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Chapter 31: The Cost of Idiocy
🕑 Added 2024-12-28 10:15:43 +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 been flipped. At least Shorty’s grave was undisturbed in the backyard, and the tower's insides were seemingly safe as the door remained closed.
Above said door, a grim message had been written in a dark red color.
‘YOU ARE NOT WELCOME. LEAVE, MONSTER.’
It resembled blood but was really just paint.
As soon as Jerry crested the last hill and laid eyes upon his tower, he froze. 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 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.
The undead saw everything a heartbeat later. Crimson flames lit up their eyes, and the hatred they radiated 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 had covered the sun above, and rain was about to fall. Thunder boomed in the distance.
“You are too soft, Master!” Boney said in a harsh voice. “You graced them with your kindness, risked yourself and us to help them, and this is how they repay you. 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’d just been ostracized. They wanted nothing more than to run at the group and kill every man and woman they encountered.
Undead were fiercely loyal individuals.
Jerry, too, felt his usually serene heart shimmer with anger. 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, which had taken days of work to complete. 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 remained in control.
“Let’s see what they have to say,” he said.
Boney did not respond.
The undead procession marched toward 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.
The undead stared at the villagers, and the entire disorderly bunch stared back. The villagers’ knuckles were white around the handles of their weapons—tools, rather—their lips were clenched, and their eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and resolve.
Murdock, however, 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 caught vandalizing another’s property.
Despite the clearly armed group, 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 should be the scared ones.
The undead procession stopped twenty paces away.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jerry asked.
“The meaning, necromancer,” Murdock replied, his voice full of derision, “is that we want you gone.”
The villagers shrank back, all of them suddenly feeling an urge to hide behind Murdock’s back, Ashman included.
Jerry frowned. “Did you need 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.
“Master—” Boney tried to speak but was interrupted.
“Why did you do this?” Jerry asked calmly, 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 saved Holly; I protected 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 would you even want to send me away? Are you stupid?”
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, or even if you truly are; we do not want you here, Jerry necromancer. Letting you in was a mistake. You have to go.”
Jerry crossed gazes with the older wizard. He seemed resolute. 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. Empty. So much effort and time had been in vain. The world seemed meaningless.
“So, you want me gone?” he asked again. He looked at Ashman, suddenly glad that Holly was missing from this assembly. She was old enough to be considered an adult. “Even you, Ashman? I thought we were friends. You've drunk and slept at the place you violated.”
The pretend-mayor clenched his teeth. “It had to be done,” he said. “We… Pilpen cannot coexist with a necromancer.”
“But why?”
“Because we’re terrified.”
And that was true. Jerry was shaken. 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 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.
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 bitter, burning 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.
Fuck it. Fuck all of you.
“Is that so?” he said, anger building up as his tongue dripped venom. “Fuck you and your fake friendship, Ashman. I pity your weakness. And you, Murdock, you're such a pathetic little human being. I have not mistreated you once despite your repeated provocations, and yet you can’t even sleep when I’m anywhere nearby. Is that so?”
“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 said. “You can’t sleep with me around, sure—but maybe, if the cheating bitch you call a lover ever slept by your side, you would manage?”
The revelation fell like an anvil. Murdock froze. Melissa froze, and she reflexively 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, feigning confusion. “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’m married to Ashman! We have no idea what he’s talking about. Right, honey?” She turned to him, but his eyes were hollow and wide like saucers. It didn’t matter how well she faked it; he knew her too well. In Ashman’s heart, at that moment, all the pieces fell together. He finally 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 and furious. With every word that left Jerry’s mouth, the older wizard’s facade cracked even more—these truths cut him deeply. By the time Jerry was done, Murdock was beyond himself with rage, and the villagers, who were beginning to catch on, had taken a few steps away from Ashman and Melissa.
She was speaking sweet words, proclaiming her love to Ashman, but he knew the truth now. He knew her, and he knew she was lying by the way she looked to the side, by how her fists were clenched, by how her dark hair jumped over her eyes as she gestured animatedly…
He truly did love her. 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, embers lighting up his fingers under a dark sky. “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 it will be the last thing you ever do.”
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—adultery was forbidden in Manna's worship.
“You!” Murdock’s eyes glared at Jerry. “It’s all your fault! You sick, abominable, dead thing!”
“No, Murdock, it’s 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 burning hands at Jerry. A howling stream of fire shot out, rapidly crossing the air—
—and meeting Axehand’s thick, inflammable bone chest. The fire slammed against him ineffectively, spreading itself over the soil below.
Before Murdock could prepare another bolt, Jerry raised his own hand, and magic darker than black unleashed itself on the older wizard.
A cold iron vise appeared inside Murdock’s body and grabbed his soul, making it squirm uselessly 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. The kind he never should have angered.
“You brought this upon yourself, Murdock…” Jerry sighed wearily 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, drowning 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 to 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. Of witless children. Their gazes were scared 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 flailing around life while terrified out of their minds, acting as their instinct indicated. They were little more than animals.
How could he blame such small people?
His fury lost steam.
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 he refused to ruin himself.
In the end, they were just ignorant, hateful 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 completely. The darkness receded from his mind, leaving behind only weariness and 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 mentally challenged…
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. After I couldn’t get through to them the first time, I was a fool to keep trying. But not anymore.
Jerry had done his best to fit in, but 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 always 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. His relief was gigantic. 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 let them stew in their own hatred and just go find something better.
A place that would accept him. A place to truly belong.
The rain never came. The sun peeked from behind the clouds, showering Jerry with warmth. 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; nothing but pitiful, pathetic little humans. Next time, don’t let the first silver-tongued asshole you meet talk you into suicidal stupidity—and, for the love of Desistos, or Manna, or whatever God you believe in, choose a mayor who 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 aura 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 glare from Jerry was all it took for the them to disappear. In their moment of hesitation, Boney grabbed the bucket of red paint and poured it over their heads, drenching them completely.
When the villagers of Pilpen went away, dragging Murdock’s corpse with them, only Jerry and his undead were left, staring at the tower which had housed them for one warm winter. Right now, it wasn’t pretty—but, in their eyes, it remained 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 great idea, actually, but I'll tell you later.”
The undead gathered around their master, their father, gazing at him with concern.
“We go then, Master?” asked Boney.
“Yes, Boney,” Jerry replied, smiling. “We go.”
Comments
ParoxysmDK
Great chapter, loved to see him showing them his backbone. Got legit wizard vibes from him this chapter.
