The blade shattered, scattering the shards about as if a frag grenade had gone off. Which didn't help him in the least, when said shrapnel pierced his arms and cheeks. Jor gasped in pain, reflexively closing his eyes. The pain bloomed into an explosion as if someone had stuck a live wire inside his brain.

He was just lucky he hadn't lost an eye as a result.

Jor barely parried the next strike with what was left of his blade. The pain slowed his reflexes. The only reason he hadn't stopped to scream, was the very good possibility of dying a gruesome death. The zombie, all flesh and certainly better preserved than the rest of its people, didn't let up in its assault.

The axe came down from a vertical strike with a vicious chop, forcing Jor to sidestep. Then, a series of parries followed, with Jor having to deflect the last follow-up. Its response was fast, but Jor was quicker with his return. When the opening came, it gave him a wide opening.

With what was left of his blade, he shoved it straight through the eyes of the undead, and out the back of its skull. The skeleton warrior dropped instantly, its weapon clattering noiselessly aside from its grip. Whatever was left that powered the zombie, died alongside those crimson eyes. Their weakness, it seemed, was always the eyes.

Jor dropped the blade, gasping for breath. This had been the... most painful. The pain was constant in his new life, and it didn't get any easier dealing with it.

It had been four months since he killed his first undead, and in between the fitful hours of sleep, and stalking random lone undead had been his only choice. There was little he could do, and with little recourse, he had to attain better stat gains in order to survive, and finally escape.

It would take about another hour to get back to his hideout, so he discarded the broken blade next to the undead and picked up the new one. He examined the double-bladed axe closely; it had a surprisingly faint glow to it. Almost... otherworldly. There was little that Jor understood about this weapon, but it was strong enough to completely batter aside his strike with ease, and break his weapon without much kinetic force behind it. Which was a good thing, because he could use it.

He laid it aside to check the body. The zombie was... well, it was better preserved. It had a tuft of blond hair, and sallow, sunken skin. There was still muscles in its form, but the flesh was starting to decompose. Then, he checked the next zombie, and the next, and the next. Three dozen in all.

Jor managed to defend himself against a small army, constantly moving and fighting, never letting them surround him. The fact that he even had the endurance and the stamina at all was a new realization. And more so, when Jor estimated the fight might have lasted no more than half hour.

"Close. Too close," Jor said to no one.

The zombies were far stronger than the rest of its skeletal undead, and with the meat that provided better defense and strength, it could easily overpower a normal man. And there was also a kind of unnatural strength with these things, something that made them more than what they are.

What interested him were the zombies itself. Where did they come from? Was there a human settlement nearby? And if so, where? How close were they? Jor had been battling these creatures for the better part of the last few months, and little answers were to be found.

Jor continued his search.

Most of these dead might have something that could become useful, but none that he found. He left the armour alone since there was no way in hell he was going to wear something that could weigh him down, especially ones that belonged to dead men. Who knew what kind of diseases he could pick up from these things.

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Jor chuckled. Then again, he's been stuck in here for a long time, more often than not, he talked to himself to practice his voice, and not go insane from the isolation. Which was ironic, since the undead were his only companions, and killing them tends to be really cathartic.

Of course, the second he escapes, it's more than possible he might start infecting people with the worst diseases known to man. Or, give them a really bad cold. Who knew how this world worked.

Finding nothing, Jor picked up the newly won weapon and discarded the rest. Then, he made his way for home. Jor winced, gingerly touching his cheek.

He started to dig out some of the shards embedded in his flesh, which was painful. The easier ones to take out were still sticking out of his skin like some macabre horror, but the ones deeper in were much harder to take out. He needed specialized equipment for that, as well as painkillers. Since he neither had none of those, he had something a bit cruder in mind.

Of course, normally such an action would leave the wounds infected, and diseased, without proper disinfection and wrappings. However, give Jor a night's sleep, and he healed without a scar to show for it. He never scarred, in fact.

His home was still that same cave hidden several feet above the ground, and closer to the river. This was his new home, hidden in the deeper recess of the dark. The depressing part was, he actually managed to find a liking to it. Granted, he had no soft bed to sleep on, or even a chair to sit on. Just bare stone and rocks.

His most important possessions were the weapons stacked against the side of the wall. Nearly a hundred in all, Jor managed to collect. They were the best quality he managed to find, and the rest he managed to ditch, due to their terrible condition. Some of them were centuries old, and the preserved ones managed to retain some of their lusters and, dare he say it? Magic.

Jor sighed. He tossed the axe with the rest of his collection. Time was of little consequence, stuck in this world without light. So, he hunted.

The hunger pains came and went, and the only thing keeping him sane was the small underground river he had found a mile south of here. Normally, he wouldn't have touched the spring water, knowing quite well the kind of bacteria that lived in there. Normally, that is. Choices were hard to come by when there wasn't any, to begin with. So, he succumbed to the water like a dying man with a parched throat. Which, sad to say, wasn't far from the truth. 

And due to the lack of protein mostly from eating nothing, it only weakened him further from fully utilizing whatever stat gains he did manage to acquire. Jor lost quite the weight, which was bad since he only weighed about a hundred forty pounds originally. Any more and he might just as well join the undead troupe. The fact that he managed to not only survive but fight, was a feat in itself.

The fact that he was still alive was a testament to how screwed up his life was. He picked up a sharp knife, as he sat down. It had a sharp edge, and it would work wonderfully for what came next. His shards managed to pierce it deeper into his arms, toward the bones. Taking them out was going to be painful, and he had no leather or cloth to stuff his mouth to stifle the screams. The last thing he needed was to alert the undead.

A distraction, then.

The stats screen appeared.

Jörmungandr Shesha

Level 2 - +5

Class - N/A

Strength - 7 - 4%

Endurance - 8 - 80%

Intelligence - 6 - 2%

Willpower - 0 - 14%

Vitality - 22 - 75%

Racial Trait - The Heart of the Phoenix

Jor pierced his forearm, both in an accident and in disbelief. He shouted in pain, "Fucker!"