Mortimer was for once thankful for his ability to turn mindless. It protected it from the worst of the pain as his body reformed itself at the most fundamental levels. He could skip past the moments where his muscles ripped apart and grew back, and his mind stretched, warped, connections were made, broken, reformed, reconnected, and shattered again. It could have been moments, hours, days, who knows how long the evolution would have taken, but Mortimer could be insulated by the mindless state.

Finally, it was over, and Mortimer’s mind awoke. There was an immediate difference as Mortimer took control of his body, he felt his mind lock into place in away he forgot was possible. This was his mind truly taking over, and the mindlessness would not be returning anytime soon. With no small amount of stiffness and disconnect, Mortimer picked up his limbs. Immediately he noticed that his body was sleeker, more slender than before. It felt like he lost more than a little muscle mass. His body had been restored to the point he no longer had flesh hanging off him as well. The charred bits had completely vanished, and he looked practically new. Well as new as a dead guy can look.

It was at that moment Mortimer realized he had several notifications blinking in the corner of his vision, and with a flick of his wrist, brought them all up at once.

Congratulations! You have a evolved into a Level 1 Magic-Type Zombie.

INT++++

WIS++++

CHA++

DEX+

STR- -

Undead Regeneration has evolved! It has transformed into Arcane Restoration! Utilize the arcane power in yourself and that you take from others and convert it into healing, growth, and greater arcane might!

Enraged Sprint has become locked and is no longer available for use.

New Racial Power unlocked! Undead Arcana

Undead Arcana-Tap into the very power that sustains your body. The will grant you the ability to use magical spells and abilities.

Due to familiarity with death, Advanced Racial Power unlocked! Touch of Death

Touch of Death-You hold the power of Death in your hand. By reaching out and grabbing the living, you can strike at their very heart and soul. By touching a living enemy, you instantly deal Cold damage. There is also a chance you will deal necrotic damage and inflict them with Fear. This chance is greater if the target is unaware of your presence.

Reading over the new status effects, one thought immediately came to mind. If Mortimer was using the very arcane power the kept him alive to cast spells, could he accidentally kill himself (unkill?) by casting too much at once? He wished for a moment he could have realized that before making the selection. But Mortimer thought back for a moment, realizing how much of his mind had already come back to him. Though still fragmented, he had most of his memories back, and he was fully in control of himself again. Who knows what could have result from one of the other evolutions? He was happy for what came of this. Here he stood, already more powerful than he had ever been as a human.

With that thought filling his heart, he took the lessons he remembered about mana from his days before becoming a fighter. He’d grown up wanting to be a caster but hadn’t the talent for it.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

You having no talent? Color me shocked.

Mortimer ignored the stupid box and focused inwards, feeling the mana flowing through him. He pulled at it, following it to the source. He kept pulling, expecting it to lead down to his stomach, where mages are taught their arcane mana lies. But the flow was different, leading down the very core of everything Mortimer was. Down to his soul, which seemed to constantly leak out a trickle of arcane power. Mortimer had admittedly not been the best student, but he could not remember a single instance where a professor taught that mana that was divine could come from the soul. It brought his worry back up that using it could result in death for him once again. But as he pulled at the mana, he felt it flow down his arm, to the very tips of his fingers.

Mortimer opened his eyes, relishing the feeling of arcane power flowing through him and down to his arm, pooling in his fingers. As the mana collected, his hand become to glow with the bluest blue Mortimer had ever set his eyes upon. The glow, no that wasn’t the right word, because it did not give off even the dimmest shred of light, and instead seems to suck all light, life, and color from the world around him. Mortimer knew instinctively this was his Touch. The Touch of Death.

In an instant, the color vanished from his hand, and bolt of stabbing pain tore through Mortimer’s insides. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite a while, but he knew it well. That hunger, ceaseless and vast, suddenly reared again. The flesh of the dead adventurers had long since been eaten and absorbed, fueling his healing and his evolution. With the passage of time only just now being recognizable by Mortimer’s brain, he had no clue how long it had been since he’d battled them. He looked around the room they had all shared for however long, and for the first time Mortimer could recognize things about the party.

First off, the rogue, his armor charred black by the cleric’s backfire, but overall still intact. Mortimer thought the leather would be easier to move in than the fighter’s heavy gear, or his own former equipment. Gods only knew where that even was. Mortimer walked over to where the fighter laid. He couldn’t believe just a few however long agos he couldn’t recognize the stuffed head of a boar. He picked up the sword. He gave it a few swings, then attempted some of the basic stances. It felt odd, thinking back on learning how to wield one. Disconnected, like it happened to someone else. Most of his memories felt that way. Even killing the people in this room felt like watching someone else do it. Mortimer shuddered at the realization he had, with no thought or care, murdered 5 people and a dungeon beast. Including someone he once knew. In his home town, he would have been considered the most prolific serial killer of a generation. But it still didn’t feel like he was the one who did it.

And with that thought, the last dregs on his humanity fell silent, and he realized he truly must be a monster now. He ate the flesh of someone he once considered a dear friend, and it didn’t even phase him. If that didn’t bother him, what else was he now capable of. He was even a wielder of arcane now. Nothing was truly beyond his reach.

If you’re quite finished contemplating your navel, you’re almost out of usable mana, and your flesh is beginning to unravel. I recommended eating something, or more specifically, someone soon. Ideally, someone with two mana to rub together. I really shouldn’t have to be telling you this, you know.

Mortimer doubled over in pain one more, and watched as his flesh darkened from an unholy white, to a sickly grey, and began to hang away from his frame. He could feel his body failing, rotting, wasting into nothing as it sought out the arcane power it needed to survive. Mortimer got up, pushing himself to gather equipment from the fallen adventures. He looked over the spellcaster, hoping something she carried would be helpful. He took the robes off her bones, the flesh long since stripped or rotted away. He hoped it was enchanted to give him some casting ability to work with, but it was just a simple robe. The staff was not much better, acting as a focus. He didn’t even know any spells yet, much less ones that required a focus. As for the cleric, the loadout would have been much better, but even looking at his equipment made Mortimer feel like he was burning from the inside out.

He would need to be swift and stealthy. He did not have the resources for a long combat, and without his mindless rage and brutality, did not have the physical ability to end a fight quick enough to rely on it. So he brushed some of the ash from the rogue’s leather armor, strapped himself into it, picked up one of the rogue’s daggers, and dug deep inside himself for just enough mana to spark another Touch. It shone its sucking anti-glow for a moment before flickering out again. He maybe had one more and he was going to have to make it count. As ready as he could be, Mortimer shoved open the door, and returned himself to the dungeon that made him who he was.