Student Interview

• 25 August 2025

By Walter M. Smith

Zahrid screams. The massive undead creature holding him up by a single leg peers at him, the two amber lights in its eye sockets masquerading as eyeballs.

Around Zahrid and the creature was a crowd of corpses, all wrapped in linen and adorned in bronze armour that appears to have survived one age too many. They shuffle--not with anticipation or some malign intent, but with a hollow lack of purpose. Mindlessness.

"Rejoice, child of Jinifar," the hulking creature speaks. Its voice is surprisingly smooth for such a skeletal, withered monster. It shifts as it moves, the rows and rows of golden jewelry hanging from its bones rattling with every move. The light of the torches held by the desiccated, walking corpses surrounding Zahrid and the creature reflect off of the bronze-plated, spider-like array of leg bones grafted onto the bottom of the monster.

"Rejoice," it continues, adjusting its headdress with its other hand, "for today thou hast been delivered unto the hand of Annansulakh the Death Handler, high Lector of War of his Eternalness. What is thy name, child?"

Zahrid shivers as Annansulakh draws him closer to his skeletal face. Despite lacking lungs, the creature's breath emanates from its jaw--a deathly, rotting mephitis that causes the young Jinifarian to writhe.

Annansulakh's grip on Zahrid tightens.

"Thy NAME, child," Annansulakh repeats, more sternly.

"Za-Zahrid ben Masra," the boy whimpers.

"Ah..." Annansulakh says, his voice relaxing as his grip does. "Dread not, Son of Masra, for thou hast not been delivered to me for death and damnation--no, thou art delivered unto mine grasp for the lavishment of mercy."

"M-mercy?"

"Indeed. For our mighty Pharaoh hast seen it fit for me to choose who to spareth and who to smite with his terrible wrath and divine power. And now, thou witness, o Son of Masra, for I hath chosen thou to be spared among thy entire village of damned souls."

"Wh-why?"

"Ah, curiosity! Such joy and pleasure for the young mind to seeketh the answers hidden from them. Dear boy, I hath liven many years more than a mortal man could ever hope thanks to the radiance and blessings bestowed 'pon me by the Master of the Pyramid. In the possession of mind mine, I hath an unending fortune of wisdom and knowledge. And what use is such knowledge without a student to share it with?"

"Y-you... you want me to be your student?"

"A clarifying question! Thy mind, 'tis bright, o Son of Masra! Indeed. I now know I hath made a truly wise decision to bestow the honour of student 'pon ye."

"You... you killed my village."

"Yes!"

"You killed my parents!"

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose. If thy parents lived in this village and were present this night, then their slaughter would indeed be veritable."

"Then why would you think I would want to be your student?! Just... just kill me, you sluhzbag!"

Annansulakh pauses, folding one hand and pressing it over his jaw as if perplexed by an inscrutable riddle.

"Because..." Annansulakh starts, "Ah! Because if thou becometh a disciple of me, and by extension a disciple of His Eternalness, then thou wilt begin down the path to uncovering the secret to raising the dead. And not just animating puppets like these soldiers around us, but the true reunification of soul to body! And thou canst raise up thy mother and father again."

"Are you daft? Remember YOU killed my parents in the first place. I swear if you kill me that'll be a faster way for me to reunite with them!"

"That's enough, o Son of Masra. Remember that thou hast life by mine mercy alone--"

Zharid spits, his saliva splattering across Annansulakh's warped skull. The shreds of dry skin and scraps of fabric flutter across the lights in his eye sockets, giving the illusion of blinking in surprise.

"Hmm. Disappointing," Annasulakh mutters. He drops Zharid onto the sand. "Everytime methinks I hath found a promising disciple, they turn out to be ungrateful and belligerant. Maybe one day."

With a sudden burst of speed, Annansulakh lifts up one of his spidery legs before thrusting it down upon Zharid swiftly, skewering the Jinifarian boy to the ground.

"Thy wish is granted, Son of Masra. Join thy parents in whatever damned afterlife awaiteth ye."

The undead soldiers around Annansulakh shift dramatically, all turning to face a new direction--the next closest Jinifarian village. Annansulakh pulls his leg free from the corpse of Zharid and marches forward, leading the army of mummified warriors to their next target.

"One day I wilt uncover the student meant for me," the Death Handler hums to himself.