The scraping sound grows louder and louder, echoing down the dimly lit corridor. Max adjusts his grip several times, glancing at the scrap of dress on the ground. Come on already! The light is starting to burn out, and it will be even more of a pain fighting in the dark, so come out already!

  As if answering Max’s unspoken plea, the shadow of a figure appears in the distance. Crap, not like I really expected it to be another one of those little plant creatures, but a guy can hope, right? That thing is a lot bigger than me. The shadowed creature’s approach slows as it nears the lit section of the corridor.

  The thing doesn’t appear to like light, wish I knew that earlier, I’d have stuck with the girls. It never stops, only slows, and soon it enters the light. Max’s breath catches as he takes in the weird and gruesome sight.

  It looks like a person, only rotting. That isn’t the weird part, though. Max has seen movies and shows with zombies or undead; the strange part is what is attached to the zombie. It is as if someone had planted some sort of bush or plant into the zombie.

  Roots bore through the torso and limbs, winding and twisting in and out of the flesh as though it were soil. Vines hang from every bit of the creature, some small and thin, others twisted around limbs, helping support and enhance the rotting flesh. There are leaves and small glowing flowers in the oddest of places, the biggest seeming to be on its back, judging from the glow.

  As if the corpse is trapped in its final moments, a shield hung barely supported in its left hand, dragging across the floor as it walks. The support strap to keep it on the arm long missing; the creature holds it solely by an off-center handle. Vines seem to reinforce the fingers, which barely want to hold it any longer, wrapping around the handle.

  The other hand’s wrist seems to be broken or mostly severed, yet it still holds a longsword. Vines and roots protrude from the misshapen wrist, the hand facing in a way too awkward of an angle to the arm. The tip of the sword drags on the ground as well when it moves, the sword almost looking too heavy for the decayed body to lift.

  The vines continue down its hand around the handle and up the hilt of the sword onto the blade. The various vines and flowers on the sword and shield leave a weird and disturbing peaceful appearance to the rather grotesque rest of the creature.

  The remains of the torch, now Max’s club, rests on Max’s shoulder. He takes the beast in from top to bottom. Its movement seems off, unlike a person’s. I shouldn’t judge it by what a person can do; it can probably move in a greater range.

  It seems to be moving slowly, which is definitely a plus. Even if its movements are slow, the sword and shield look heavy; if it can heft them up over its head, I probably won’t be able to block it. Glancing sideways at the club on his shoulder, scratch that, definitely won’t be able to block that.

  In the movies and shows, you have to destroy the brain to kill the zombie; probably have to do the same here. It won’t be easy with the height difference; I’ll have to knock it down somehow. If it can lift those weapons, then that will help in throwing it off balance.

  Max sets his feet and readies his club. It is just like the needleleafs. As soon as it goes to strike, I’ll counterattack and try to knock it over. The plant zombie thing slowly gets into range. The only sound it ever makes is the scraping of its sword and shield upon the floor. Max watches its eyes and face, trying to make out some guess as to what it will do.

  The creature seems not to even notice Max and makes no move other than forward in his general direction. Is it blind? Max moves slightly to one side of the creature, staying in front of it, and it continues forward as if nothing had changed.

  That can’t be right, though; it clearly hesitated when it neared the light, so it must see. Before Max can further try to rationalize how it works, the plant zombie creature’s arm whips back in a weird motion as if it is trying to lift the entire sword with just its shoulder.

  The arm continues moving upwards and slightly back, as the weight of the sword moves to around head height, the shoulder makes a sickening cracking and tearing sound as the muscles tear and the bone pops out of its socket. As if it is perfectly normal, the creature continues to raise the sword till it nears the roof of the hall, the muscles in the arm clearly not being able to support this movement. In a deceptively fast movement, it brings the sword straight down at where Max is standing.

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  Max’s face contorts, and he suppresses a gag when the arm tears out of its socket. The sword falls towards his head, and he barely manages to jump to the side, hitting the wall. Sparks fly, and the sword digs into the ground, cracking it. How the… It shouldn’t be able to lift that at all after what happened to its arm, zombie or not! Let alone swing it down with such force.

  Max moves backward, centering himself in the middle of the hallway once more. The creature's arm begins to make more weird motions as though it is somehow trying to pull the sword back and lift it again, but failing. Taking the opportunity, Max rushes forward and takes a swing with his club as hard as he can at the fully extended arm holding the sword.

