I tightened my grip on the weapon, holding it at an angle that showed off the mechanism. Two limbs snapped open with a satisfying thwack, The cord between them pulled tight to the base. I flicked my thumb and it's inner mechanism made a mechanical spinning sound, ending with a sharp 'click'.

The bloodhunter’s icy-blue eye darted to it, her brow furrowing. “What is that?” she asked, her tone more curious than cautious.

“Glad you asked,” I said, forcing a smirk. “This here is Yellow-Girl . Custom-made crossbow , top-of-the-line , and the best investment I’ve ever made—if you don’t count ramen.”

She tilted her head, unimpressed. “A crossbow? Thought you’d at least bring a gun to this fight. At least then you could have a chance to scratch my armor before I gut you.”

I chuckled, keeping her attention on me. “Guns jam when magic’s involved. Delicate moving parts and high-tech Etherium circuits don’t mix with ambient Ether. But old-fashioned mechanisms? Those work just fine. Besides...” I gestured to the thick body of Yellow-Girl. “This isn’t your grandma’s crossbow.”

Her smirk widened, her blade tilting just slightly in her hand. “Fancy toy. But do you really think you’ll have time to reload before I slice you in two ?”

I shrugged, trying to look casual. “Don’t know, never had to. And besides-"

She didn’t give me the chance to add anything else. One second, she was standing a few feet away. The next, she blurred into motion.

“Ah, hell,” I muttered.

This time, I was ready.

She lunged, her blade flashing in the dim light as it swept toward my head. I ducked low, firing Yellow-Girl on instinct. The bolt grazed her shoulder, cutting through the leather of her armor and earning a sharp hiss of pain.

Her lips curled into a grin, and she surged forward again, reckless now. She thought I’d used my one shot, the weakness of every crossbow.

Not this one.

“Reloading takes time,” they’d said when I first pitched the idea for Yellow-Girl to a weaponsmith. “You’re better off with a gun.” But I’d worked my ass off, scrimping and saving, until I had enough to build what I wanted: a crossbow with a mechanical barrel that turned, clicked, and pulled the cord back in one smooth motion.

As the barrel turned and the cord clicked into place, I almost felt proud. The soft sound cut through the air, and the bloodhunter’s smile faltered. She darted to the side, quick as lightning, but not quick enough.

The second bolt struck her thigh.

“Ha!” I barked, my grin wide as I backed away.

Her momentum faltered, her steps uneven for a moment as she stumbled. My goal wasn’t to kill her. I didn’t even want to hurt her. She was Guild, after all. But if I could keep her off her feet—maybe slow her down enough to give Benny time to finish—then I’d count this as a win.

I kept my crossbow raised, ready to fire again if I had to, though I was already calculating how much the bolts were costing me.

“This stupid job doesn’t pay enough,” I muttered under my breath.

The bloodhunter straightened, Her smirk was gone, replaced with a cold, calculated look. She glanced at Benny, then back at me, the pieces of her plan shifting into place. She reached down, tearing the bolt free from her leg with an irritated growl. She tossed it to the ground, blood smearing her fingers.

“Still think it’s a toy?” I asked, my voice full of mock cheer. “If you sit down and let ol’ Bonesack finish up over there, we can all walk away from this. No hard feelings, yeah?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, white smoke began to pour from behind her eyepatch, swirling like a living thing. The blood dripping from her wound didn’t pool on the ground—it glowed red, swirling unnaturally upward and around her fingers.

“Oh, that’s not good,” I muttered, taking a step back.

The blood snaked up the blade in her hand, wrapping around it in glowing tendrils. The weapon shifted, elongating into a scimitar-like monstrosity that pulsed with an unsettling crimson light.

“That’s definitely not good.”

Her expression was cold, focused, and terrifyingly calm as she raised the blade. It looked like something ripped straight out of a nightmare, all jagged edges and a sickly, pulsing glow.

“Okay,” I said, my voice a little higher than I liked. “So now you’ve got reach. That’s fair. Totally fair.”

I racked my brain for options, but nothing good came to mind. My bolts weren’t going to stop her, and I couldn't use the more crazy stuff. Killing her wasn't an option, no matter how itching my neck felt from looking at that wicked blade... Perhaps..? I reached for my special bolt, but I had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to end well for me, There's no way she'll let me load it in time.

She stalked forward, her blade glowing brighter with each step, the temperature in the room seeming to drop with her every movement.

“You know,” I said, forcing a laugh as my hand tried to reach the special bolt case on my thigh, under the poncho without getting her attention, “this is the part where I’d usually make a dramatic escape. But, uh, you’re kind of blocking the exit, so—”

Her blade swung, the air humming with the force of it, and I jumped back before reaching for the case, barely keeping my head attached to my shoulders.

My thoughts turned grim as I weighed my chances. This is it, Eric. You’re done. She’s faster, stronger, and way too stab-happy. Hope Maevra enjoys inheriting your hat.

But then, Benny’s voice rose above the tension, chanting louder and faster as the ritual reached its peak. The air crackled with energy, a warmth unlike anything I’d ever felt in a place this cold and dead.

And with a burst of necrotic magic, the circle flared, glowing brighter than the sun.

