It was a morning like every single other. I woke up itchy from where the bed bugs bit me, relishing in the warmth of my wife next to me. I pushed the yellowed linens away and slid out of bed, eliciting a moan of laziness from her. I felt the urge to have her but she was not into that in the mornings. Pushing those lascivious thoughts aside, I donned my work clothes and took my tools. It was time to work the farm before the day got too hot to work outside.

I ate some fruit as I crossed the kitchen and noticed the door needed repairs. The leather hinges were old and frayed, I should replace them. Outside, I scanned around. We were in a safe zone but sometimes monsters came from the woods in search of easy food. I'd lost a pig or two over the years to starving demon wolves. Bloody adventurers should do their job and cull the monsters. The gods know how much it hurts to pay my share to the village head on top of the Lord's taxes so we can hire them to keep us safe.

Alas, my suspicions were confirmed. I saw a section of the fence broken next to the sheep pen and my heart sank. The usual whitish-gray animals, my wife's pride, were nowhere to be seen. I dashed back inside and almost bumped into her.

"What's the rush, husband? What happened?" She asked me, her worry rising as she studied my face.

"The sheep are gone, wife. I'm going after them. Where is my hatchet?"

She pointed out in the direction of the living area.

"By the front door. The smithy boy brought it back from sharpening yesterday before dusk."

"Stay safe in the house until I get back," I warned her at the same time I kissed her lips. "I don't know what took the sheep but was strong enough to break the fence posts."

I moved in the direction of the front door but she held my hand.

"Don't go. Let me run to the village and call the adventurers. It is too dangerous!" She whined.

I grunted and scoffed, wresting my arm free. "Bunch of drunkards, that's what they are! Those useless bums take our coin just to give the worrywarts a sense of safety and spend on booze and whores. I can take care of myself, I'll go and check. If it is too dangerous, I'll call for help."

It pained me to talk to her like that but she was too soft, too kind. I rushed to get my ax and went outside. I wondered how they broke the fence without alerting us. Maybe there was some kind of sorcery at work here. I don't know, I had no idea how that worked. I was no scholar or wizard but a mere farmer. I knew how to till the land and raise livestock. And how to pay taxes.

Next to the broken fence, I could see footprints. Boots, about the same size as mine. Both coming and going but the ones going were deeper. They came, broke the fence, and carried the sheep. Enraged, I followed the tracks leading away from my farm and into the forest.

I didn't look back. It was the last time I saw my home.

I think I died, but it was probably just me dreaming. I mean, I could think and I wasn't in either heaven or hell so I must be still alive. My head was throbbing and I was in a daze. I had no idea how I ended up there, my last memories were of tracking the sheep thieves into the woods.

I woke up in pitch-black darkness, feeling an enormous weight on me. I moved my hands around and felt the softness of human flesh. All around me, all around my body. I could feel bellies, elbows, calves. A foot. If I had to guess, I was stuck inside a pile of bodies.

Or corpses.

They were not warm. I grasped a wrist and sensed. No pulse. Terror washed over me.

I was in a pit filled with dead bodies.

Every hair of mine stood, goosebumps, and waves of cold washing over me.

"Hello, is anyone there?" I asked in vain. There was no sound and my voice felt strange, younger.

"Hey!" I shouted next. The soft flesh around me did a great job of absorbing the sound. I heard nothing. No reply. No sound at all.

It was as if I was in a dimension devoid of sound and light. I might as well be dead.

No, no, no. I was alive. I sucked in a large breath and stirred, trying to push the bodies away from me. I had to get out of there. I wriggled and pushed and slid. Inch by inch I moved, like a fish swimming through molasses I crept around the bodies.

The only silver lining was that these bodies seemed to be recently-dead. There was no stench of decay. I had no idea if there were any other scents though, my mind too busy trying to survive and get out of there to worry about processing my other senses.

An eternity passed. I tirelessly inched around, slowly moving and sliding around the bodies. I felt nothing besides a maddening desire to get out of there. No hunger, no thirst, no tiredness. I also didn't relieve myself. I felt no need to do so.

I pushed and shoved. I got past bodies both male and female, moved around them, over and under in my eternal quest to get out of there. I didn't count how many corpses I went past but it was a futile endeavor. There were just too many.

And I moved too slowly. Singleminded, I went past the bodies, over and around them until the weight of the corpses above me lessened and I could move faster. An unknown amount of time later, I reached the top of the pile of corpses. I could feel air above me and that odd sensation of not having dead flesh pressed against me.

In the pitch-black darkness, I was trapped in, I had no idea of my surroundings. Was I underground? Was I even still in the world of the living? There was no answer.

