《The Southern Necromancer》 Ch.1 The room was quiet, save for the squeaking of the old fan hanging above Markus as he slowly read through his book. It wasn''t anything special it was particularly dingy but what would you expect from a book found in the trash? Even though some would consider it odd, Markus didn''t mind as he swiped through page after page of The Hitchhiker¡¯s Guide to the Galaxy, especially if it meant passing time in this god-forsaken office. It had been over six months since he had been hired by ¡°Goddard & Sons¡±, an insurance company operating in the small town of Melville, Louisiana, and not a day went by where he wished he could have smacked his slightly younger self. When he finally graduated from Louisiana State University only a year prior, he had thought that with a degree in business and economics, he would have an easy time finding a job. Yet fate would dictate otherwise when a recession hit and whatever idea he had of an idea shattered like glass. Now, instead of sitting in a sleek office with a skyline view, discussing market trends or investment strategies, Markus spent his days in a dimly lit room, drowning in policy forms and customer disputes. The excitement he once had for the future had withered away, replaced by a dull routine that left him questioning every decision that led him here. The job paid the bills¡ªjust barely¡ªbut it didn¡¯t take much to realize that he was just another cog in the machine, stuck in a place that drained more from him than it gave. He had tried to make the best of it at first, telling himself it was just a stepping stone, a temporary stop until something better came along. But months passed, and the job never changed. The fluorescent lights buzzed just as harshly, the coffee in the break room remained just as stale, and the work¡ªendless piles of meaningless paperwork¡ªnever seemed to lessen. The worst part? He had stopped expecting anything different. It was like being trapped in quicksand, sinking inch by inch with no real effort to pull himself free. Which is why he found himself more often than not just sitting in his office, doing whatever to pass the time until he could head back to his apartment. At first, it had been doodling on pieces of scratch paper and tossing them into the wire trashcan before he eventually began to bring books with him. Science fiction, in particular, became his go-to. There was something about the vastness of space, the absurdity of other worlds, and the sheer unpredictability of the narratives that made him feel, for a brief moment, like he wasn¡¯t stuck in a dead-end job in a nowhere town. The Hitchhiker¡¯s Guide to the Galaxy had been his latest find, plucked from the trash behind the office, its cover barely hanging on and pages crinkled from past neglect. It was fitting, in a way¡ªa book discarded, forgotten, yet still holding value for someone willing to pick it up. Just as he turned the page to the ninth chapter, a voice rang out that made Markus close his eyes. That voice belonged to none other than Fredrick Goddard, son of the office''s owner, David Goddard, and out of everyone inside the building, he was perhaps the one he hated the most. ¡°Markus!¡± Fredrick barked from the doorway, his tone high-pitched as always. He stepped inside the room without invitation, his cologne an overpowering mix of citrus and something artificial. He was dressed in pressed slacks and a blue dress shirt. Gleaming on his hand, a designer watch could be seen, ticking time slowly. On his face, he wore the same arrogant smirk he always wore whenever he wanted to harass an employee. ¡°Are you seriously just sitting here reading again?¡± Markus didn¡¯t bother looking up right away. He took a slow breath, eyes lingering on the pages of his book even though he wasn¡¯t actually reading anymore. He had learned early on that giving Fredrick a reaction was exactly what he wanted. The man thrived on making others feel small, filling the empty space where his own competence should have been with pointless dominance games. Markus wasn¡¯t interested in playing. ¡°I¡¯m on my lunch break,¡± he said flatly, finally lifting his gaze. His tone wasn¡¯t defensive, just a statement of fact. He wasn¡¯t breaking any rules, not that Fredrick cared. The man made his own rules, bending and breaking them whenever it suited him. Fredrick scoffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up one of the reports on Markus¡¯s desk and flipped through it lazily. There had been times when Markus genuinely wondered if he could actually read what was on said papers. ¡°You know, Markus, this is exactly why you¡¯re stuck where you are,¡± he said, crossing his arms. ¡°You sit around reading that garbage instead of working. Maybe if you put in half the effort the rest of us do, you wouldn¡¯t be wasting away in this sad little office.¡± Markus said nothing. He stared at his book, willing himself to focus on the words even though Fredrick¡¯s voice was impossible to ignore. It wasn¡¯t the first time he had heard this spiel, and it wouldn¡¯t be the last. ¡°Pathetic, really,¡± Fredrick continued, his smirk widening. ¡°But, hey, I don¡¯t have time to waste on lost causes. I¡¯ve got a shareholder¡¯s meeting to get to¡ªsomething important, something that matters.¡± He adjusted his watch, making sure Markus saw the gleaming metal catch the light. ¡°Dad¡¯s got a big deal lined up. If all goes well, let¡¯s just say my bank account¡¯s about to get a whole lot fatter. You enjoy your little book, though. Someone¡¯s gotta keep the bottom of the ladder warm.¡± With that, Fredrick turned on his heel and strutted out of the office, his expensive shoes clicking against the worn-out tile. Markus waited a few seconds, listening to the echo of his footsteps fade into the hallway. Only when he was sure Fredrick was gone did he let out a long, exhausted sigh, running a hand down his face.