It happened at night. When the sky was its darkest, the moon its brightest, and the stars their liveliest, a world-changing event was occurring.

Midnight, Silent Colony.

A bloody air filled the surroundings, wafting into the noses of any pedestrians walking by, not that there were any souls willing to venture into such an ominous place to begin with. The area was barren of human life. Dated, ownerless graves made up the sight in the horizon. Not a speck of light reached into this dark corner of the world. The place felt vile and forsaken, emitting a bone-chilling, tendon-sealing, nerve-freezing aura.

A figure shrouded in tattered robes rose. It was a simple action, not much different from a child rising in the morning after a night of sleep.

But the implications of such an action were mind-bending nevertheless.

For this was not a child waking from his slumber, nor was this any other living being for that matter. This was a corpse rising from its desecrated grave.

Zombie?

Yes, zombie.

Was the world going to end? One carrier of some mysterious virus and a world of potential hosts; the ending of this could only be chaotic!

Yes, but no. This corpse was not infected by a virus. It was a zombie, but not a mindless zombie; in a sense, it possessed a certain degree of intellect. It could infect the human populous, but it wouldn't wantonly do so. Why? Because this zombie was under a necromancer's control. Understand? This zombie was like a dog on a leash led by a carrot on a stick. Unless the owner was unwilling, mankind would definitely be safe.

Necromancer?! An evil, despicable entity capable of rising the dead?! The world is over! Man has breathed his last! The old proverb has finally come true like a cataclysm-predicting prophecy! Tomorrow will never come!

Yes, Necromancer. Evil, maybe not. Despicable? That's just slander.

To slander is better than to let a necromancer into society and make the world's—no, the universe's— biggest blunder! The necromancer cannot be trusted.

Whether or not the necromancer can be trusted is something the necromancer's actions decide, not the words of an imaginary entity bound by a set of fallible truths and temporary logics.

Y-you dare! How can you, a lowly narrator, call this father, I, imaginary? Sure, I may not exist in this mortal plane, but is that a drawback? Am I not like a God, haughty, noble, and distanced from the human world?! Do you not see my worth? My prestige? For an aloof and lofty immortal senior such as myself, the mere ripples in the mortal world are inconsequential. My existence is almighty. I am a hero from the legends never told. I am justice. I am th—

Carrying on. The corpse stumbled out of its grave. It was slow, but it gave off a deadly and dangerous aura. Its power was not to be underestimated. To test its might, the necromancer beside it commanded it to hit its gravesto—

H-hey! Don't ignore me, bastard! You should understand how many lovely women of all shapes and sizes would fall to their knees just for a second of this grandfather's time. Yet, y-you! Insolence! I demand an explanation. To interrupt me, a divine existence, you must have quite a pair. Eh? Do you? I bet you're hiding a bag of melons in your trousers? What's that? Watermelons! Che, that's not a compliment, so stop getting cocky, scum! I give you an inch, yet you take a mile! You—

System, shut off all secondary functions, mute unnecessary, judgemental commentary and focus all computational resources on environmental observation.

*Bing*

Shutting off secondary functions.

Muting unnecessary, judgemental commentary.

What? Unnecessary? You crazy cunt? Who are you calling unnecessary? Does this handsome, young hero look unnecessary to you? Why don't you go take a peek at your own reflection in a puddle of piss. Peh, you don't even know how to spell unnecessary! Yet, you dare call me, a Godl—

Redirecting all resources to environmental observation.

W-wait, bitch! Let me fini—

Tasks complete.

Boom!

Cobblestone flew into the air. Its source, the tombstone of an undead corpse, was shattered by the knuckles of its former resident. Though slightly damaged, the former resident stood tall and mighty in front its grave. It didn't have a will of its own, meaning it theoretically didn't have any spirit or emotions, yet the look in its cold and long rotting eyes had a glint of satisfaction in them. As the corpse stood heroically, its master walked over and gave it a pat across the shoulder.

Thud!

The corpse fell lifelessly onto the ground. Though it had died long ago, it had regained a bit of its former glory after becoming a zombie. Now, however, it was back to being unmoving and inanimate. Its situation resembled a peasant winning the lottery, becoming a rich dragon amongst men, but being robbed on his way home, immediately losing the slight ray of hope that the heaven's offered him. The corpse was mercilessly left behind and ostracized by fate.