I tried to stand up but it was a fool's endeavor. I felt and bit a knee. My hands flailed around and I grasped some hairy crotch for a moment before I pushed away and slid into a sitting position on the chest of a male body.

I gave myself some time to collect my thoughts. With the time I got used to that pile of not-rotting corpses and adapted to my predicament. With the clarity that afforded me, I pondered. My own body was as naked as all the other hundreds of corpses keeping me company. I felt no pain or wound in my body but it felt odd. Weaker, emaciated. As if it wasn't my own body. Dismissing that concern as absurd, I rechecked myself. I was still a male human, without any kind of fangs, protrusions, or hairs in weird places.

And then it struck me.

Even though I panicked, even though I spent a long time getting out of that pile of bodies, I felt no hunger, thirst, tiredness, or the need to relieve myself. I also felt no accelerated heartbeat. In fact, I grasped my neck and felt.

I had no pulse.

I was dead. Although my body was animated and I could think, move, and feel, I was dead.

The shock was too much but I did not faint. In fact, my body was incapable of either fainting or sleeping. I acquired a whole new understanding of the term "restless dead" that day.

Alone, crawling in the darkness in some gods-forsaken place and dreading to return to that corpse pit, I inched across the vast featureless room that held the pit. Despair filled my mind with phantoms, the eerie silence, and lack of sensory input causing hallucinations in my mind. My rampant imagination had the corpses crawl out of the pit to drag me back. Necromancers came and congratulated me for escaping just to drag me to their nefarious experimentations.

And when the phantoms dissolved, there I was, alone in the dark. In those moments of clarity, my first impulse was to stand up and run but where to? I froze instead, trying to earn some non-tactile sense that could help me navigate the place.

I had no idea if I was moving in circles too. The floor was too hard to scratch with my undead nails and I had no way to orient myself. I could only hope to brake and turn at random intervals and move in what I believed was a straight path. Tireless, I couldn't even use my own exertion as a measurement of time. Counting proved futile as I wasn't schooled enough to count for too long. A hundred being my lifetime record.

I was a farmer and a peasant, not a scholar or a hero. And now I was even less than that. I wasn't even human anymore.

I stumbled upon an object. A table leg if I ever caressed one in the dark. The texture of varnished wood was so precious I believe I even licked it. My body was unused to standing up by then and with much effort, I could climb the table and carefully touch the flat surface for fear of ruining some precious object that could hold a clue to my predicament. The table was empty but next to it I found another surface, slanted. Maybe a writing desk. I carefully moved my hands over it.

My prudence was rewarded when I found a round glass bottle with a feather jutting out of its mouth. An inkwell. I brought it next to me and smelled the old gum. The bottle didn't slosh and examination showed that the ink was dry. But it also meant that whoever used this slanted desk for writing was a scholar or a mage. Writing held no use for the masses and it was an expensive hobby of the elite. With the cost of this inkwell alone I could probably buy one or two sheep. And if there was ink and a pen here, it should also have a paper or fine parchment.

What I found was even more mind-boggling. A book. Soft paper pages and leather-bound, metal-studded cover. A thing made to last. My whole farm was cheaper than this precious book for the right buyer. What secrets it held? How could the information in this book help me escape or if I was still allowed to dream, redeem myself?

I couldn't leave the book behind. It would be difficult to take it with me, however. I searched the desk and the table but all I could find was a chair fallen over next to the desk. I thought if I should do it but in the end, my burning need to get out of there overwhelmed the prudence of not destroying someone else's property. I broke one of the table's foot, making a cane for myself so I could extend my reach and search a wider area.

With that tool, I could walk upright without fear of falling back in the pit. All I had to do was run the wood across an arc in front of me, searching for holes on the ground or objects nearby. I held the book under my left arm and resumed my search.

The next thing I found was a wall. In this vast nothingness, it was a welcome feel. If I followed the wall, there would be no risk of getting lost or not making progress. It seemed to be a straight wall, unnaturally smooth and hard just like the floor. How much effort was used in creating this facility? What were its nefarious purposes? Those and more questions popped in my mind along with the phantoms. Would the necromancers want their spellbook back? I couldn't give it up. The dead demanded I helped them. My feelings of guilt at being the only corpse to escape that pit increased to an almost paralyzing level.

All walls must come to a corner if they are straight. It is a law of the world that no wall can go straight forever, else it would fall off the edge of the world. This one was no exception. I found a corner and followed the new wall. After some time, I found another feature every set of walls should have. A door. Unlike mine back home, this one had metal hinges and reinforced bars. Bandits and barbarians would have a hard time breaking through this one. My only concern was the purpose of this door. Was it made to keep things from getting in or coming out? The door was stuck but after a few tugs, it gave. With a loud creaking and scraping, it moved along, opening a gap wide enough for me to get through. Fresh air wafted in along with the most marvelous thing in the universe. Light.