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Motherfucker, I hate you¡± he muttered under his breath, shaking his head before slumping back in his chair. He grabbed his book again, flipping back to where he had left off, but the words didn¡¯t come as easily this time. The world of fiction wasn¡¯t quite strong enough to drown out the frustration simmering in his chest. *** The sun had long since dipped below the horizon by the time Markus trudged up the cracked concrete steps to his apartment. The dim glow of a flickering streetlamp cast long shadows across the parking lot, barely illuminating the faded numbers on the building¡¯s peeling exterior. It wasn¡¯t much¡ªhell, it was barely above a dump¡ªbut it was his. The rent was cheap, and more importantly, he could pay it on time, which was more than some people could say in this economy. He shoved his key into the rusted lock, twisting it twice before the door finally gave way with a groan. The air inside was stale, carrying the faint scent of old carpet and whatever his neighbors had been cooking that night. Probably microwaved ramen or cheap takeout¡ªboth familiar scents in a place like this. Tossing his bag onto the worn-out couch, he let out a tired breath, standing in the middle of the room for a moment, just taking in the silence. Flipping on the light, Markus made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge only to be greeted by the sight of half a loaf of bread, an almost-empty carton of milk, and a sad-looking takeout container that was probably pushing its expiration date. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He wasn¡¯t in the mood to cook, not that there was much to work with anyway. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the door, popped the cap off on the counter¡¯s edge, and made his way back to the couch. He sank into the cushions, one hand resting on his forehead as he stared at the ceiling. Another day is done, another day closer to¡ªwhat, exactly? He wasn¡¯t sure. He just knew that this wasn¡¯t the life he had planned. Markus took a slow sip of his beer, the bitter taste doing little to wash away the weight in his chest. He let his head rest against the back of the couch, eyes drifting to the ceiling fan above him. It was barely moving, the dust-covered blades creaking with every sluggish rotation. Another broken thing in his life he hadn¡¯t bothered to fix. He took another sip of his beer, the glass bottle sweating in his grip. The heater in the corner rattled to life, barely doing anything to push back the creeping December chill that seeped in through the thin walls. His neighbor¡¯s radio was playing through the plaster¡ªsome distant song, muffled but still recognizable. He thought he heard Journey¡¯s Don¡¯t Stop Believin¡¯ Bleeding Through, the kind of song that people played with hopeful enthusiasm, but right now, it just felt ironic. Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, Markus tapped one out and lit it with a worn Zippo, the flame flickering as he took a slow drag. He wasn¡¯t even sure when he had picked up the habit¡ªprobably sometime after he started working at Goddard & Sons when he realized that a smoke break was one of the few acceptable ways to step away from his desk without getting an earful. He let the smoke curl from his lips, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The year was ending, and yet, nothing felt like it was moving forward. He wasn¡¯t even sure if he wanted it to. Time passed quickly as he crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, letting the last tendrils of smoke curl into the air before exhaling slowly. The beer bottle was nearly empty by this point, condensation pooling on the coffee table where it had been resting. The soft glow of the TV flickered against the walls, Peter Falk¡¯s gravelly voice filling the room as Columbo wrapped up yet another case. Markus rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Without even bothering to clean his mess, Markus pulled himself to his feet and made his way to his bedroom. The apartment was quiet now, save for the distant hum of the heater struggling to push out any warmth. Markus shuffled down the short hallway, the floor cold against his bare feet. He didn''t bother turning on the light¡ªhe knew the layout well enough, and besides, he was too damn tired to care. Once inside his bedroom, he kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, letting his clothes fall wherever they landed. The mattress groaned under his weight as he collapsed onto it, arms sprawled out, staring at the water-stained ceiling. A streetlamp outside cast long, crooked shadows across the wall, the faint glow just enough to remind him he was still here, still stuck in the same cycle. For a moment, he lay there, waiting¡ªwaiting for sleep to come, waiting for his mind to stop buzzing, waiting for something to change. But nothing did. Nothing ever did. With a heavy sigh, he turned onto his side, pulling the thin blanket over himself. Tomorrow would be the same as today. The same as yesterday. And for now, all he could do was close his eyes and let the night take him. Yet even as he drifted to sleep, something was happening in his living room. As had become a habit of his whenever he stood up late, he forgot to turn off the TV. The old TV, its screen dim and grainy, continued flickering in the empty living room. The last rerun of Columbo had ended, and static briefly filled the air before the late-night broadcast cycle moved on. The faint glow cast eerie shadows against the walls, the restless hum of white noise barely noticeable over the distant city sounds outside. Then, the screen shifted. For a moment, it wasn¡¯t the usual infomercial or the national anthem signaling the station¡¯s sign-off. Instead, the image stuttered, glitching like a tape caught in rewind. The colors warped, lines of distortion running across the screen before settling into something¡­ different. The grainy picture sharpened unnaturally, the black-and-white contrast deepening as if the broadcast had suddenly become too clear. A figure appeared¡ªa man, or at least something shaped like a man. His suit was dark, blending into the artificial static behind him, his face obscured by the kind of visual fuzz that made it impossible to tell if it was intentional or just a bad signal. He stood completely still, facing forward as if staring out of the screen itself. The air in the apartment seemed to shift, an unnatural stillness settling over the room. The faint sound of static crackled softly, almost like whispers buried beneath the transmission. Then, without warning, the figure spoke, its voice hissing like a snake.
