Fendrel leaned against the damp wall of a warehouse, his back pressed against moldy bricks. The air reeked of fish guts and stagnant water, typical for a dock district.

  Across the street, the supposed necromancer safehouse looked like any other warehouse - weathered wood walls, rusty metal roof, broken windows patched with boards.

  Water dripped from somewhere above, creating dark trails down the brick. A rat scurried past his feet, disappearing into a crack between buildings. The whole district felt heavy with moisture, making his clothes stick to his skin.

  He glanced around the corner again. Nothing had changed in the past twenty minutes. Workers moved between the buildings, carrying crates or pushing carts. No one paid attention to the particular warehouse or seemed concerned about what might be inside.

  Footsteps approached from between the buildings. The tall man from earlier emerged, his dark coat now splattered with mud.

  "There's at least eight of them inside," he said in a low voice. "Can't get a clear count on the undead, but we're looking at a couple dozen."

  Fendrel raised an eyebrow. "How'd you figure that out?"

  "Been doing this longer than you've been brewing poisons." The man's lip curled.

  "Thirty ghouls," Fendrel said. The tall man's head snapped toward him. "The necromancer at the Ashen Anvil had three under his control. Multiply that by eight."

  "That's a wild guess." The man crossed his arms.

  "Better to expect thirty and be wrong than underestimate their numbers." Fendrel met his gaze. "Wouldn't you say?"

  "If you say so." The man looked away first, his shoulders tense.

  The warehouse loomed ahead, indistinguishable from its neighbors. Fendrel noted the loading dock, the side entrance, the broken windows. Just another building in a district full of them. But somewhere inside waited eight necromancers and their undead servants.

  "What's the plan?" The tall man finally broke the tense silence.

  Fendrel pulled out a satchel filled with dozens of bottles and thrust it into the man's hands. "If this gets on your skin, you die. If it gets on them, they die."

  The man lifted one of the bottles, examining the purple liquid inside with narrowed eyes.

  "I'll walk in through the main door." Fendrel watched the man's head snap up. "I can take care of the undead just fine, but I have no chance in hand to hand or a sword fight. That's where you and your people come in." He pointed at the bottles. "Get that on them while I keep them busy."

  "That's the most idiotic plan I've heard in years. What exactly do you think you'll accomplish by just walking in?"

  Instead of answering, Fendrel stepped into the street. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a reminder of how monumentally stupid this was. But he kept walking. Something inside him writhed with anticipation, feeding off his fear and turning it into something else - a cold determination that spread through his veins like ice.

  "Just make sure you reach them before they reach me," he called back over his shoulder.

  His legs felt like lead as he approached the warehouse door. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back, to run, to hide. But he was done hiding. Done letting others dictate his actions. The Blackthorns, the Cabal, the church - everyone wanted to control him, to use him.

  The door handle refused to budge under his grip. Fendrel pulled out another bottle and poured the contents around the lock. The wood sizzled and smoked, the metal components dropping to the ground with dull thuds.

  This was his choice. His plan. For once, he would be the one deciding how things played out. Even if it got him killed.

  The acrid smell of dissolved wood filled his nostrils as he pushed the door open.

  The stench hit Fendrel first. His stomach lurched, threatening to expel everything he'd eaten. The putrid mix of decay and mold filled his lungs, coating his tongue with a taste he knew would haunt him.

  Is this what death smells like?

  The warehouse stretched before him, a cavernous space filled with stacked crates and forgotten cargo. Shadows clung to the corners, dancing in the dim light that filtered through grimy windows. For a heartbeat, the space felt empty.

  Pain exploded across his skull. A massive form loomed beside the entrance, its bulk hidden until now. Beady red eyes fixed on him, set in a face that might have once been human. The creature's flesh hung in rotting strips, exposing blackened muscle and yellowed bone beneath.

  The thing's arm dissolved into a liquid mass after hitting him. It stared at its fallen arm before whipping the other one toward him.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Fendrel raised his own arm, barely registering the impact. Something inside him surged in response - not the parasite, but the glyphs etched into his flesh. Power coursed through him, dark and hungry.

  [EFFECT]: You have been exposed to necrosis

  [STATUS]: You are immune to necrosis

  His fist connected with the ghoul's torso. The creature's flesh split and crumbled, rotting away wherever Fendrel's power touched it. The satisfaction that flooded through him was primal, visceral. Each piece of the monster that dissolved fed something within him, filling him with a strange vitality that pushed back against the overwhelming stench.

  [STATUS]: You have absorbed the essence of higher ghoul

  [NEW PASSIVE SKILL]: Undead essence refinement LEVEL: 1

  The ghoul's essence poured into him, carried on waves of necrotic energy. Fendrel's glyphs burned, absorbing and refining the power. It felt like drinking poison - familiar, almost comforting in its wrongness. His body processed the death magic as easily as it did his toxic brews.

  The creature collapsed into a pile of rapidly decaying matter. Fendrel's chest heaved as he fought to control his breathing, to get the rush of power that threatened to overwhelm him under control.

  He turned, scanning the warehouse's shadows.