I once listened to a priest preaching on the creation. It was said that the gods first created Light. I was never a religious person but I was forced to believe in his words. In the dark, nothing could exist. All things were nothing. I went past the door, so happy to see the faintest wisp light that I was unaware of my surroundings. It attacked me out of nowhere. One moment I was hopeful, running toward the light, and the next I had something crawling on my back, biting my flesh with blunt teeth and inhuman strength. In the darkness, I could only struggle. A petrifying series of growls, grunts, gurgles, and the sound of flesh tearing matching the pain I was feeling told me I was being eaten. I tried to fight back using the table leg as a makeshift club but I lacked mass and leverage to inflict something above a nuisance to the feeding creature on my back. Whatever abomination was on my back was strong and vicious. It bit a chunk off of my neck, severing my spine, and immobilizing me. Soon the power of its blows cracked my skull.

I died again. To a normal person, it would've been the end but redemption was beyond my reach, forever. I came to my senses with a dreadful but familiar feeling. The pressure of countless bodies all around me. I knew what I had to do but this time something felt different. My hips felt heavier and the elbows and heels dug deep in my chest. The skin of the bodies around me felt rougher as they scraped against my body. I tried to move and crawl out of the pit of corpses again but I felt my hair tugging, trapped between bodies as they shifted and tumbled to allow me a passage.

I must be deeper than before as the pressure from the bodies above me was stronger. I kept moving but the bodies were rugged. My skin felt sore and after a pause to get my bearings, I understood what happened. I was in a female body. The pit had bodies of all shapes, sizes, and genders. Whatever foul magic imprisoned my soul in this diabolical contraption cared not for my preferences.

Despite everything, I was not so taken by madness to kill myself. I had no idea if my consciousness would take over yet another corpse and the attachment to life, even as a wretched undead was stronger than my discomfort. And once again I crawled up, slower because of the body I inhabited but faster from experience. Since I had no way of tracking my progress, I could only move, relentlessly.

I reached the top and crawled out of the pit. The second time was easier than before. The top, however, had changed. I could hear feet scraping the stone. The door I went through and carelessly left open allowed whatever killed me to wander in. Given it was a flesh-eating monstrosity, it would find the garden of delights in the body pit.

I was divided. Somehow the prospect of endlessly returning from death was enticing. My weak mind was already adapting to my new reality. Accepting, making concessions.

"Hello, are you there?" I asked, trying my female voice for the first time.

The creature inside the chamber shifted and the footsteps were drawing nearer my location. I crawled away and waited. The creature came in a rush, I could feel the wind it created in my exposed skin. It stopped and tried to sense my location. I was a few meters away and noticed it was as blind as me in this darkness. A small relief. Enraged and filled with a sense of vengeance, I attacked.

The only weapon I had was my own teeth. I bit the creature's calf and felt the skin break. There was no blood and it tasted terrible. The monster, however, cared not about pain.

The first punch hit me in the temple, making my head spin and stars to spark in my vision. It tore me from its leg and crashed over me, pinning me down. We wrestled but I was weaker and dazed. After a fierce and brief struggle, I died again.

The pattern repeated itself twice. I would crawl out of the pit, meet that creature, fight against it, and die. While I would always return to a fresh body, the damage of my enemy piled up. On our fifth altercation, I was able to seize victory.

How long was I here? Without anything cyclical to base my perception of time on, it was impossible to know. Months, maybe years have passed already. That thought gave me a fright unlike any that the necromantic catacomb I was trapped in could give. My wife. How was she, how was the farm? I had to escape. I had to keep on, if not living, then thriving. Fortunately, I was in a powerful body. One that could easily overpower these frenzied creatures of death.

Repetition allowed me to understand more about my surroundings. In the absolute darkness, a sort of positional memory developed. Even in undeath, I was able to learn and develop. That and the fact I was having no cannibalistic urges gave me solace that a shard of my humanity remained. But I could tell where the pit was, where the door was, and where the workspace where I'd found the book was. Even so, were I to spin wildly or lost myself in a fight, that sense of direction would fail, it wasn't absolute. I took the bodies of my previous incarnations and of my defeated enemy and lined them up leading from the pit to the desk. After that, I went for the door.

Back on the corridor, I made sure to close the door behind me and move carefully to find my discarded tools. With the book and the table leg back in my possession, I moved toward the light once more. But this time I was wary of the creatures that crept in the dark. I walked like a thief, no long rapping the stick on the floor. My diligence was rewarded with the sight of a room. The smooth walls of the facility reflected most of the light and the broken down door to the room shed the few scraps of light that guided me in the corridor.