¡°World Synchronization complete, Have a nice rest of your day¡±
The words slithered through the static, mechanical yet organic as if spoken by something that barely understood human speech. The television screen pulsed, distorting for a brief moment before settling back into that eerie, too-clear picture. The figure stood motionless once again, its blurred face unreadable, its presence invasive in a way that defied explanation. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the screen cut to black. The apartment remained still, the faint hum of the heater the only sound left in the room. A second later, the TV shut itself off completely, the glow of the screen vanishing into darkness. The only sign that it had ever been on at all was the faint crackle of static still lingering in the air, like an echo of something that shouldn''t have been there in the first place. In his bedroom, Markus shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing as if reacting to something just beyond the reach of his dreams. But he did not wake. He remained wrapped in unconsciousness, unaware that something had changed¡ªthat the whole world was about to change. Ch.2 "...And on today''s news, the disappearance of over 70 children in West Germany. Local authorities say that the four school buses containing the children were en route to the city of Stuttgart for a field trip but never arrived at their designated time. Currently, one of the buses has been found, though the occupants on board have not..." Markus furrowed his brows as he turned the page of his book. Normally he wouldn''t be one to listen to the radio when he had more important things to do yet these past few weeks had been...odd. Other bizarre stories had been circulating in the news: reports of strange animal sightings in Africa, bizarre weather patterns forming above Scandinavia, and entire groups of people claiming they saw something huge in the waters around Bermuda. He had mostly brushed it off as media exaggeration, the kind of hysteria that built itself up during slow news cycles. Yet in the back of his mind, a sort of uneasiness had begun to form. He couldn''t explain why, just that something felt wrong which he why he brought his radio with him to listen to the news. It didn''t help that throughout the office, he could hear the crackling of other radios as others listened to the news. He shook his head, refocusing on his book. His life was dull enough without entertaining ghost stories. A knock at the door made him glance up. He wasn¡¯t expecting anyone. The woman standing in the doorway made him pause. His first thought was that she was stunning¡ªtall, graceful, and with an otherworldly air about her. But his second thought was how utterly strange her outfit was. She was wearing a long, flowing black robe speckled with tiny white dots, resembling the night sky itself. It shimmered subtly under the dim office lights, as though it contained movement within its fabric. Markus straightened in his chair. "Uh, hi. Can I help you?" She stepped forward without a word, her gaze intense. He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Go ahead, have a seat." The woman silently complied, sitting down with an elegance that felt out of place in his dingy office. Markus waited for her to say something, but she remained quiet, simply watching him. The silence stretched. "Alright," he said slowly. "So, what can I help you with? Are you here about an insurance claim?" No response. Markus bit the inside of his cheek, shifting slightly. "Okay... how about a name? That¡¯s usually a good place to start." Finally, she spoke. "Asena." Her voice was smooth but carried an odd weight to it, as though she were not used to speaking the word aloud. Markus nodded, trying to place the name. It sounded foreign¡ªmaybe Eastern European? Romanian, if he had to guess. But that was just speculation. "Nice to meet you, Asena," he said, giving her another chance to explain why she was there. When she didn¡¯t respond, he sighed. "Look, if you don¡¯t tell me what you need, I can¡¯t help you." Still, nothing. Instead, she glanced down at his desk, her eyes scanning over the scattered papers before landing on his book. Without asking, she reached out and picked it up. Markus opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself, watching as she flipped through the pages with practiced ease. she flipped through the pages slowly and Markus soon found himself watching her, confused. What is she doing? Markus thought before she abruptly spoke again. "I like you," he finally said. Markus blinked. "Uh... what?" She closed the book gently and set it back on his desk, then stood up. Markus frowned, feeling like the conversation had ended before it had even begun. "Hold on," he said. "What do you mean by that?" Asena didn¡¯t answer. Instead, she turned to leave, but before stepping out the door, she glanced back at him. Her eyes were deep blue, almost unnatural in their vibrance¡ªlike the ocean at its darkest depths. "You should go home," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "And avoid standing near the red truck in front of the building." Then she was gone, vanishing around the corner before Markus could react. He stood abruptly, stepping out of his office and looking both ways down the hall. But there was no sign of her.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. A coworker passed by, giving him a confused look. Markus stopped him. "Hey, did you see that woman? The one that just left my office?" The man frowned. "What woman?" Markus hesitated. "The one in the black robe? You had to have seen her. She just walked out." The coworker shook his head. "Haven¡¯t seen anyone. You sure you¡¯re feeling okay?" Markus muttered a dismissal and stepped back into his office, shutting the door behind him. He exhaled sharply, a strange weight settling in his gut. That had been weird¡ªreally weird. Something about the entire encounter didn¡¯t sit right with him. He wasn¡¯t about to ignore it. Grabbing his things, he decided to take Asena¡¯s advice. Maybe it was paranoia, but every instinct told him to leave. He walked briskly down the hall and toward the elevator, his mind still processing what had just happened. As he approached, he saw Fredrick berating some poor employee in the lobby. Markus didn¡¯t know what the guy had done to earn Fredrick¡¯s ire, but judging by Fredrick¡¯s expression, it was something petty. Then Fredrick spotted him. "Where the hell do you think you¡¯re going?" he snapped, marching over. "Your shift isn¡¯t over." Markus didn¡¯t respond. He pressed the elevator button, waiting as the light flickered. Fredrick sneered. "If you walk out of here right now, I¡¯ll report you." The elevator doors slid open with a ding. Markus stepped inside, meeting Fredrick¡¯s furious glare with a blank stare of his own. Then, as the doors began to close, he finally spoke. "Fuck off." The last thing he saw before the doors sealed shut was Fredrick¡¯s shocked face, frozen in disbelief. The ride down was quiet, save for the hum of the elevator. But the moment Markus stepped out into the lobby, he knew something was wrong. Outside, people were gathered in the streets, staring upward. A hushed murmur ran through the crowd, a mixture of confusion and fear. Markus weaved through the lobby and stepped outside, following their gazes. And then he saw it. The sun looked like it was undergoing an eclipse, its golden light swallowed by an unnatural darkness. But in front of the blackened sun, something hung in the sky. A large, glowing blue square, almost translucent, floated high above the city. It was massive, suspended as though it had always been there, yet undeniably alien. Markus squinted. There was writing on it¡ªfaint, unreadable at first¡ªbut just as he was about to focus, a voice rang out. It wasn¡¯t from any speaker, nor from any one direction. It was everywhere, resonating deep in his bones.
