Mortis drifted in the void, a vast expanse of nothingness where time and space seemed to have no meaning. His consciousness flickered like a dying flame, memories of his betrayal mingling with the haunting echoes of his past death. Just as the darkness threatened to consume him completely, a cold, familiar presence materialized before him.
Clad in a cloak of shadows that seemed to absorb all light, the Reaper loomed over Mortis, its skeletal face partially obscured by the hood. The sight of the entity stirred a mixture of fear and anger within Mortis. He tried to speak, but found himself unable to form the words.
"I have wronged you, Mortis Eldridge," the Reaper's voice resonated, a chilling whisper that reverberated through the void. "Twice now, your life has been taken unjustly, and I bear the blame for the first of those errors."
Mortis's eyes widened, the Reaper's admission piercing through his haze of pain and confusion. The skeletal figure extended a bony hand, revealing a fragment of its cloak, shimmering with an ethereal light.
"I took your soul too early in a past life," the Reaper continued, a hint of regret lacing its cold tone. "And now, you have been wronged again. Allow me to make amends."
With a graceful, almost tender movement, the Reaper pressed the fragment of its cloak to Mortis's chest. A surge of energy coursed through him, a cold, invigorating wave that seemed to stitch together the very fabric of his being. Mortis gasped as he felt his spirit mending, the piece of the Reaper's cloak melding seamlessly with his soul.
"The piece of my cloak will serve as a patch, repairing the damage done to your spirit," the Reaper explained. "It will grant you access to powers you have yet to comprehend."
Mortis's mind raced, the implications of the Reaper's words sinking in. He felt a new strength within him, a dark, potent energy that thrummed in his veins. The pain of his wounds faded, replaced by a cold resolve.
"Rise, Mortis Eldridge," the Reaper intoned, its voice a command that brooked no defiance. "Rise and reclaim your destiny."
As the Reaper's form began to fade, the void around Mortis shifted. He felt the pull of the mortal realm, the sensation of his body reforming, solidifying. The darkness receded, replaced by the dim, flickering light of the dungeon.
Mortis opened his eyes, the sight of the bloodstained cavern greeting him once more. The pain and betrayal he had felt moments before were still fresh, but now, there was something else— something unknown.
He pushed himself up, his movements steady despite the gore that surrounded him. The adventurers, still looting and chatting carelessly, didn't notice his resurrection. Mortis stood, a figure reborn, the shadows of death clinging to him like a second skin. His breath came out in quiet, controlled puffs as he surveyed the scene, his mind racing. He knew he couldn't confront them directly—not yet. He was still level one, his newly gained powers unfamiliar and raw.
As he moved, the shadows seemed to wrap around him, almost as if they were trying to hide him. The dark tendrils of the cavern seemed to blur his outline, making him blend into the gloom. It wasn't a power he understood, but it felt like an inherent part of him, as if the darkness itself was aiding his escape.
Mortis took a cautious step back, his eyes never leaving the group of thugs. He could hear their crude laughter, their voices echoing off the stone walls, but none of them glanced his way. Step by step, he edged towards the exit, the shadows cloaking him in their protective embrace.
He kept his movements slow and deliberate, slipping past the adventurers who were oblivious to his resurrection. The cold, damp air of the dungeon whispered around him, masking his steps as he moved through the winding corridors.
As he neared the entrance, Mortis felt a surge of relief. The faint light of the outside world was just ahead. He quickened his pace, the shadows still clinging to him, guiding him through the darkness. Just before he reached the exit, he cast one last glance back at the thugs, their faces illuminated by the flickering torchlight. He needed to escape, to regroup and understand the powers that had been bestowed upon him. Mortis slipped out of the dungeon, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. He ran, the shadows still trailing him.