The room had two exits besides the one I came in from but what shocked me was its purpose. It was a workroom for a torturer. Several dread devices created by twisted minds to inflict suffering were carefully organized in the room. Some of them still had the remains of their last tenants, the mummified bodies frozen in time with twisted visages of agony. The light source was a glowing globe stuck to the ceiling, shedding a faint white light. I gave these poor souls a brief prayer and searched the room. I needed a tool, a weapon to defend myself with. I found one lodged in the body. A long spit that could pass as a fencing sword. It was thin and uncannily sharp, made of a material that resisted the ravage of time. By the poke wounds in the skin of the poor victim, it was meant to cause puncture wounds and exsanguinate the subject. I could see dark brown gunk on a tray underneath the device.

It was flexible yet with unbelievable tenacity. I was no fencer or soldier and the efficiency of such a weapon on a bloodless, painless monstrosity was questionable. Yet it would serve me well, better than the table leg. I resumed my search and found a set of rusted tongs meant to hold limbs and probably crush bones, a ruined spade with rust holes and a rotten handle, and a metal tray lid I could use as a shield.

Thus equipped I evaluated my choices. One of the exits had a rotten door while the other was sealed shut. I doubted there was anything on the other side that could open it so I decided to investigate the open exit first.

I used one of the polished trays as a mirror to shed more light down the corridor. It was empty and it turned to the left after a few yards. I did the same on the corridor I came in from, it was a long one. I could see the door leading to the body pit near the end of the reach of the light. I dragged some of the torture devices around so I could prop the trays to permanently cast light on both sides and took the third one to go with me. It was awkward but I could drop it in combat along with the book. The tome was sturdy enough to resist a hundred falls. I paused at the bend and peeked. I couldn't see far but there seemed to be empty. I placed the tray leaning on the wall at an angle, to reflect the faint light down the tunnel and push the darkness just a bit away. I was rewarded with the sight of two doors.

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It wouldn't do to use a third tray. The light wasn't strong enough. I went back to the torture chamber and attempted to pry the glowing globe from the ceiling using the spit's tip. As careful as I could, I tried to open its receptacle or detach the thing whole. I had no success. Next, I tried to remove the crystal-like sphere from its setting. I pushed the tip of the spit between the gem and the metal setting, hoping the former was stronger than the latter.

Alas, it was as brittle as a crystal flute in the Lord's birthday party. The cursed thing shattered into a thousand pieces, showering me in sharp shards and sending the whole room into the pitch darkness of the abyss. I climbed down and tried to find my bearings. Fortunately, all the time I spent in the pit room helped me develop the skills necessary for moving around in the dark. Despite the sharp shards, they didn't break my skin. I got just a few scratches.

Was it the nature of undead flesh to be tougher than the living counterpart? I had no idea. The evidence pointed towards it though. I moved carefully, weaving around the instruments of torture and towards the corridor. In my carelessness, I kicked the tray along the way, sending it clattering ahead and cringing as the metallic sound rang throughout the whole place. I stood still, listening. Inhuman grunts came from the rooms adjacent to the corridor behind the corner. Heavy footsteps of some creature running, then banging on the doors. The wood broke. I clutched the spit and the tray lid, crouching to get better defense.

I would have to fight in the dark. What was these creatures' weak point? Were they like me? The one that attacked me went for my neck and head. Maybe it was as the old tales said and the brain was an undead's weak point. I had little time to muse. They were running my way. I raised the lid to protect my head and readied a stab with the spit. The first one impacted against the lid and I poked where its head should be with the spit. The makeshift weapon found resistance but soon pierced through. A wailing shriek rang and I felt the creature I attacked let go of the shield and pulled the spit out of my hands.

Fearing the ordeal of climbing out of the pit again, I bashed the monster with the lid, shoving it toward the wall. I heard its flesh impact the stone and beat it again. Claws reached over my makeshift shield and slashed my shoulders. I tucked my neck down and punched it at the height where its head should be. I cut my hand on the edge of the spit but I felt a cheek as my fist drove its head back, hitting the wall again. The monster hissed and delivered a frenzied flurry of claw swipes. I grabbed the spit, felt it still stuck inside its head, and bent the tool, shaking it around as if I was stirring the stew.

Something wet splashed on me and my opponent lost its strength. The victory was mine.

A short-lived victory, though. There was more than one creature and in my struggle with the faster one, I missed the slower and bigger monster that came behind it. While I recovered from the fight, it bit my neck. The pain was so intense I fell to the ground, flailing. The creature seemed to be able to swallow as fast as it bit. I tried to fight back but I was too weakened. From my neck to my shoulder and then my throat, it finally reached the spine and snapped it.

Yet another death.