"World Synchronization between worlds #11020421 and #33928768 complete. Have a joyous rest of your day."
The sound of glass shattering tore through the air, sharp and deafening. It wasn¡¯t just one window or a stray bottle¡ªit was everywhere, cascading like a wave of destruction. Storefronts, office buildings, car windows¡ªglass fractured and rained down onto the streets as people screamed and ducked for cover. Markus instinctively shielded his face as shards rained down around him, his heart hammering in his chest. A deafening car alarm blared from somewhere nearby, joined by dozens of others. The panicked shouts of pedestrians filled the streets as they scrambled to flee, their fear turning into outright hysteria. Then, through the chaos, came a new sound. A deep, guttural howl¡ªlow, resonant, and inhuman. It came from somewhere further down the street, past the wreckage of shattered windows and overturned trash cans. Markus turned, barely able to see through the dust and debris, but what he did see made his breath catch in his throat. A shape¡ªtall, hulking, and not human¡ªmoved through the thick haze, its form flickering like a mirage. It was big, easily seven feet tall, its silhouette vaguely humanoid but wrong, its limbs too long, its movements too fluid, too unnatural. Its glowing, slitted eyes cut through the dust, locking onto the scattered, panicked people around it. And then it moved. Fast. Too fast. Markus barely registered the moment it lunged. One second it was standing still, the next it was on someone. A scream¡ªhigh-pitched and bloodcurdling¡ªwas cut short as the person was dragged away into the smoke. The sound of tearing fabric, of something crunching, echoed through the streets. Markus took a step back, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. This wasn¡¯t real, it couldn¡¯t be¡ª Another howl. Closer this time. Then another, from the opposite direction. More figures, dozens of them, emerged through the smoke, their glowing eyes piercing through the darkened cityscape. Markus didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe ran. His instincts screamed at him to move, to get the hell away from whatever those things were. He sprinted down the street, his breath ragged, his heart slamming against his ribs. As he dashed past a parked red truck, a loud crash exploded to his right. Something¡ªor someone¡ªhad just plummeted from above, slamming into the roof of the vehicle with a sickening crunch. The impact caved in the metal, sending shards of glass and twisted steel outward. Markus barely managed to dodge as debris scattered across the pavement. He risked a glance¡ªFredrick. His body was twisted at an unnatural angle, blood pooling beneath him, his expensive watch still gleaming under the dim streetlights. His mouth hung open, eyes wide, frozen in a state of terror. Markus didn¡¯t stop. There was no time to process it, no time for shock or grief¡ªhe just kept running, sprinting down the empty streets. The city was unraveling, chaos spilling out in every direction. People screamed as car horns blared, and in the distance, the eerie howls of the creatures continued. His apartment. He just needed to get to his apartment. Cutting through side streets, Markus pushed his legs harder, ignoring the burning in his chest. He didn¡¯t get far. The moment he darted into an alleyway, something landed on him from above. He hit the ground hard, his back slamming into the cold pavement. Before he could react, pain erupted across his chest¡ªclaws. Sharp, slicing through fabric, tearing into his skin. Snarling, he threw his attacker off him, adrenaline surging through his veins. The thing tumbled a few feet away, landing on all fours. Markus scrambled back, panting, his hands shaking as he got his first real look at it. A small, fox-like creature¡ªno more than two feet tall. Its fur was a deep rust color, its ears pointed, and its golden eyes filled with raw aggression. It wore a crude metal chest piece, faded leather straps binding it together. On its belt, two wicked-looking daggers gleamed under the alley¡¯s dim light. Its claws dripped with fresh blood. His blood. The creature hissed, its hackles raising, before launching itself at him again. Markus reacted on instinct, grabbing the nearest object he could find¡ªa dented metal trash can. He swung it hard, slamming the creature in mid-air. The impact sent it sprawling onto the pavement, rolling over before it began to struggle to get back up. Markus didn¡¯t give it the chance to recover. Gritting his teeth, he made his way over and stomped down on it¡ªonce, twice, over and over and over again¡ªuntil it stopped moving. His breath came in ragged gasps. Blood¡ªboth his and the creature¡¯s¡ªstained his clothes, dripping onto the concrete beneath him. For a long moment, all he could hear was his frantic heartbeat screaming in his ears. The world was falling apart, and Markus had no idea what the hell was happening. It was then that the screen appeared. ch.3 If Markus didn''t know any better, he would have thought his mind had been utterly shattered at that point. Stained in blood and continuing to drip blood onto the concrete below him, he began to wonder if this was just a bad dream and that soon he would wake up. He closed his eyes, praying that the scene before him would vanish. Markus opened his eyes, but nothing had changed. The screen was still there, bright blue and unwavering. He clenched his jaw, trying to steady his breathing, but his thoughts were spiraling. This wasn¡¯t normal. None of this was normal. The words on the screen burned into his vision:
[Level Up: You have advanced to Level 2.]
[Class Selection Required.]
