Time to kick some tailbones.
You're not about to let the only human...ish... person in sight be eaten by zombies. You don't see anyone else who might be able to explain what's going on. Besides, you're a tiger; you were made for hunting. It would be a shame to let all your shiny new weaponry go unused. With a roar, you leap down the hill and throw yourself into the fray, teeth bared and claws unsheathed.
This time, you go for the dead creatures' heads first. It doesn't take long to decapitate five or six of them, leaving them stumbling around blindly and slashing at empty air. Most of them hit their companions instead of you. When things have gotten about as chaotic as you can make them, you go for the claws in the ground, tearing them off of their moldering wrists and releasing the rat warrior. He staggers to his feet and gives you a quick bow before whirling into action.
With both of you fighting, the creatures don't last long. The rat warrior lights more of them on fire with his staff - how does he do that, anyway? - and you shred the rest into smaller and smaller pieces. Several of the buried ones crawl out of the ground, having lost their captive, but you've already removed their claws, and they're not much of a danger. Some of them are little more than skeletons held together by frayed tendons.
Eventually, you look around and realize that there's nothing left to fight. Bits of zombie litter the ground like a grave robber's jigsaw puzzle. A few of them twitch aimlessly, but there's nothing capable of really moving, much less fighting you. You've won.
That's when you finally notice the change in your surroundings. For a moment, you feel completely disoriented; the jungle has disappeared, replaced by unfamiliar trees and groves of bamboo. Tall, jagged mountains rise in the distance. You can hear the trickle of a stream nearby - that wasn't there before - and occasional twitters from birds you don't recognize. The path behind you looks completely unfamiliar. Even the sunlight seems different, somehow. If it wasn't for the bits of zombie all over the ground, you'd swear you were in medieval China, or possibly Japan.
You're certainly not in Kansas anymore.
The rat warrior interrupts your confused staring, walking over to you with a slight limp. He reaches out cautiously and lays a clawed hand on your head. When you don't immediately bite it off, he smiles and strokes your fur. It feels surprisingly pleasant.
"Greetings, noble beast," he says. "I thank you for your aid in this battle. Without it, I would surely have perished. The gravelings have few strengths besides their half-death and their numbers, but those are enough to overcome a single warrior. I owe you my life."
You attempt to reply, fumbling with your oversized tongue and teeth. Nothing comes out but growls. It looks like the rat will be doing all the talking.
He doesn't seem particularly talkative, though. Instead, he turns - limping slightly - and walks into the woods. He turns back and looks expectantly at you, as if waiting for you to follow.
Written by Chrysalis on 05 January 2010
The end (for now)