He felt high, like he was hallucinating. He tried to sit up but immediately fell back down. The multiple containers of coloured liquid spun around him, their edges blurred and discoloured. His groans went unheard in the lifeless room. He lay there for several seconds, hoping for a cure that never came. However, as time passed, the fog over his mind did begin to clear up. The bottles around him began to slow down until they stopped altogether.

This wasn’t his body, he knew that for sure. He had been given new bodies before but it had still been his body every time. It had felt foreign due to time spent away from it but the familiar sensations had never been far off either, always ready to accommodate his visit. On the other hand, this body wasn’this at all. There weren’t any familiar sensations ready to soothe his visit, instead it felt as foreign as ever despite the fog being lifted off his head.

Stanis lay there wet-eyed for a moment. He couldn’t even find refuge in his body and that disturbed him. Striking up the courage to command his new body, he used his arms to push himself to an upright position. He became disturbed as he looked around, many bottles scattered around with various liquids in. In fact, piles of cracked glass were stacked up against the walls, all of them empty except the droplets that leaked out. The droplets pooled into multifarious liquids on the ground, in turn producing the stench that filled the room.

It was while he was infatuated with the pools that he felt a growing pain in his back. He prod his back with his hands and immediately regretted doing so. He cringed and let out a yelp of pain, before lying back. The material he lay on instantly cooled his back, evaporating the seething pain. He let out a moan and felt himself diving through pleasure.

A few seconds later, he finally mustered up the courage to sit up again. This time, however, he immediately turned around to see what he was lying on. He was surprised as he saw that it was just plain wood, stained a mess of colours by the liquids that surrounded him. He had expected it to be metal from the way it had cooled him. He then hunched forward and twisted his head, peering down his back. His back was like a battlefield, broken and messy. There were small trenches made up of cuts and dead bodies made up by splotches of skin.

His back was raw…

Bewildered, he prodded his back once more, albeit much softer. He felt the sensation of pain immediately. He glanced at his bloodstained fingers for a moment, before rubbing them against his other palm.

He couldn’t feel the heat from the blood on either hand…

His thoughts were chaotic and mostly incoherent by now. He didn’t know what was happening or what to think. In a bid to confirm the one thing he knew for sure, he placed his hand around his wrist and waited for his pulse.

Only there was no pulse…

Scared, he moved his hand towards his neck and felt for his pulse again, before finally resting it on his heart. There his palm stayed as he stared wide-eyed at the wall, frightened by the lack of heartbeats.

Pooling mana into his fingers, he cut into his forearm. Then he waited, and waited for the blood to trickle out. It didn’t come out as it should have, fast and flowing. Instead, it came out slow and thick, like it was frozen.

Suddenly, he became aware of his body and its lack of heat. His legs were cool, as were his arms, as was his back and chest. As was his head, and as was his beatless-heart. He was dead, no, undead. But unlike his time with Jen, his body was under his own control.

Shaking his head in half-disbelief, he steeled his mind and forced himself off the wooden block. He cringed as his feet touched the floor but managed to still his tears. He was naked but that was the least of his concerns.

He breathed in and out, no longer due to necessity but instead out of habit. His feet flared up in pain as he walked over the shattered glass that littered the floor, but after minutes of struggling, he found it manageable. He walked over to the door and opened it, before being blinded by the bright sun.

Once recovered, he looked outside and found himself looking at an empty marketplace. Some stands still stood but even they were robbed of anything that had once filled their shelves. Concerned, Stanis cast Scout and sense. The scan told him as much as his eyes told him; the marketplace was about as empty as it could get.

Shaking his head, he stepped out and climbed a tall building. From it, he surveyed the village and finally found signs of life: on the walls and fighting for their lives. He decided to head there and got down, before moving towards the wall. It was as he walked that he realised that life wasn’t as far away as he had initially thought, instead it was budding just a street away from the marketplace.

Groups of people huddled around each other on the ground, chatting quietly with their heads kept down. Some looked at Stanis but instantly looked away, unwilling to catch the sickly-pale madman’s eyes. He walked down the street before entering another, similarly filled with groups of people. He noticed many injured along the way, many more than he would have wished for.

Just as he was about to aimlessly enter another, he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw a Black woman staring at him. She had braided hair and a face painted for war. She had no weapons on her body, a strange sight in the village.

He looked at Orena, and she looked at him.

“Stanis?” she said, half in recognition and half as a question.

****

Alyona found herself distracted as she shifted through papers of information. She had already sent Orena to momentarily leash him before he made a massive ruckus in the village. And yet, she still found herself thinking of him.

He wasn’t good for the village; he was a monster in human skin. His leadership was flawed and his character was brash. Ever since the second apocalypse, various monsters had been attacking the village every single day. Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, their death count had been quite low for the period. However, now that Stanis was awake, she knew such a low death rate was already history.

She dropped her makeshift pen and leaned back, taking a breath. It wasn’t that she intrinsically disliked Stanis. In fact, she remembered the first time she had noticed him. He wasn’t a powerhouse then, instead just a strong warrior. But things had happened and he had changed, first for the better, then for the worse.

He had come back after months of expedition, several times in fact. And each time, he became more confident, his ego growing until he began to believe that he owned this village. And perhaps he rightly did with the power he bore. But in that case, he at least had a responsibility to nurture the village. But he didn’t: of course, he didn’t.

He only cared about one thing and it was blindingly obvious: power. He had no care of other humans or of the village. He lusted power, and it was obvious to her that he was willing to give up his humanity for such a thing. So why couldn’t others see what she saw? Why couldn’t they see the beast he was and where he was leading them?

Why?

She clutched her scalp, before rubbing her face with her hands. She sighed and lay back on her seat. She had to find a way to stop him, kill him even. But it was impossible, and she knew that. Even if he was weakened, she knew he would randomly find a source of energy out of nowhere. The only hope she had was of the woman he had faced, the one that had almost killed him. Almost.

Alyona found herself at a crossroad. She looked at both options, before choosing the one to her right, the right one. She needed to find the necromancer...