My consciousness returned in yet another female body. One that was plump and well-endowed, soft and chubby. It would be a bother to climb out and there was little chance I would be able to defeat one of these monsters. The silver lining was that I knew how to kill them now. I needed to somehow compensate for the disadvantage of fighting in the dark but I hoped it wouldn't cost me five bodies to defeat another one barehanded. This one, though, I had little hope for it.

As I crawled up again, a thought crossed my mind and I froze in fear. What if I took too many bodies from the pit and made it impossible to climb out? The walls were too smooth and featureless. I would make one of my top priorities to set something up to help me get out of the pit once I climbed to the top of the body pile. Another eternity went by before I reached the top. I had to pile bodies to make a ramp but it was the sixth or seventh time I did that and I reached the top without a hitch. Circling around the edge of the pit until I found the bodies, I reached the desk and followed the wall to the door.

From there I went to the torture room, taking care to listen for the sounds of the monsters. I moved carefully but I stepped on a shard of the broken light globe. The sharp crystal easily cut through my delicate female feet, and I couldn't help but whine in pain. It was very intense. It felt like the pain threshold of this body was too low. Again I noticed the bodies from the pit was bloodless. Even though the flesh was cut, I did not bleed.

The monster outside didn't miss its cue. I could hear it moving in as it pushed one of the torture instruments aside, toppling it and sending it crashing down. I reached with my hands and found the tongs. They were heavy for the current me but they were still better than fighting barehanded. If I could at least injure it, moving this body out of the pit wouldn't be a waste of time.

I suspected they had a way of sensing me in the darkness but now I was certain. The creature came to me as a bee went for flowers. I raised the tong and brought it down with all the strength I could muster. I felt it hitting its head, cracking the bone but not caving in. The blow gave me a few seconds of respite as the creature recovered from the impact. I couldn't ready the tool for another blow in time. It pushed me down and bit my face.

Instead of fighting back, I tossed the tongs in the general direction of the corridor leading to the pit. The next me would need it.

He was a wiry and nimble man. Probably a martial artist or an acrobat, the current me had almost no body fat. I quickly got out of the pit and, to my surprise, moved without making a sound. It was easy to find the gift the last me left behind. I took the tongs in my hand and held a position on the side of the door. I wanted to do a test on the nature of the creature's senses. Did they had some sort of darkvision or was the way they detected me something that didn't rely on line of sight? I banged the tong against the far wall and took my place in the corner. The monster inside the torture chamber rushed out and I brought the tongs down with all my might.

Lady Luck smiled on me once. I caught the creature's head and I felt the iron tool caving in its skull, smashing the brain and ending its life instantaneously. I returned to my spot and waited, paying attention to any sound. There was none. I sighed in relief and used the opportunity to study my enemy. I steeled myself and touched its body. It was humanoid in shape, with two arms and two legs. The build, however, was even more lean and wiry than my current form. Its arms were longer than normal and ended in vicious claws. The legs were made for running or jumping. It had no body fluids and was clearly undead. Not even its brain leaked fluids, only some slightly damp and very sticky paste.

With the two creatures summoned by the falling tray out of the way, I could explore the rooms beyond the corridor turn. I moved slowly, feeling with my hands. It was another narrow corridor pas the door, with several rotten doors. Each of them led to small rooms where the remnants of a bed and a small dresser laid in varying states of decay. A dormitory of some sort for low-ranked members or some kind of cloister. Each of the doors led to a wing with forty such tiny rooms. I found nothing of notice in them, whether the previous occupants left behind long decayed or taken.

I backtracked and left my tools and the tome near the door to the corpse pit. I wanted to explore further and in the case of another fatal encounter, I'd be without them for a comeback. I also moved the torture devices around, wrapping them in chains and sweeping the shards of the crystal away, committing the position to memory as I couldn't rely on sight.

Preparations were done, I moved down the corridor past the two doors, trying to make no silence. Soon the corridor turned left again and I saw light ahead.

I crept near the light source, stifling a chuckle at the familiar sight. Through a broken door, the faint glow of another light orb emanated. I approached and looked past the door frame. It was a prison block, a wide and long corridor with alcoves carved on the sides separated by barred doors. There were several globes in this area along the hallway, casting long shadows inside the cells. A heavy metal door blocked the path further. Upon further inspection, it was locked or blocked shut. The strength of my current body was not enough to move it. I left the door alone for the moment.

Wary of ambushes, I moved through the middle of the aisle. Inside some of the cells, I saw yellowed skeletons chained to the walls, the position their bones rested indicated they starved to death. Sometimes only a pile of bones remained on the ground with one bone or another stuck by mummified tendons inside the fetters. I would be mortified were not for my own undeath.