The force of it hit like a wave, throwing all of us backward. I landed hard, my hat skidding across the floor as my back slammed into a rusted barrel.

As I tried to gather my wits, one thought rang clear in my mind: Whatever Benny just did, it better be worth it.

I looked up at the platform and saw Benny scrambling to his feet, wobbling slightly from the impact of the magical burst, but his determination burned brighter than his sense of balance. He rushed toward Lisa, his boney necklace clinking faintly as he dropped to his knees beside her.

Lisa stirred, pushing herself upright with slow, jerky movements. At first, it looked like she was just dazed, trying to shake off whatever just happened, but I noticed something was off.

Her movements weren’t fluid. Each motion came with a stiffness that sent chill down my spine, and not from my soaked poncho. It looked like she was still learning how to move in her own skin. My stomach tightened as my instincts screamed a warning. She wasn’t fully alive. She was undead.

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Her flesh looked normal, healthy even, but the tiny details gave her away: the faint dullness to her skin, the way her fingers curled just slightly wrong, like they didn’t quite belong to her. And then there was the stillness of her chest—too perfect, too unnatural. Literally breathless..

Most people wouldn’t notice. They’d see a girl waking up from whatever nightmare had just happened here and think nothing of it. But I wasn’t most people. I’d spent years studying the undead—watching, learning, noticing the little things that set them apart. It wasn’t something I chose, exactly. It was more like a curse, an obsession born from someone I’d once known and trusted.

Someone who betrayed me.

Those years of understanding couldn’t be unlearned, no matter how much I wanted to forget. And now, every instinct I had screamed the same truth: Lisa wasn’t alive. Not anymore.

I turned my gaze toward the bloodhunter. She was starting to stir, her hand gripping her silver knife, the wicked crimson blade now gone—the magic holding it together had vanished when her focus slipped. With a shaky breath, she pushed herself upright, leaning heavily on her good leg as she steadied herself. If I was going to clear this mess up, it had to be now.

Forcing myself upright, I spotted my hat lying a few feet away. I cursed under my breath as I grabbed it, shook the dust off of it, and jammed it back onto my head.

“Waste of time,” I muttered, glancing toward the undead couple and the bloodhunter, who was already standing, her weight shifted carefully onto her stronger leg. But there was no helping it—private investigators had a certain image to maintain. Without the hat, I was just some guy poking around in places I didn’t belong. With the hat? I was hard-boiled. Gumshoe enough for anyone to know they’d hired the right man for the job.

I strode toward the pair, ignoring the ache in my body and the sharp sting in my pride. “Hey,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “I’m Eric Sharaby. Private investigator. I’ve been looking for you, Lisa.”

Lisa turned her head toward me, her eyes still hazy and unfocused, her lips moving soundlessly as if testing how they worked. Benny stepped protectively in front of her, his short skeletal frame bristling with defiance. Seriously, even sitting Lisa was almost taller than the little guy.

“This is bad,” I said, keeping my tone as calm as I could manage. “Raising the dead is a serious problem. It’s against the rules of magic, and it’s a huge taboo. You’re lucky my job is to bring you both back in one piece and that I found you before she did.” I nodded toward the bloodhunter, who was now struggling to stand, her icy-blue eye burning with fury. “She’s going to kill all of us if we don’t figure this out.”

Benny blinked at me, his bony frame stiffening like he was bracing for a fight, but his wide, sunken eyes betrayed more confusion than malice. “Kill us? What are you talking about? I’m just trying to make things right!” His voice cracked, a strained mix of frustration and desperation.

He fumbled with the book in his hands, holding it up like it was his badge of honor. The thing looked pitiful—cheap imitation leather, a cracked spine, and even a few torn corners for good measure. “This isn’t dark magic! It says so right here!” He jabbed a skeletal finger at the faded gold lettering on the cover. “Ethical Re-su-rec-tion. Plain as day!”

He clutched the book to his chest like a shield, his bony necklace rattling faintly as he drew himself up. “I followed everything it said! Exactly! This isn’t dark magic—it’s... it’s hope! I’m not some villain in a bedtime story.”

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Yeah, about that... A long time ago, sure, ‘Healing’ and ‘Resurrection’ were the names people gave to the few legitimate forms of necromancy. But that was before the Iron Laws and the Rules of Magic came into play.” I gestured to the book. “And besides, that thing looks like a scam. It’s one of those journals people buy because the cover looks cool, and then they never write in it. For gods’ sake, there’s still a 70% discount sticker on the back.”

Benny looked genuinely offended, clutching the book closer to his chest. If undead could blush, he would’ve been crimson. “This is a real grimoire! A famous wizard wrote it—just, uh, his methods were a little... unconventional. People didn’t take him seriously.”

Lisa mumbled something, her voice shaky and halting as if she were relearning how to use her tongue. “U-undead...?”

Benny crouched beside her, his boney necklace jangling softly as he tried to soothe her. “No, no, it’s okay. You’re fine, I promise. You’re still you.”

