive bone chest. The lightning slammed against him ineffectively and fizzled out of existence, spreading itself over the soil below.
Before Murdock could prepare another bolt, Jerry raised his own hand, and magic darker than dark unleashed itself on the older wizard.
A cold iron vice appeared inside Murdock’s body and grabbed his soul, letting it squirm ineffectively in Jerry’s grasp. Murdock gasped, all color leaving his face. He saw death, then, and it had the form of a good-natured, friendly, yet decisive necromancer.
“You brought this upon yourself, Murdock…” Jerry let out a tired sigh while everyone watched in horror. “You tried to kill me before, humiliate me, and you even got everyone to vandalize my home due to your own misplaced arrogance… and again, you try to kill me. I am a good man, Murdock, but I am not a coward. Enough is enough. Begone.”
Murdock squealed, trying to say something, but never had the chance. Jerry’s grip tightened around his soul, squeezing it, suffocating it. Those beautiful, incredibly complex, irreplaceable bonds tying Murdock’s soul to his body… in one forceful grasp, Jerry tore them all apart, letting them fizzle into nothingness.
Murdock’s lifeless body slumped on the ground. The villagers gawked like deer in the torchlight. Melissa screamed.
Jerry raised his head, directing his angry stare at them—
And saw a bunch of weak, frightened, ignorant villagers. They reminded him of mice before a ravenous cat. Their gazes were terrified as they met his, but in all their stupidity, they weren’t acting against him out of spite, as Murdock had been; they were just doing the only thing their mind could fit.
How could he blame such small people?
His fury cracked.
And besides… no matter how angry he was right now, what was he supposed to do? Massacre everyone? No, Jerry couldn’t do that. His tower’s current state hurt, yes… but in all fairness, they didn’t deserve death for that.
In the end, they were just fools, and the damage to his tower had been minimal. Only the wooden statue couldn’t be easily repaired, which sucked, but Axehand’s sculpting skills were getting sharper by the day; he could make a new statue, far better than the previous one.
Jerry’s anger deflated. The darkness receded from his mind, leaving behind only bitter disappointment—both at them, for being such small-minded individuals, and at himself, for trying to reason with imbeciles who couldn’t see further than their noses.
And people call me retarded…
He could see it now.
Why did I ignore their prejudice and ugly stares? Why was I willing to lower myself to appease them as if I needed forgiveness? They are the ones at fault for not understanding. And after I couldn’t get through to them once, I was a fool to keep trying.
Jerry had done his best to fit in, but apparently, the people of Pilpen were too small and scared to see past his identity as a necromancer… There was nothing more he could—or should—do.
He could find another home—why become so fixated on this particular one? Derek’s words made perfect sense now.
The realization washed over Jerry like a bucket of ice-cold, refreshing water, and suddenly, the knot in his heart was untied. He no longer cared about the villagers’ approval—because, at the end of the day, the world was unbelievably large. If these people were too small, he could just go find something better.
A place that would accept him.
The sun peeked from behind the clouds, showering Jerry with light. All of a sudden, the future was bright and filled with possibilities. Jerry had seen the light; and suddenly, everything felt right.
His gaze mellowed on the villagers, finding them lacking but too small to be taken seriously. They were like children; naive, foolish, and struggling to survive in a world more complex than they could understand.
Jerry sighed again.
“You should all be ashamed of yourselves,” he said. “This sort of behavior is ridiculous, childish at best. You are an embarrassment to your parents and children, pitiful, pathetic little humans. Next time, don’t let the first silver-tongued prick you meet talk you into stupidity—and for the love of Desistos, or Manna, or whatever God you believe in, pick a Mayor that can actually say no.”
They stared at him mutedly.
“Return to your village, all of you. And you two, Ashman and Melissa… I don’t care what you do. Just go, and take Murdock’s body as well. I don’t need it. By tomorrow morning… Pilpen will never see me again.”
They did not move. Jerry frowned, letting a hint of black appear around him.
“Leave my land,” he commanded, and this time, the villagers bolted away at such speed that many dropped their pitchforks and shovels. Ashman and Melissa were both still in a state of shock, but one gaze from Jerry was all it took for the two of them to disappear.
And when the villagers of Pilpen went away, dragging Murdock’s corpse with them, only Jerry and his undead were left, staring at the tower that had housed them for one warm winter. It wasn’t pretty right now—but in their eyes, it was the world’s most beautiful tower.
Nostalgia clouded Jerry’s gaze already, but he knew better. As his father used to say, letting go…
“Master,” Boney’s voice came from the side, hesitant and respectful, “is this really it?”
“It is, Boney. All of you felt what I felt—this place was too small for us. Starting tomorrow… our home will be the vast, wide world, with all its wonders and colors. I already have a few ideas for what we can do, actually.”
The undead gathered around their master, their father, gazing at him with concern.
“We go then, Master?” asked Boney.
“Yes, Boney,” replied Jerry, smiling. “We go.”