He shook his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t real,¡± he muttered, voice hoarse. He was losing too much blood, too exhausted, too shaken to deal with whatever the hell this was. Behind him, a car tore down the street, tires screeching as it swerved wildly past the alley entrance. Several of those fox-things clung to its roof and windows, their claws digging deep into the metal, hissing and snarling as they clambered to tear through the windshield. The driver was screaming. The car veered hard¡ªtoo hard¡ªbefore slamming into a streetlight. The impact sent the creatures flying in all directions. Markus flinched but forced himself to move. He couldn¡¯t stay here. Ignoring the persistent blue screen, he pushed himself forward, clutching his bleeding side. His legs were sluggish, his vision swimming, but he had to get home. He needed a place to think, to figure out if he was losing his mind¡ªor if the world itself had. *** The city felt wrong. Markus staggered forward, each step unsteady as he forced himself toward his apartment. The blue screen never faded, always hovering in his vision, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. The words burned into his mind like an afterimage, refusing to let him pretend this was just blood loss or exhaustion. The streets around him were eerily empty. the screaming that had permitted the air was gone by this point as people had either fled or were hiding. Storefronts were shattered, and some cars sat abandoned in the middle of the road, doors hanging open. Somewhere in the distance, he could still hear the sound of sirens, distant gunfire, and things roaring in the dark. The entire city felt like it was holding its breath. He turned the last corner and finally saw his apartment building at the end of the block. Almost there. *** Markus practically fell against the door, fumbling with his keys. His hands were slick with blood, and sweat, and shaking too much to work properly. He jammed the key into the lock, turned it, and shoved himself inside before slamming the door shut behind him. Silence. He stood there for a moment, head pressed against the door, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The momentary safety of his apartment did nothing to slow his pounding heart.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Then¡ªhe felt it. The screen was still there, watching him. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the couch. He pressed a hand against his side, hissing in pain. He needed to clean the wound, but the damn screen wouldn¡¯t go away.
[Level Up: You have advanced to Level 2.]
[Class Selection Required.]
A new message flashed beneath it.
[Failure to select a class will result in default allocation.]
[Time Remaining: 05:00]
His eyes widened. It had a timer. He had five minutes before the system decided for him. ¡°Son of a bitch¡­¡± Markus groaned, running a bloody hand through his hair. If this was a hallucination, it was the most persistent damn hallucination he¡¯d ever had. The list of available classes appeared before him. The first four options were clear enough:
[Survivor] Balanced. Adaptable to most situations.
[Striker] Speed and melee-oriented.
[Hunter] Stealth and ranged combat.
[Arcane Adept] Magic potential, but weak.
Then came the last one.
[Unstable Variant] ???
The text was glitched, words breaking apart and shifting like a corrupted file. The description was barely readable, letters warping in and out of existence. Markus narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on it. Then, buried in the glitched mess of words, he made out something that sent a chill down his spine. ¡°¡­Asena would recommend.¡± His hands went cold. Asena. The woman from earlier. The one who had warned him. The one who had vanished into thin air. Was this a coincidence? Or was she somehow¡­ guiding him? Markus swallowed hard. He had no idea what this class did. The others were predictable and, understandable. This one was a risk. A gamble. And yet¡ª He selected it. The moment he confirmed the choice, his body reacted. Throughout his whole life, the most painful moment he could have thought of was when he tore his ACL during a high school soccer game. The pain had come in waves and at the time, he thought he was going to die because of the pain. But this¡ªthis was worse. The second his finger twitched over the selection, his entire body seized up, every nerve igniting in white-hot agony. It was like someone had driven red-hot nails into his bones, twisting and wrenching them into something unnatural. Markus let out a choked gasp, his vision blurring as a searing heat spread from his core to the rest of his body. His fingers curled as he fell off the couch, his back arching involuntarily as the pain surged through him in violent, rolling waves. It felt like his veins were being rewritten, his cells torn apart and stitched back together with something else entirely. A sound¡ªa horrible, electrical distortion¡ªfilled his ears, a deep, unnatural buzzing that seemed to crawl beneath his skin. His vision fractured, momentarily splitting into four, six, and eight different images before slamming back into focus. His body convulsed. He could feel his heartbeat skipping, erratic, unstable. And then¡ªit stopped. Everything went still. Markus lay on the floor, gasping, his body drenched in cold sweat. The lights in his apartment flickered violently before bursting, the bulbs shattering, leaving only the dull glow of the city filtering through the blinds. His body felt wrong. Not in pain¡ªnot anymore. But off. As if something had changed deep inside him, at a level he couldn¡¯t yet understand. He pushed himself up with shaky hands, his breath unsteady, and when he looked down at himself¡ªhis wound wasn¡¯t bleeding any more. Not healed. But sealed shut, in a way that defied logic. Like the skin had fused back together in an unnatural manner. And then, as he tried to process it all¡ª A growl. Deep. Low. Right outside his window. Markus turned his head slowly, pulse hammering. Something was standing in the street, in the darkness, watching him. And it knew. It knew what he was now. ch.4 Markus peered through the blinds of his apartment, his breath shallow as his eyes locked onto the figure standing at the other end of the parking lot. It was shaped just like the small fox-like creatures from before but whereas those things barely reached two feet tall, this one easily stood at six or seven feet. Even though the night obscured most details, Markus could make out the pure white fur covering its body and, more ominously, the gargantuan halberd slung across its back. Despite the dozen or so meters between them, Markus knew with bone-deep certainty that it was looking directly at him. A cold, sick feeling settled in his stomach as his heart pounded against his ribs. His instincts screamed at him to move, to act, but he remained frozen for a moment, trapped in that horrible gaze. Then, as if responding to some unseen signal, the white fox creature took a single step forward. Markus¡¯s body finally reacted. He spun away from the window and sprinted into his bedroom, dropping to his knees as he yanked a small metal box from beneath his bed. His hands fumbled with the latch before flipping it open. Inside, nestled in a thin layer of foam, was his Colt Diamondback revolver, along with a few dozen .38 rounds. His father had given it to him when he moved out for college, insisting on the importance of self-defense in an area he didn''t quite know. At the time he blew it off and hadnt thought about it