I watched them, my stomach churning as the weight of the situation settled over me. This wasn’t just necromancy—it was dawning on me, piece by piece, that there was a real chance this resurrection had gone wrong. From the ridiculous book Benny clutched to the uneven, jerky movements Lisa was making, the whole thing reeked of desperation. A bad spell, a desperate caster, and a result that was just... off.

Raising the dead is always messy, I thought, my mind drifting back to past cases. The fresher the corpse, the better the odds. And the more personal the materials used—their favorite trinkets, things they treasured in life—the higher the chances of getting them ‘right.’

My eyes drifted to the items still inside the circle. The silver bracelet caught my attention first: polished and well cared for, clearly cherished. It was expensive, too, the kind of gift you don’t just toss aside. I didn’t know its story, but it didn’t take a detective to see that it mattered to her.

The purse, on the other hand, was cheap. But it was in good condition, the kind of thing someone takes pride in when they’ve worked hard to afford it. And then there was the cellphone—like any girl her age, her whole life probably lived inside that little device. Photos, messages, connections.

These were pieces of her story, parts of her life that mattered. But was it enough?

A cold knot formed in my stomach. Something was missing. A piece of love, a bond strong enough to call her soul back from wherever it had gone, to give her a reason to stay.

And it wasn’t in that circle.

I glanced back at Benny and Lisa. She was leaning against him now, her limbs no longer jerky but moving with a strange, unnatural smoothness, like a puppet whose strings had been adjusted just right. Her head tilted as if testing the weight of it, her fingers curling and uncurling with deliberate precision.

Benny hovered close, his bony hands trembling as he adjusted her posture, murmuring soft reassurances. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re fine, Lisa. You’re back. Everything’s going to be okay now.” He cradled her as if she might crumble, his touch tender despite his skeletal appearance and the clear differences in their size. There was something in his voice—a desperate hope, a quiet plea—that twisted the knot in my stomach tighter.

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. Could a person count as a spell component?

My gaze shifted back to the circle. Benny’s desperation, his presence within the runes, his attachment to Lisa—it all lined up. Whether he realized it or not, he hadn’t just cast this spell with trinkets and keepsakes. He’d poured himself into it, body and soul.

He hadn’t resurrected her with the strength of magic alone. He’d used himself.

Lisa’s confusion morphed into panic as her gaze locked onto Benny. Her wide, terrified eyes darted over his skeletal frame, the flimsy glamour he managed to pull off wasn't enough this close to her. She recoiled, pushing herself back with trembling hands until she froze, staring at her own fingers.

The tips were dark blue, the color spreading faintly like veins beneath her skin.

“No,” she whispered, her voice shaky, cracking with disbelief. “No, no, no!” Her breathing quickened, turning raspy and erratic. She clutched at her arms, at her chest, as if trying to hold herself together, her voice rising in pitch with every word. “What’s happening to me?”

The scream that tore from her throat wasn’t human. It clawed at the air, a bone-chilling sound that froze me in place.

“Get away from her!” the bloodhunter shouted.

My head snapped toward her. Her eyepatch was gone, her glowing eye and the blackened veins surrounding it stark against her pale face. At first, I thought she meant to kill Lisa. But then I caught something else in her expression—a flicker of fear, maybe sadness. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the cold fury I’d seen before. It was something else entirely, and I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

What the hell was she seeing?

Lisa’s screams grew louder, more guttural, the sound twisting into something that set every instinct I had on edge. The air around her began to ripple, spiraling toward her open mouth like a funnel of invisible energy.

I couldn’t see what the bloodhunter did, but I didn’t need to. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t natural.

Lisa’s body convulsed, her back arching unnaturally as her screams turned into a low, guttural growl. Her limbs began to elongate, bones snapping and reforming as her fingers stretched grotesquely, the tips bursting into wickedly sharp points.

Her feminine frame twisted and warped, her figure a sick parody of its former self—thin and wiry in some places, bulging with unnatural muscle in others.

Her jaw stretched wide, sharp teeth sprouting from her gums in grotesque rows. The muscles of her jaw visibly twitched and shifted, her maw snapping with a force that could break bone like dry twigs.

Her eyes sank deep into their sockets, glowing red pinpoints burning like embers in the darkness. The only thing that stayed the same was her golden hair, a cruel mockery of the girl she once was.

“Move!” I shouted, grabbing Benny by the back of his shirt.

Lisa—or whatever she was now—swiped at us with her grotesque claws, the air hissing as they sliced through where we’d been standing a second ago.

We hit the ground hard as I pulled Benny off the platform, landing in a sprawl beside the bloodhunter. My hat tumbled off, and for once, I didn’t stop to grab it.

Benny’s voice cracked as he scrambled to his knees, staring up at the monstrosity above us. “What—what happened to her?”

The bloodhunter didn’t take her eyes off what was Lisa just a moment ago, her glowing one narrowing. “Something evil.” Her voice was steady, cold. “Something drawn to this place by the thick residue of dark magic. It found her fear, her confusion, and used it to invade her. It turned her into this.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to my feet. “A ghoul,” I said grimly.

Benny blinked at me, his face a mask of horror. “What’s a ghoul?”

I didn’t take my eyes off the creature as it crouched on the platform, its glowing eyes burning into us. “Bad news,” I muttered.