"Well now... Aren't you a curious little creature..."
I ignored the cackling, disembodied voice and began working. I dragged each of the fresh wolf corpses through the small, fungus-lit clearing and piled them up on top of one another in stacks of two. They were not... whole, per se, but they were still in decent enough condition. I wouldn't need functional, intact brains in order to raise them from the dead. While traditional zombies may need them, the things that I create can work just as well without them, thank you very much.
I could feel the mysterious presence smiling. "Yes, a curious little creature indeed. Very powerful, very... angry."
My eyes drifted upwards towards the dark canopy of the woods as I worked, adjusting the weight of the corpses to prevent them from sliding off one another. "I am not a creature," I said flatly.
"Perhaps you would rather be called a monster instead?" I froze, my feelings twisted in a mess of emotions the moment I heard the M-word. It was the one word I hated the most. I am not a fucking monster, no matter what everyone thinks. Monsters act on impulse and instinct. Monsters are monsters because they have no other means of interacting with the world around them. I am not a monster.
As if the unseen presence could read my thoughts, it continued with a hint of sick glee in its voice. "No, of course you aren't a monster. The blood of untold numbers on your hands..." I tried my damnedest to shut out the voice as its laugh echoed in my head. I wrapped up piling the wolf corpses and reached into my traveling satchel for a small knife and a small bottle of antiseptic. I began work on one of my pant legs, cutting the cloth from below the knee and tearing a wide strip of the material off.
"No, you're not a monster at all, spreading your disease across the world," the voice prattled on, much to my annoyance. I grit my teeth, trying hard not to snap at whoever it was speaking into my head, reading my thoughts, playing off my hatred of what I've become. "You claim that you are not a monster, Freebird." A small chill crept up my spine as the voice uttered my name. "But you are simply in denial. You have been in denial about your true nature for years."
I braced myself as I poured the antiseptic into my cupped hand and brought it up to my neck. The sharp jolt of pain caused me to cry out as I worked the alcoholic mixture into the open wounds covering my neck from the wolf's attack, hopefully killing whatever might be in there even though I knew full-well that I was immune to whatever might have been living in the deceased beast's mouth. It was more of a force of habit thing than anything else. I dropped the antiseptic, opting not to take care of the wounds on my shoulders and fingers, and wrapped the stripped piece of pant leg around my neck in order to stop the bleeding further.
Leaning back over towards the pile of corpses in front of me, I extended both of my hands. The vines in the palm of my hands parted, showing off two thick, blue fungal pods. I pointed them towards the faces of the wolves--or what remained of them, anyway--and fired off two bursts of Nemo's Marionette. The cordyceps spores entered the nostrils and mouths of the beasts and began working to revive them. If I were to survive in this forest for much longer, I would need help. And they do say that dog is man's best friend...
The presence smiled again. "Yes, a most curious little monster indeed. Come, Freebird. Come to me. Let me unlock your true potential."
I gazed up into the dark abyss again, weary, exhausted, and annoyed. "Fuck off. I'll get to you soon enough." The presence promptly did so, content to wait however long it took.
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