Sighing, its master gazed into the far reaches of space, hoping to glean some kind of information from the vast expanse above.

Sadly, most of space was empty. There were no answer waiting for the master's penetrating gaze.

Turning around, the master dejectedly left the scene. In the master's fist was a red ribbon. Judging by the texture of the ribbon, it was quite old and worn. Smelling it, however, would allow one to notice how fresh it smelt, indicating that it was regularly washed and well-maintained. The smarter of men would even be able to infer that the ribbon was of grave importance to the master, judging by the way it was clutched close to the master's black robes. Indeed, the ribbon was of absolute importance.

But the night was dark, the day was at its end, and man's heart-demons were prowling the streets with reckless abandon.

The ribbon was a story for another day.

The story of today was of a man walking into the scene. He had just appeared after the robed figure disappeared. Though, to call him a man was a little inappropriate. To call him a manling wouldn't be wrong, but it would be informal. Hence, the most suitable method of addressing him would be to refer to him as an adventurer.

Aye, this lad was an adventurer. To waltz into a graveyard when he wasn't even old enough to have any hair made him quite the courageous character. Despite knowing the fact that the place he was walking into was the home of the damned, he was calm and relaxed, giving any viewer the impression that he was walking into his own backyard! This adventurer lad would definitely put daredevils out of business quick.

He hopped swiftly into the night. Since the place he was strolling into was an abandoned graveyard, he'd occasionally stumble across some skeletal remains obstructing the road and blocking off his path. Kicking the remains aside, he'd rarely give them a second glance. Sometimes, he'd find some interesting bones such as dented skulls, coloured ribs, six-fingered hands or owl wings. During such occasions, he'd pick them up and pack them in his satchel, after removing any unwanted material like flesh or teeth of course.

He moved through the gloom with a practised ease. He was very mindful of any scurrying rats or spiders—indeed, even those tiny little things. How was he able to see these rodents and insects in the dark? That was a question that he himself couldn't answer. His vision grew as he grew, so it gradually increased to a superhuman extent. A few months ago, it got to the point where night and day didn't have much of a difference in his eyes. He would've paid more attention to this if he were smarter; alas, when the Gods bestowed gifts to mortals, they didn't bestow all gifts at once. In such manner, the lad, though gifted in seeing through the dark, was not very bright himself; he was not given the gift of intelligence and was rather slow-witted.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The adventurer, after arriving at his destination, stopped at the best grave in the yard. It was a family tomb of some prestigious aristocratic bunch. He firmly knocked onto the tomb's entrance a couple times, as if knocking on a friend's door and waiting for a reply to be invited in. The adventurer then gripped onto one of the corners of the tomb's entrance and, with monstrous strength, pried the slated rock sealing it ajar, making a big enough gap for him to slip through and into the catacombs.

After doing this and entering the musty tomb, he reached into his satchel, picked up a candle, and quickly lit it aflame. Setting the slated stone back in its original position, the adventurer spoke out in a voice neither too loud nor quiet.

"Pardon the intrusion. I'll be in your care then."

With this simple uttering of words, he set his candle down and got comfy beside the remains of a tiny child. Judging simply by its eroded appearance, the corpse looked to be a few centuries old. It must've been a wonder for the bones to last this long. Not caring in the slightest about the centipedes crawling into and out of the skeleton's sockets, the adventurer fell asleep, ending the day with a rest long due.

The adventurer snored. He had entered a world of dreams. His eyes carried no light and his breathing was extremely shallow. In such a state, he was completely unconscious, unaware of what was happening around him.

The long and sickly tendrils of death seeped into the his bones. He was oblivious to this sensation. He'd find that when he woke the following day, his vision would once again become miraculously better, his spirit even more domineering and lacking in the aspect of fear, and his strength more representative of the term demonic. Of course, that was only if he paid attention to the minute details. The chances of such were unlikely. Hence, the adventurer would never know that, by visiting a necromancer's base, his body would absorb the necromancer's Death Qi, strengthening his mortal coil by giving away something else of equivalent value, explaining the adventurer's current plight. What was the adventurer giving away? That was a secret only spread amongst the Gods' circles.