I woke up to someone banging at the door.

I jolted up, and nearly fell over trying to get out of bed. I felt weak, like I was down with the flu. My hands and feet were frigid. Correction. My hand was frigid. I raised my left arm and stared at the dull hook where my other hand should have been. It felt surreal. The reality of my situation still hadn’t quite sunk in. Would it ever?

People had lost hands for various reasons, but one reason stood out in my mind. In older times, thieves would get their hands chopped off. Could it mean that Percy was a criminal that got caught stealing?

The flames in the hearth had died down to barely an ember. Maggie was gone, and I recalled her saying that she worked at an inn. Still wearing the boots from last night, I walked to the door, pulled back the dead-bolt, and opened it. An angry looking man stood outside. He smelled of freshly cut lumber, and had sawdust on his apron.

“Well?” he barked at me.

I sighed. “Well what?” He probably had business with ‘Percy’ and not me, Jack. Try explaining that to him: I died, Percy died, and now I’m in the body of a dead man.

Lovely.

“The nails. Are they done?”

I glanced over to the workbench and the smithy, then remembered the sign that said ‘Nailmaker.’ Was it really Percy’s occupation? Making … nails? I have done dirty jobs before, simple ones too, but this?

My status showed ‘Reaper’ as my profession, and it wasn’t for some farming gig reaping grass with a scythe. No, the status description was quite clear about death, murder and souls.

Reaper:

* Do you yearn for vengeance? Perhaps you like to dabble in occasional murder? Or maybe you’re a workaholic looking to pick up extra hours as the judge, jury and the executioner? Well, this profession is just what you need. Track your prey, collect their souls. Use them as currency to purchase and upgrade abilities and passives.

* Death is at your fingertips.

It felt like the description knew me personally and was mocking me.

I sighed. “How many? And what size?” I took a shot in the dark to see if I could help. By the state of things, Percy and Maggie lived dirt poor, but I’d have to find a way to make a living here somehow.

Without answering, he barged right in, swept me aside, and I hardly had the strength to stop him. He rummaged about on the workbench, the tools clattered in his wake.

He turned back with a basket of nails, half-empty. “That’s all you made?”

I wasn’t sure how many there were in the basket, maybe a hundred.

“How many did you need?” I tried to be nice, but he was starting to get on my nerves. I could never work in retail. I feared I’d murder a customer or two on my first day.

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“I needed a thousand!” he shouted. “A thousand. Yesterday.”

He took out a few coins and threw them at my feet. “Don’t ever bother me again.” He stormed past me, slammed the door on the way out.

Bloody hell.

I was starting to get a feel for Percy and it wasn’t pretty. Just what sort of a slacker was he? And what other surprises did he still have in store for me? Then again, I could only imagine doing any blacksmith work with only one hand. It must have taken Percy several times as long to make the hundred nails.

I picked up the seven penny-sized, silver coins off the floor. They were stamped with a royal image on one side and a crest on the other.

At the table I spotted a bowl with food. It made me realize how hungry I was. That feeling changed when I saw the meal – cold oatmeal. I hated oatmeal on a good day, warm, creamy and with quart of honey, but this? Ugh. I needed to eat, needed the energy to get through what this day had in store for me. I gulped down the gooey sludge as quickly as possible, trying not to taste it.

For now, if I was a maker of nails I was going to start acting like it. I went over to the workbench to survey what I was working with. Two hammers, several iron tongs, pliers and a small anvil. A workshop vise was nowhere in sight. Maybe they didn’t have the technology to make one?

Two crates stood by the workbench, one with charcoal, and another with thin iron rods. I moved to touch a pair of iron tongs and was shocked. I jerked my hand back as an awareness of every part of the tong flooded my mind. Rattled, I took a step back and examined the troublesome object from every angle. It had rust around the edges with dings and scratches, but appeared harmless.

Then I remembered my status screen and the craziness of it all. This wasn’t Earth – that I was sure of now – this place had spells and magic. Demons and monsters too. I wasn’t a big fan of that part. My status screen included an Iron Domain passive. I read its description and realized what had happened. The passive provided two abilities:

[Shape Iron]

* Work Mass Limit: 100g

* Range: Touch

[Sense Iron]

* Range: 5m

I grabbed the tongs again, but without flinching. As soon as I did, I sensed the shape of the item even with my eyes closed. The areas with rust felt like a rash on skin. I concentrated on those areas and they melted away into a polished surface. The dings and scratches melded together.

Next, I thought about [Sense Iron] and that seemed sufficient to activate it. An overlay filtered my vision. All the iron in a five meter sphere around me – even through walls – became highlighted as if by a dim flashlight, took on shades of red. Even as I closed my eyes, I could still ‘see’ it.

I smiled from ear to ear, grabbed the crate with clumps of wrought iron and emptied it out on the workbench. I touched a fat clump of iron and willed it to change shape with my mind. A good chunk of it melted into semi-solid liquid, shiny and smooth like mercury. The sensation was uncanny. Literally magical.

I smoothed out an iron rod to be perfectly round, then cut into five centimeter segments giving me ten pieces. I worked each piece one by one, adding a head and a sharp tip. Each nail took less than a minute, and I was proud of the nails I made. I didn’t stop there, but made more of them until I had a hundred. With an ability like this, who needed the smithy, hammers, and tongs?

Now, if I could sell them I could buy something delicious to eat. After the disgusting oatmeal, I was still starving and the place was barren of food. No fridge, no pantry, no nothing.

Most importantly, I needed to get out and explore the area. I filled my pockets full of nails, and in the process found a key. I assumed it was to the entrance of this flat.

Before leaving, I flattened one of the tongs into a polished pancake, held it up like a mirror. An unfamiliar face with a scruffy beard looked back at me. Green blue eyes, strong nose, strong jaw, and blonde curly hair with hints of blood that didn’t get washed out last night. A classic handsome look, but with hallowed eyes and protruding cheekbones – a sure sign of malnutrition and sleep deprivation.

I aimed to fix that, and a whole lot more.