The cell corridor wasn't straight although it was long enough to give that impression at first. It went on, spiraling and curving ever inward as a snake coiled around its own tail. I was slowly ascending too.

As I walked down that morbid corridor, sometimes my own shadow startled me as I walked past one working globe and it crept underneath and ahead of me. But I felt no fear as I had no heart to beat anymore. So long I protected my head and spine, I would endure. After some time, I stopped paying attention to the monotonous and repetitive cells. I only noticed the change too late. I was in another area entirely.

This area also had numerous chains hanging from the walls and pillars but no bars or doors. A few glowing globes gave enough light to see the whole room. Wheel marks showed where carts often traveled, probably carrying bodies and people to other places. Some stone pulpits and rotten furniture told a story. This was a processing area for bodies.

A picture formed in my mind. Hundreds of innocent victims were brought here, bound to these chains, and tested for whatever ends the owners of the place had in mind. They would then either be taken to the cells, the torture chambers, and eventually dumped in the corpse pit.

I shuddered at the thought that such a dreadful place existed near my farm. If I was near my farm at all. No, just existing in the world was bad enough. I moved up a ramp and found another floor of this bizarre complex.

The first change was the light level. While below there was barely enough light to see around, this one felt as blinding as cloudless summer noon. Several strong light globes shone, leaving not a scrap of shadow to be seen. The majestic hallway too succumbed to decay but I could notice it was once lavish. A stark change from the rough and cramped lower floors. After my eyes adjusted to the light, I set to explore this new area.

Lounges with rotten cushions dotted the edges of the great hallway, abandoned and broken amphoras once flowed filled with a wine like leaves in the autumn wind. The pillars were positioned in such a way as to not block the view of the center aisle. I pictured crowds of decadent nobles and wicked merchants sitting on these lounges and bidding on the human flesh brought in from below.

I walked down the aisle, past a dozen such lounges on each side. As I reached maybe halfway the corridor, I felt the ground shake moments before I heard the steps. Even my undead flesh quivered with fear as the sight of giant stone guardians revealed themselves from two large pillars. Their lifeless yet animated faces turned to stare at me and the rocks in their bodies groaned and ground as they picked up speed and closed in to pummel me into oblivion with their stone fists.

My mind raced to understand what was happening as I ducked behind the pillars and moved along the narrow space between the wall and the pillars over the ruined cushions of the niches. The stone guardians gave me no quarters.

A stone fist rushed from the other side of the pillar and I halted my dash. It bashed the wall, denting and breaking it right where I would be if I didn't slow down. Then another hand came from behind. I dove and rolled underneath the guardian's arm. Inertia was absolute law, their massive bodies had power but they could only move that fast. My current body was faster and limber.

I kept moving and dodging but I noticed the two guardians were coordinating their attacks. As one of them tried to make meat paste out of me, the other would move forward to prepare an ambush. If I could reach the ramp going down, they would leave me alone as they were too big to fit in the narrow passage.

And as if reading my mind, one of the guardians went ahead and set both feet down the ramp, literally sitting down on my escape path.

I almost gave in and let them kill me. But I would have to spend unknown amounts of time to get back here again. With the path back blocked, I turned around and moved forward. Yes, I ran back down the corridor to where the stone sentries were originally. That move surprised my enemies as the two stone giants wasted some time looking for me at the end of the corridor. But there was no way to avoid making noise in the otherwise sepulchrally silent catacombs. They noticed my movement and came after me but not before helping the one that lodged himself in the ramp out of his improvised trench.

They were intelligent. Maybe not sentient and able to feel but intelligent nonetheless. I dashed past the ruined lounges, raising a cloud of dust and reached there the two stone giants stood to watch for uncountable years. I looked around and tried to find a way through.

There were two doors, one on each side. The wood was well preserved and the metal details free of rust. These doors wouldn't be out of place in a King's palace. I chose the one closest to me and tried my luck. It was unlocked and moved softly, without a creak. It was out of place in this dreary dungeon. I went inside, trembling from the pounding steps of the rapidly approaching sentinels and pushing the door closed. I then jumped forward and rolled before even looking where I was.

I crawled and hid behind a desk. The lumbering steps approached the door.... and stopped. That was it. No smashing wood, no bashing, nothing. Just silence. In some ways, it was even scarier than the sentinels outside waiting to crush me. I had no idea where I was or what lurked on this side of the door.

I had no beating heart or breath and that was the first moment I felt fortunate for that. My fear was in my mind alone, my body was as ready to act as before. I stood still but nothing happened. I wasn't eaten or harmed. I stood up and looked around, tittering to relieve my stress.