but right now, Markus had never been more grateful for it. His fingers shook as he loaded the cylinder, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He needed to calm down¡ªneeded to think¡ªbut every fiber of his being was locked in pure survival mode. Once the cylinder was fully loaded and clicked into place, he hurried back to the window, gripping the weapon tightly as he scanned the parking lot. But the white fox creature was gone. A chill ran down his spine. Where¡ª? Before he could react, his entire world exploded. A deafening crash shattered the silence as a massive halberd burst through the wall, slicing through the air where his head had been just seconds before. Chunks of drywall and shattered wood erupted into the room, sending debris flying in all directions. Markus threw himself backward, barely dodging the killing strike as debris rained down on him. His ears rang from the force of the impact, his vision swimming. His mind screamed MOVE!, but his body was sluggish, still caught in the shock of the attack. Through the gaping hole in the wall, the white fox creature stepped through, its blood-red eyes gleaming in the dim light of the apartment. It was grinning¡ªa feral, sharp-toothed smile that sent an icy wave of terror through Markus¡¯s chest. He didn¡¯t even bother to think as he raised the revolver and fired. The gunshot roared, the bullet slamming dead center into the chest which caused it to slightly stagger. For a brief moment, Markus was relieved before he watched as the bullet plopped onto the ground. Bloody, but barely effective. Markus¡¯s stomach twisted again. What¡­How? The white fox creature¡¯s expression barely shifted, though its ears flicked in mild annoyance. With a low snarl, it lifted its halberd once more and lunged forward. Markus barely managed to dodge, tripping over himself as the blade sliced through the air with terrifying speed. It impacted the floor, slicing right through into the room below. Markus¡¯s back hit the kitchen counter, his mind scrambling for options. His gun was useless. The fox creature was too fast. He needed to do something¡ªanything! His eyes darted to a glass jar he had kept on the counter. Without even thinking and being all but desperate at this point, he grabbed it and hurled it at the fox creature''s face. The glass shattered on impact, shards embedding into its fur and eyes. Though the glass in its fur fell to the ground harmlessly, enough had gotten into its eyes that it let out a sharp snarl, covering its face as it was momentarily disoriented. That was all Markus needed. Without hesitation, he bolted through the destroyed wall, launching himself over the railing outside. His stomach lurched as he dropped down, landing hard on the paved ground before rolling into a full sprint. Behind him, a furious howl filled the night. Markus ran. His legs burned, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he forced himself to keep moving. He had barely made it halfway across the parking lot when he felt something strike his leg. Pain exploded through his left thigh as he crashed onto the pavement, skidding across the rough concrete. Dazed and confused, he looked down and saw a crudely made arrow lodged in his leg, its black fletchings positioned at an odd angle. His pulse spiked as he lifted his gaze. From the shadows, dozens of the smaller fox creatures had gathered. His blood went cold. The white fox creature landed gracefully behind them, stepping forward with an amused bark¡ªa laugh. Markus gritted his teeth and raised the revolver with shaky hands. He fired. Missed.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Fired again. Another miss. The white fox creature barely seemed concerned. With one swift motion, it knocked the gun from his grip, sending it clattering onto the pavement. Markus barely had time to react before the halberd came down. Pain erupted through his chest as the spike on top of it pierced through him. He choked, blood bubbling past his lips. His vision darkened, everything fading into a distant blur. He was dying and he knew it. He feebly raised his arms, trying to grab the gun from where it had been tossed but stopped only a few inches short. The last thing he saw was the white fox creature turning away, growling for the others to follow. Then¡ª A glitching screen flickered into existence beside him.
[Unstable Variant Ability Unlocked: Essence of the Wight]
*** From the depths of pain and fading consciousness, something sparked. A whisper of energy, cold yet burning, surged through Markus¡¯s broken body. A heart began beating in his chest. But not his own. Then¡ªfire. The group of creatures was only a few meters away when the body behind them exploded, catching their attention immediately. One of the smaller fox creatures let out a sharp, panicked yelp, scrambling backward as the unnatural green fire twisted and writhed across the pavement. The flames pulsed, consuming the body they had left behind¡ªbut instead of turning to ash, it moved. Markus¡¯s hand twitches. His fingers dug into the concrete, the blackened surface cracking beneath his grip as his body jerked upright in an unnatural, inhuman motion. His head snapped back, his glowing, green-lit eyes locking onto the fox-creatures like a predator who had just been awakened as his skin burned away, revealing the white and now blackening bones underneath. The creatures froze. They had seen humans fight, struggle, and even kill some of their own, as was the case with the being in front of them. Yet throughout the clan¡¯s history, never before had they seen one come back from death. Markus meanwhile felt empty¡ªno, hollow. His heart, not his own, pounded unnaturally in his chest, sending tremors through his now skeletal limbs. His mind felt foggy, and distant, as though something else had crawled into his skull and taken up residence. But he didn''t care anymore It was then that from the very depths of his being, came the hunger. Not for food. For death. The white fox creature turned slowly, its confident smirk wiped away, replaced by something close to shock. It only took the large creature a second to realize the danger both it and its clan-mates were and acted. A sharp, guttural bark erupted from its throat¡ªa command. The smaller fox creatures, still frozen in wide-eyed terror, scrambled backward, their instincts at war between fight and flight. But Markus was already moving. His body lurched forward unnaturally, his form a streak of green fire and bone, closing the distance between them in less than a breath. The white fox creature reacted fast, its warrior instincts overriding its fear. It dropped low, twisting its body and swinging its halberd toward Markus¡¯s midsection, aiming to cleave him in half¡ªeven if it meant using all of its available strength to do so. It didn¡¯t matter. Markus didn¡¯t dodge. He didn¡¯t need to. The blade slammed into his torso¡ªand shattered, breaking apart on impact like brittle glass. The white fox creature¡¯s ears flattened, its red eyes widening in horrified disbelief. Its weapon¡ªthe same weapon that had killed dozens of beings and even this human just moments ago¡ªwas now useless. Markus was upon it almost instantly. His blackened, skeletal arm shot forward, fingers clamping around the fox creature¡¯s throat like a vise. The beast snarled, its claws raking desperately at Markus¡¯s arm, but it couldn¡¯t land a hit. The flames covering Markus¡¯s body scorched away any attempt, its attacks burning it in return. The white fox creature thrashed, legs kicking, tail whipping wildly¡ªbut