  Red pinpricks of light flickered to life in the darkness. One by one, then by dozens, they emerged from behind crates and corners like stars appearing in a night sky. Fendrel's heart should have been hammering against his ribs. His hands should have been shaking. Instead, a strange calm settled over him.

  The undead crawled from their hiding spots - some no larger than dogs, others towering and misshapen. Torn flesh hung from exposed bone. Broken limbs dragged across the floor. The stench of decay thickened until it felt like a physical presence.

  "Come." The word left his lips before he realized he'd spoken. Power thrummed through his veins, his glyphs pulsing with dark energy. He spread his arms wide, taking a step toward the horde. "Come and get me."

  A pack of smaller ghouls charged, moving with unnatural speed. Teeth flashed in the dim light. Claws reached for his flesh. Fendrel met them with his fists, channeling months of frustration and helplessness into each strike. His arms passed through rotting bodies like they were made of smoke. The creatures dissolved on contact, their essence flowing into him through his glyphs.

  One latched onto his leg. Its teeth crumbled against his skin before its head collapsed into a puddle of decay. Another tried to rake his side but dissolved mid-swing.

  Messages flashed across his vision:

  [STATUS] You have absorbed the essence of lesser ghoul

  [STATUS] You have absorbed the essence of higher ghoul

  [CLASS LEVEL UP] Necrotic Etherbane Engraver LEVEL: 2 -> LEVEL: 3

  [STATUS] You have absorbed the essence of...

  The notifications blurred together as more undead rushed him. Each dissolution fed the dark hunger inside him. Each absorbed essence made him stronger. He pressed forward, his movements becoming more fluid, more certain. This was what it felt like to be the predator instead of prey.

  His fist connected with a ghoul's skull. The impact sent ripples of necrotic energy through its body, reducing it to dust. "Is this all you have?" The words came out as a snarl. All those months of running, hiding, scrambling to survive - he poured it all into his attacks.

  The undead kept coming, mindless in their assault. Their numbers seemed endless, but Fendrel no longer cared. Let them come. Let them feed his power. Let them learn what it meant to face someone who had nothing left to lose.

  Fendrel caught the status message flashing across his vision:

  [CLASS LEVEL UP] Necrotic Etherbane Engraver LEVEL: 2 -> LEVEL: 3

  Cold logic crept back into his thoughts. Each level meant more power, but also greater strain on his body. More Gravebloom Tincture. More resources and money. More-

  Something slammed into his side, sending him staggering backward. Pain lanced through his ribs, different from the physical impact. It burned like acid eating through his flesh.

  [EFFECT]: You have been afflicted by decay

  Before he could recover, another blow struck his chest. The impact carved something into his skin - symbols that seared into his flesh like brands.

  [EFFECT]: You have been cursed with minor gray rot

  Fendrel gasped, clutching his chest. The burning sensation spread outward from the point of impact, but a familiar warmth bloomed in his stomach.

  [STATUS]: You failed to resist the curse

  [STATUS]: You have resisted the decay

  [STATUS]: You are cursed

  [EFFECT]: You have resisted the gray rot

  "Did you hit him?" A voice called from the darkness to his left.

  "I'm sure I did. The curse should be effective." Another voice answered, confusion evident in its tone.

  "Who in the hells is this guy? How did he tear through the summons so easily?"

  Fendrel's eyes narrowed as he tracked the voices through the gloom. The speakers remained hidden.

  I hope Eryndra is watching.

  The curse on his chest throbbed, a dull ache that refused to fade away. His body might resist their magic, but he was pretty sure he couldn't afford to let them keep hitting him with more curses.

  Fendrel straightened, scanning the dim workshop as the remaining undead gathered for another rush. The voices had come from his left. He turned and sprinted toward their source, his boots scraping against the wooden floor.

  Two of the undead lurched into his path. Fendrel dropped his shoulder and slammed into the first one, its rotten flesh giving way under the impact. He spun, driving his boot into the second creature's midsection. The kick tore straight through its torso, splitting it in half.

  His strikes felt more powerful. The undead didn't stand a chance. Each blow carried a certainty that hadn't been there before.

  A pale-skinned man stood by one of the workshop's support poles, his eyes widening as Fendrel charged toward him. "How in the Decamas ass-"

  Fendrel's fist crashed into the man's face, cutting off his words. The impact should have dissolved him like the others, but the man just staggered backward, blood streaming from his nose.

  Without hesitation, Fendrel yanked a bottle from his belt and smashed it against the necromancer's chest. The Venomshroud Poison splashed across the man's robes, seeping through the fabric. The necromancer wheezed, clutching his throat as the toxin took effect - but he remained standing.

  Physical attacks. He looks frail.

  Fendrel grabbed the man's collar and drove his fist into his face again and again. Blood sprayed from the necromancer's broken nose. His head snapped back-

  Something slammed into the back of Fendrel's skull. Pain exploded through his neck as he tumbled to the floor.

  [EFFECT]: You have been cursed with Witherbind Hex

  [STATUS]: You failed to resist the Hex

  [EFFECT]: Witherbind Hex takes effect - stage 1/2