I was in a study, office, or library of sorts. The walls were filled with shelves and some badly preserved books. The desks and chairs were comfortable and stylish, the former inclined to aid in writing. I didn't touch the books for fear they would crumble in my hands. Carefully, I moved and counted. There were six minor desks along with the room and one larger one at the end, facing a rotten tapestry. The master and his six helpers. Or apprentices.

The master's desk was on a raised dais and I could only see it when I approached. Sitting on the regal chair that looked more like a throne was a skeleton. Not an undead like me but just a human skeleton, bits of mummified flesh stuck to the bones and keeping them together but mostly gone. The body was lying on a large, open book and its yellowed bone hand was holding a metal pen.

I stood next to the corpse and inspected the book. I could barely read the letters but something attracted me to it. A book well-conserved like this one must be a grimoire and the bones probably belonged to the master archmage of this place. Maybe my creator.

That thought made me pause. Why did I think so fondly of the one that condemned me to undeath? Was it part of the enchantments, to make me think of the caster as my master? Well, if that was the intent it failed. I felt rage welling up inside me and I shoved the skeleton away from the seat. The frail dried tendons that held the bones together snapped and the archmage's remains clattered to the side. Some bones broke and splintered. I cared not.

Vindicated, I sat in a comfortable chair. I felt a chill and stood up. I could see that the caked blood that fell from my body was slowly vanishing from the chair. It had self-cleaning properties. I sat again and soon the chill passed, the chair didn't damage me. I was worried that it would consider my undead form as trash. From this vantage point, I could see how the archmage kept track of his servants or apprentices. I could see all six desks from here. Without wasting more time, I tried to read the book. It was hard. I understood a little more than half the letters and even when I could make whole words, I couldn't understand them. But I was undead and the only resource that wasn't scarce here was time.

Patience, however, was still a finite resource. I had no sense of time but I spent a long way trying to decipher the text. Once I grew weary and angry, I stood up and walked around the room, checking the books on the shelves for anything I could still use without destroying. Some books crumbled but I got a few that were either made of better materials or enchanted. I could not tell. Between sessions, I would shift from book to book and back to the main grimoire. Slowly but surely, I was developing my literacy.

I eventually swept the bones and debris from the ruined books to a corner of the room and tidied up my workspace. The heavily varnished shelves were rot-proof and I stacked the books I salvaged there. The need for distractions from the boring job led me to explore the apprentices' desks. I found some sheaves of blank papers on some desks, preserved by faintly glowing runes on the drawers. They were obviously meant to protect what was inside from the ravages of time, as I also found a perfectly good inkwell and some goose pens sharpened for writing.

With something to take notes with, my research speed increased.

I made progress on the grimoire. Parts of it have an arcane magical theory that I have no hope of understanding, the work of a genius. But most of the mad scribbles are the archmage's journal. It tells a tale of a person obsessed by immortality, that after exhausting all acceptable venues turned to necromancy. Outcast from the high towers, this archmage seemed to give up his magical research and built the greatest slave market in the land. Exquisite slaves, both human and intelligent and otherwise walked through the sumptuous corridors outside. Throughout the years, slaves nobody would miss were sent to the catacombs, for experiments. The bodies eventually found their way to the corpse pit I crawled out of.

To confirm my theory, there's also mention to the enchantments on the pit. The number of bodies in there would crush the ones underneath to a pulp but weigh is partially suspended by the enchantments of the pit. The bodies were also slowly repaired and kept from decaying. The pit would grant endless reincarnations to the archmage so long it has bodies inside.

A problem arose, however. As I reached the later passages before the archmage's demise, the journal told the tale of a mishap. Since the bodies in the pit are primed to receive a ghost, bodies taken outside the pit are soon possessed by evil spirits and become ravenous, mindless undead. To prevent that, the archmage programmed the golems outside to kill any undead coming in from the catacombs. It means that all the bodies I left behind are probably animated again unless they were too ruined to function.

There's no reference to how the archmage died. The skeleton I pushed aside had no visible marks of damage so it must've died in a way the bones wouldn't take damage. Poison comes to mind. Stabbed in the back or with a slitted throat. Blood wouldn't stain the chair as it would self-clean. It makes sense. The archmage was killed here alone in the study and the place was abandoned. I didn't see signs of a fight outside but I had no opportunity to study the place in depth.

I finally reached the end of the archmage's notes. Without anything else to read and unable to learn magical theory on my own, I stowed all the books on the shelves and the ink back in the enchanted drawer. It was time to brave the outside again.

An idea came to me. The golems had some way to recognize friend or foe. Maybe the archmage's skeleton had a use. I picked up the skull and peeked outside. The two massive golems were in their positions, standing guard. I walked outside and they didn't react. Either the skull was protecting me or their orders were too exact. Only undead coming in from the catacombs were to be attacked. I could test which one was true by discarding the skull but why waste even more time?