it was trapped. For the first time, it felt preyed upon. Markus¡¯s grip tightened. The bones in his fingers creaked under the pressure, his body filled with nothing but hunger and rage. The white fox creature¡¯s snarls turned into choked gasps for air. Its once fierce, unshakable confidence crumbled into sheer panic. Markus could feel it. The fear. The desperation. A slow, awful grin spread across his now almost entirely skeletal face, revealing teeth that felt sharper than before. From the ground behind him, the revolver snapped into his other hand. It glowed red-hot, the metal warping under the influence of the green flames, reshaped into something more, something¡­new. Markus raised the gun and, with no hesitation, shoved the barrel into the fox creature¡¯s mouth. Its eyes widened¡ªand for the first time in its long life, it felt true horror. Markus pulled the trigger. The world seemed to slow for a second as the roar of the gun echoed throughout the parking lot, but the bullet that fired wasn¡¯t ordinary. It was wreathed in green flames, a blazing streak of pure spectral energy, tearing through the fox creature¡¯s skull and igniting it from the inside out. The creature convulsed violently, its limbs flailing, claws curling, as the green flames consumed it from within. A single, high-pitched screech escaped its throat¡ªbefore the fire silenced it forever. Its flesh burned away in seconds, reduced to nothing but embers and smoke. And then, all that remained were its bones¡ªperfect, pearly white, untouched by the fire. The remaining creatures stood frozen, their faces locked in expressions of sheer terror. They had believed themselves hunters, killers, the rulers of the night as ordained by their shamans. But now, they understood the truth. The thing standing before them was no longer human but instead, a devil. Markus turned toward them, his skull wreathed in green fire, his eyes twin pits of glowing, burning emeralds. That was all it took. The creatures ran. Without hesitation, they turned and fled, scrambling over one another in a maddening panic as their desperate rush to escape reached its peak. Their chief, their alpha, had been annihilated in an instant¡ªthey stood no chance. Markus took one step forward, his breath coming out in wisps of black smoke. The power still burned inside him, surging with every movement. The urge to chase, to hunt, to slaughter clawed at his mind. To erase everything that dared exist in his path. But before he could take another step¡ªhis body failed him. The fires flickered. Then, they were snuffed out entirely. He felt his knees buckle, and he collapsed onto the pavement, his body drained, his limbs trembling as his vision swam. He gasped for breath, his limbs twitching, struggling to move¡ªbut they wouldn¡¯t obey. It only took a matter of seconds before his consciousness slipped away, leaving him alone in the parking lot with the remains of the creature. *** Standing atop a building just across the street from the apartment, a figure watched the motionless body of Markus. It had been watching since Markus had returned to the building, his fight and rebirth and then his victory. It had remained still, unmoving, observing everything as if it had been waiting for this moment. The green flames had long since faded, but the echoes of their unnatural energy still clung to the air, distorting the night like a heat mirage. The scent of burned flesh had dissipated, replaced only by the faint metallic tang of something otherworldly. The figure¡¯s dark green eyes¡ªpiercing and unreadable¡ªremained locked on Markus¡¯s motionless form. Finally. After so long. A Grave-Touched to be inducted. ch.5 The dreams came to Markus like scenes from old movies he used to watch as a child¡ªgrainy, flickering, their edges blurred as if projected through damaged film. He drifted through shifting landscapes, none of them familiar yet all of them hauntingly real. A vast battlefield choked in fog, the air heavy with the scent of blood and fire. A ruined city bathed in green light, its streets silent, its buildings crumbling into dust. A darkened chamber, where figures cloaked in shadow whispered words he could not understand. Through it all, a heartbeat echoed¡ªsteady, unrelenting. But it wasn¡¯t his own. It pulsed through his chest, a cold, unnatural rhythm that didn¡¯t belong to him. And then, as if guided by some unseen force, Markus turned. There¡ªstanding in the center of the darkness¡ªwas himself. Or rather, something wearing his skin. Its body was wreathed in green flames, its eyes hollowed pits of glowing, endless void, staring back at him with a look that sent an ice-cold shudder down his spine. It tilted its head, the movement sharp, unnatural. Then it spoke. "Not yet." The words were a whisper and a roar all at once, filling his skull, making his vision fracture like broken glass. Markus gasped¡ª And woke up. *** Markus groaned as he rolled in the cot, pain bubbling beneath his skin, radiating through his muscles like embers buried in his flesh. His entire body ached, every nerve raw, every movement a struggle. The air was stale, tinged with the faint scent of old wood, dust, and something metallic. The cot beneath him creaked, its thin mattress doing little to cushion the weight of his exhaustion. He forced his eyes open. Dim light filtered through wooden slats, casting uneven lines across a cramped, unfamiliar room. His breathing was shaky, his heartbeat slow, heavy, unnatural. For a few seconds, his mind struggled to catch up. Where was he? What had happened? Then¡ªthe memories slammed into him all at once. The foxes. The fight. The fire. His fingers twitched, and for a terrifying moment, he expected to see skeletal remains where his hand should be. But it was¡­ normal. Or at least, it looked normal. His skin was pale, almost sickly, but intact. No burns, no charred one¡ªnothing to suggest he had been wreathed in fire, twisting into something inhuman. He sat up slowly, muscles protesting with every movement, and scanned the room.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. It was small¡ªbarely more than a storage space. The walls were lined with shelves packed with old supplies, crates stacked in the corners, some labeled with faded labels. From the ceiling, A lantern hung, its warm light barely enough to push back the shadows. Markus tried to stand up, but the moment he put weight on his legs, they buckled beneath him. His body collapsed, sending him crashing onto his hands and knees on the cold wooden floor. Pain flared across his muscles, a dull, aching burn radiating through his limbs. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering with the strain of simply existing. For a moment, he just sat there, panting in exertion, his hands clenched into trembling fists against the floorboards. His body felt wrong¡ªlike it wasn¡¯t entirely his anymore. There was a lingering emptiness, a strange hollowness that settled deep inside his bones as if something had been drained from him. ¡°What¡­is going¡­on?¡± Markus whispered to himself through gritted teeth as the pain returned. As if on cue, however, a familiar sight appeared in front of him. A blue screen flickered into existence before his eyes, hovering in midair, its glow unnatural, pulsing softly. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of unease through Markus¡¯s already battered mind. He stared at it, his breath still heavy, sweat rolling down his forehead. The screen glitched for a second, lines of unreadable text flickering before settling into something legible.