  Another sickening sound echoes through the corridor as the stick slams into the arm. Flesh tears even further at the damaged shoulder, the arm almost fully detaching from the creature. The arm doesn’t fall away as roots and vines seem to firmly hold the arm a few inches from where it should be.

  The creature seems unfazed by the damage; its other arm coils back and springs forward faster than expected. Max turns just enough so the edge of the shield misses him, but the flat of it hits him squarely. Screaming out, Max tumbles back from the beast, rolling across the floor. Dizziness takes its toll on Max’s head; he cannot stand, barely getting to all fours.

  He retches several times as the waves of agony wash over him from hitting and rolling on his wounded arm. Glancing around for his club, Max finds it within reach, picking it up and stumbling unsteadily to his feet. God, that thing hits hard! It is fast as well if this keeps up, I’m done for.

  After smacking into Max, the shield continues forward and hits the arm holding the sword. The shield tears into the flesh of the arm and even severs a few of the roots and vines. The sword skids out of the place it was stuck, and the creature stumbles back, almost appearing to be in pain. As if angry, it lunges forward, whipping its sword arm again.

  Seeing the creature's strange reaction, Max moves quickly forward. My blow didn’t seem to affect it at all, but its own counter seemed to hurt it. I don’t really know why or care! Its position is all wrong. It is almost tripping over its own arm, leaning forward with all the weight moving up high. If I can get behind it, one good shove and it should tip!

  Moving forward, raising its sword and its overextended shield, Max readies himself, feeling as though he knows what the creature will do next. Sure enough, as Max guessed, raising its arm still, the creature whips the shield wide, trying to bash Max against the wall. Beating the moving shield, Max dives past its extending arm and rolls with his good shoulder past its knee.

  Now! Max growls and swings his club, bringing it down hard on the back of the creature's knee. The club reverberates in his hand, the hard vibrations making his hand ache. The creature's knee moves but only barely, as though it is almost solid and not able to bend. Even if the knee did not collapse, the blow seemed to have the intended effect.

  Between its shield crashing into the wall extremely hard, shaking the creature to its very core, and the sword being fully extended above its head, the creature loses balance and falls forward. As if it has no concern for its own safety, it makes no move to stop itself, its chest and chin striking the floor hard.

  Max can not remember the last time his hand hurt this badly. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he lifts the club once more and runs up beside the fallen beast. Wasting no time at all, he hops over its arm and begins to bring the club down over and over again onto the creature's unprotected skull.

  Max loses count of the number of times he hits the creature, the club splinters in his hand, and he falls to his knees, gasping for air. “It's done, it's finally dead.” Breathing a sigh of relief, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes in the dying light. A heartbeat later, Max’s eyes snap open, staring forward. “Impossible…”

  The creature's arms fold in awkward angles, dragging the shield and sword with them. Using what appears to be its elbows at first, but turning into its arms, bending at weird angles, the bones loudly snapping, it lifts itself up. Bringing its knees then feet under itself, the creature stands even taller than it had before.

  Flesh and bones hang torn all over it, not even its torso is spared as the roots and vines savagely move, tearing it apart as it rights itself. After standing, it begins to raise its arm again as though it plans to swat Max with its sword, even though its head is completely destroyed and now missing.

  Max scrambles backwards, barely dodging the sword. On instinct, he uses the remaining shard of his club and flings the final burning scraps of the dress into the vines and roots at the creature's center. The creature lets out an otherworldly sound and stumbles backward and into a wall. Between it only being some dying embers and the gore of the corpse being ripped apart, the fire doesn’t catch and just leaves some spark burn marks on the roots and vines.

  The creature stumbles around as if it is somehow confused as to how it was hurt and is very angry. Turning to where Max had been, he is nowhere to be found in the dark. Letting out another otherworldly scream, the creature slams its sword and shield into either wall and begins a slow lumbering, almost stumbling lurch forward.

  As the flaming bit of cloth hits the creature, Max doesn’t wait to see what happens and rolls over, trying to get to his feet. He almost falls on his face as he bolts forward. Trying to catch his balance with his good hand on the wall, but it gives in, and he slams his shoulder into it hard.

  Not stopping or caring to feel the pain, Max runs into the dark, eyes wide and full of fear. His breath already coming hard from the fight, Max finds himself only picking up the pace further when the creature's screech hits him. Every sound it makes as its sword and shield hit the walls seem to drive him faster, his heart racing in his chest.