I explored in-depth the hallways of the slave market. Past the golems, there were rows of large cages in the hallway, probably where exotic goods were exhibited before the auction. Soon it came to a grand staircase going up that ended in a T-intersection. The slightly curved hallways had rows upon rows of rooms on both sides for the guests. I also found a kitchen and a large tavern with small tables. All the furniture and decorations long ruined. But the glowing globes were still working.

But at the back where the two corridors met, there was the exit. Unfortunately, it was caved in. I could feel fresh air and moisture coming from above through small gaps in the rocks. Maybe if I dug my way out, I could reach the surface. But then what?

I was undead. I didn't belong upstairs among the living. Although I felt none of the murderous impulses folk tales associated with the dead, I couldn't know if I would if I met a person. I'd like to say I was in control but the dark energies that animated me were stronger, I knew that.

I couldn't leave the place to the undead underneath. It was my responsibility to keep them from hurting anyone. It meant I had to go back downstairs.

My first order of business was to obtain a light source. More than one, if possible. Now that I knew how brittle these light globes were, I searched the guest rooms for tools I could use to dig a couple of them out. I found some interesting articles. Most of the metal was rusted and corroded beyond utility. I found some triangular pieces of quality steel that protected the corners of a chest. Eight of these pieces plus the lock were in mint condition, the rest of the chest, not so much. As I tried to open it, the softer parts of the chest lost cohesion and crumbled. And inside, I found something even better.

There was a mail hauberk, a leather pouch, and a sword, also unaffected by the ravages of time. The scabbard was made of metal and while the leather covers crumbled and the outside of the scabbard rusted, the sword was well-oiled and protected inside. The edge seemed sharp enough. To battle my reanimated former bodies, it would be enough. The pouch was made of an azure leather of some kind of scaly beast and looked both expensive and new. I opened it and vertigo assaulted me. I felt the pouch drain my mind and establish... some kind of connection.

After I recovered, I felt a connection to the pouch. It was something I never felt before yet it seemed familiar. I also knew what was inside even though past the flap, the pouch seemed to be pitch black. I couldn't see inside even if I turned the mouth to face the light. I put my hand inside and it vanished in the blackness. It felt as if the inside was a void. I focused on one of the items inside, a gold coin. It was as if the cold metal was pressed to my hand as I felt it there. I removed my hand and the coin was in my palm. The gold coin seemed new but it wasn't any design I knew. It displayed an effigy of some queen along with a coat-of-arms I never heard of. This gold alone was worth more than what my farm yielded in a year.

This bag was a legendary item. A spatial bag, one that stored whatever was inside in a sub-space, weightless, and timeless. I had no doubt the leather came from a powerful magical beast. After stashing the steel pieces in the bag, I donned the loose mail hauberk and used the bag's strap as a makeshift belt to clamp the excess mail. With the sword in hand and the archmage's skull firmly held by the eye sockets in the off-hand, I set to obtain some light sources.

With patience and care, I used the steel corners to dig at the stone around the light globe fixture. It took an inhuman amount of time but persistence won once again. The steel pieces became dull and bent after a while. I traded four of them for one globe, netting me eight clumps of useless metal and two light-wands. The globes in their sockets and the dugout fixture. I stashed all but one wand in the bag and awkwardly held the light and skull in one hand. Now I could go back to the dark depths.

Once I was at a distance I could reach a safe place deep inside the partially collapsed tunnel leading to the catacombs before the golems could attack me, I placed the archmage's skull on the ground and waited. The two stone behemoths didn't move. That might be bad but I had other issues to deal with. I outwitted them before and would again. I turned around and descended back to the depths.

I tried to be stealthy but it was impossible with the rattling of the loose-fitted mail. I went through the slave cells, wincing at the grim scene the strong light of my lamp revealed. The last slaves left behind died of starvation. Their skeletons are bent, torn, and in positions that evoke feelings of despair. I felt bad for them. Reaching the end of the slave pens, I readied the sword and moved down the corridors.

Soon after, I heard something crawling behind the bend. I carefully lowered the light orb and held the sword in a two-handed stance. I moved forward and the rattling attracted the crawling creatures. As I approached the corner, I saw some of my previous incarnations, now possessed by other spirits, shambling to attack me. The wounds I suffered were still there. Steeling myself, I laid them to rest.

Once this group was dealt with, silence reigned. I wasn't tired but I stopped to think. My previous selves hadn't animated while I crawled out of the pit for a dozen times. How long did I spend reading the archmage's journal for this to happen? Months? Years?

I braced against the wall as a wave of dizziness and despair washed over me. I would probably never see my wife again. 

That gave me a new drive to get out of this pit.