Name: Markus Race: [Human?] (Altered)
Class: [Unstable Variant] Title: [Grave-Touched] (Fledgling)
Level: 4 Lifeforce Integrity: 67%
Status Effects: Residual Energy Detected ¨C Unknown Source (Monitor Closely) Modifiers: None
Attributes
  • Strength: 14 ¡ú (Temporary Boost: 20)
  • Agility: 12 ¡ú (Temporary Boost: 18)
  • Endurance: 10 ¡ú (Temporary Boost: 17)
  • Vitality: 9 ¡ú (Unstable)
  • Perception: 13
  • Willpower: 15 ¡ú (Fluctuating)
  • Intelligence: 11
Abilities:
  • [Essence of the Wight] (Dormant) ¨C Passive/Active
    • Status: Sealed (Reactivation Pending)
    • Effects: Grants temporary transformation into a Wight, drastically increasing combat effectiveness, durability, and resilience. Draws on lifeforce as fuel. Failure to deactivate in time results in full Wight transformation.
    • Current Control Level: 0%
  • [???] ¨C Locked
  • [???] ¨C Locked
Markus stared at the screen, his mind still trying to process the numbers and words floating in front of him. Strength, Agility, Endurance, Vitality¡­ Some of them had numbers next to them, a few marked as boosted while others¡ªlike Vitality¡ªwere labeled Unstable. What the hell does that even mean? he thought as he ran a hand against the screen, its icey feeling sending a chill through his hand. His eyes flickered toward the "Lifeforce Integrity: 67%" message. Just looking at that made his stomach feel weird. Was that his health? Did that mean he was only at 67% of what he should be? He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling under his exhaustion. "What is this even supposed to mean?" he muttered under his breath. "Am I supposed to understand any of this?" No answer. The blue screen simply hovered, waiting. Markus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. His gut told him that whatever this was, it wasn¡¯t going to disappear. He wasn¡¯t hallucinating this. The pain in his body, the weight of what happened, the fire¡ªit was real. That meant he couldn¡¯t just sit here, waiting for the world to explain itself. First thing¡¯s first¡ªwhere the hell am I? His gaze swept across the dimly lit room, taking in the shelves packed with old supplies, the crates pushed against the walls, the faint scent of dust and wood hanging in the air. It was cramped, barely more than a storage space. Wherever this was, it wasn¡¯t what remained of his apartment. And that meant he needed to move. Even if his body felt like it had been run over, even if his bones ached, he wasn¡¯t going to sit around waiting for answers to fall into his lap. With a sharp inhale, he braced himself¡ªAnd then, he tried to stand. Markus gritted his teeth and forced his arms beneath him, pushing off the cold wooden floor. His muscles screamed in protest, every inch of his body aching like hell, but he refused to stay down. With sheer effort, he lifted himself into a squatting position, his legs trembling violently beneath his weight. His breaths came in short, controlled gasps as he steadied himself, trying to push past the unbearable weakness in his limbs. Then¡ªhis legs gave out again. He collapsed back onto the floor, his palms slamming against the boards as he caught himself. A low growl of frustration escaped his lips, but he didn¡¯t stop. He tried again. And again. Each time, he got a little further, his body adapting to the strain, his will outweighing his exhaustion. His fingers dug into the wood, his arms trembling with effort as he dragged himself back into a squatting position, his knees locking in place, refusing to let him fall again. His heart pounded violently, his breaths ragged, but he was upright. Finally. One step at a time. His foot shifted forward, unsteady, wobbly¡ªbut it held. Another step. His body threatened to topple over, but he forced his other leg to follow. He was standing. Barely¡ªbut standing nonetheless. Markus let out a shaky breath, sweat rolling down his forehead. His legs felt like jelly as if they would give out at any moment, but he pressed forward. One step. Then another. Each movement felt like dragging his body through wet cement, but he pushed forward anyway, his fingers grazing against the walls for support as he inched toward the door. The woman said nothing, merely watching, her expression unreadable. When he finally reached the door, Markus paused, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He reached for the handle. His grip was weak, fingers trembling, but with effort, he twisted the knob and pulled. The door creaked open, revealing the world beyond the room. It was hell