Gameknight999 Oneshits

Ky-Leb

"My dad used to tell me about my maternal grandpa, my mom's dad." Herder, now a teenager, towered over the slower-aging User, "He called him a madman."

"Madman?"  Gameknight looked up at Herder with a sense of sadness.  Only a couple of months ago, the boy had not been a day over 10, following him around like a baby duck.  His little brother.  Now, the lanky boy was at least 15, while the User-That-Is-Not-A-User was still 12.  Herder had aged well, tall and straight, his hair had started to wave a little at the ends.  Him and Stitcher had finally gotten together, as everyone anticipated.  Gameknight999 sighed, they grow up so fast.

"Madman."  Herder responded, his voice deeper and stronger.  "My dad said he was turned to and from a zombie twenty-eight times, and his brain rotted, and he still thinks he's a zombie."

"Christ almighty..."  Gameknight whispered.  "...I assume he's dead?"

"Probably," Herder yawned, his wolves all curling up in the barn for the night.  "He disappeared the day after my dad turned 18."  He looked up at the stars in the sky.

"...He was terrified of the village, convinced everyone was going to kill him.  He only went out at night, had a very crackly voice, barely slept or took care of himself, and kept insisting his name was...Caleb or something."  The lanky boy stretched and started to head to his farmhouse.  Gameknight999 followed.  "He bared through it all until my dad was old enough to take care of himself, then he ran away.  I assume he went to a zombie-town; in that case the zombies probably killed him."

Herder looked sad.  He never knew the man, but he could help but feel pity for him.  Him and Gameknight shared a look of dread.  The poor old man, driven insane by repeating death...

"How old was he?"  The User asked.  Herder quickly replied, "43.  He was a Herder, too."

He nodded.  "How old would he be now?"  There was silence as Herder did the math in his head.

"...77."

Yo-Rez paces about the obsidian platform of the zombie-town.  Drowned, a new type of zombie, had recently gained power.  With the passing of Xa-Tul, he was quickly moved to the crown, being the strongest and fastest swimmer and having best control over lightning.  He was like a god, even compared to the old king of zombies.

Yo-Rez looked through the mismatched houses, carelessly pacing back and forth as zombies shuffled through the village.  His wet footsteps echoing off the cavern walls as the loomed over the small town.  It was then he saw it.

A torn, dirty, brown smock, flashing past his vision.  He tensed.  Of course there was a random NPC snooping around.  He followed the brown blur, around several corners.  He screamed, "Hey!  Surrender yourself, Overworlder!  Show yourself!"

White hair with black fleckles; salt and pepper hair, but more salt than pepper.  Their skin was pale, sickly pale.  They were so skinny, almost like a skeleton with skin.  Yo-Rez almost felt bad.  Nonetheless, he kept chasing.  This person seemed to know the zombie-town better than Yo-Rez, which was concerning.

Eventually, however, the NPC was ran into a corner.  He turned around slowly, and Yo-Rez's sockets went wide.  He was pale and sickly, yes, but he had a hostile look in his eyes, his nails and teeth were sharpened and he had mold in his white hair, which seemed to be falling out in chunks based on the several bald spots.  He almost looked like a zombie himself.

Yo-Rez put his trident in between the two of them, pointing its three sharp edges to the old man.  He looked at the king with unfocused brown eyes, smiling faintly, as if he were trying to be polite but wasn't quite sure if the drowned zombie in front of him was real or not.

"Identify yorself."

The man's head fell back, several loud crunching and cracking taking place.  Those bones definitely weren't healthy.  He looked back at Yo-Rez again.  His voice was crackly and broken, shaky like his skinny, starved frame.

"...Ky-Leb."