If real life were like that, we would probably have a very different view of death.
But consider if you were the character in the game. Not some pixels, actually you, a living person. Every time you died, you would come back, but you’d have to experience death over and over again.
Would you become used to it? Treat it as no big deal?
I had experienced death once. Not a near-death experience, an actual-death experience. It didn’t matter to me how advantageous it might be to get killed, I had no intention of experiencing that despair and desolation again.
The axe the boy had dropped lay at my feet. I bent down and picked it up.
“Listen to me,” I said to the woman sitting on the floor, “I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them like I’m a five-year-old. Like I’ve just arrived in this world and have no clue how anything works. Okay?”
She looked at me tight-lipped, then at the axe in my hand, and nodded.
“You two,” I shifted my gaze from one boy to the other, “I’m guessing you’re thinking of ways to kill us. You probably have a bunch of other weapons hidden around the place. Don’t. If you try anything, I won’t kill you, I’ll chop off your hands and feet.”
The older boy blanched and the younger one tried to squirm into his mother’s armpit.
“Colin!”
I turned around to face Claire. “You can shut it, too. You have no idea what’s going on here, so save your judgements until after we get some answers.”
“He’s still a child,” she said, her voice full of self-righteous indignation. Although I felt her position was somewhat undermined by the jacket o’knives she was holding, recently confiscated by me from the ‘child’.
“How do you know? You heard what she said, they don’t die. He could be fifty years old and just very short for his age.”
She bit the inside of her cheek and didn’t say anything. I didn’t think he was really fifty, not unless he used a very high quality moisturiser, but my point was still valid. We didn’t know the rules of this world or how things worked. Until we did, I intended to be a complete and utter bastard to these people.
“Dudley, stand by the door and keep a watch for anyone approaching.”
Dudley moved to the window by the door and peered out. The room we were in was a kitchen. There was a stone stove in one corner, some roughly made cabinets and a large wooden table with four chairs. The number of chairs raised some questions.
There were two doorways leading to other rooms. I poked my head in both. One had a large bed, the other had two smaller ones.
“What’s your name?” I asked the woman.
“Terry.”
“Who else lives here with you three?”
“My husband.”
“And where is he?”
“He’s… resting.”
“Did you kill him?” I asked.
She shot a dark glare at me. “Yes. It was his birthday yesterday. Of course I killed him.”
At first I thought she was being sarcastic, but she wasn’t.
“He’s in the basement. He won’t rise until tomorrow at the earliest, so you don’t need to worry about him.”
There was no indication of how to get into the basement, but that could wait. I told Terry to get up and sit at the table.
She struggled to her feet, babe in arms, and sat down on a rickety-looking chair. Her older son took up position behind her, clutching his arm.
“This place is called Nekromel, right?”
She nodded.
“And nobody stays dead?” She nodded again. “What does that mean? If I killed you now, how long before you came back to life?”
“A day, maybe two. It depends how severe the injuries are.”
“And the wounds just heal by themselves. Like magic.”
“I like your theory,” I said. “It makes a lot of sense. With this information I think we’re in a much better position to deal with these demons. We may actually have a chance of survival in this place. I say our first move should be to go back to the beach, try to get in touch with Wyndam, and sail for the other side of the world.”