Ethan slumped down next to the tree trunk, his body aching from the recent battle. He tried to pull up his stats, but before he could focus, a sharp pain shot through his chest.
"ACK!"
He clutched his chest, his breath heavy
PING
A notification flashed across his vision:
"Health has gone below critical threshold. Debuff 'Undead Hunger' has been multiplied."
The pain was unbearable, a tidal wave of hunger and rage crashing over him. His vision blurred, his thoughts spiraling into chaos.
"...Ah, come on," he muttered, trying to steady himself, but the hunger was relentless, gnawing at his very soul.
"MEAT... MEAT... FLESH!"
His voice was a guttural growl, his mind slipping further into madness. He scanned the area desperately, his eyes landing on the corpse of the zombie he had just slain.
"HUNGER!"
Without a second thought, Ethan lunged at the corpse. He didn't bother cooking it, didn't care about the rot or the stench. He sank his teeth into the decaying flesh, the taste bitter and foul, but the hunger demanded it.
PING
A new notification appeared, its glow cutting through the haze of Ethan's hunger.
"Health has been restored. Hunger sated. Debuff multiplier returning to normal."
The pain in his chest subsided, the gnawing hunger fading like a receding tide. Ethan slumped back against the tree trunk, his breathing slowly returning to normal. He looked down at his hands, still trembling, and then at the half-eaten zombie corpse beside him.
"...What the hell am I doing?" he muttered, his voice filled with disgust
But the hunger was gone, at least for now. Ethan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of decay lingering on his tongue. He knew he couldn't keep going like this—constantly teetering on the edge of madness.
Ethan picked himself up, his body still trembling from the ordeal. He glanced at the blue system screen, his eyes scanning the interface.
"...I can't use the shop right now," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
He looked over his stats, his gaze lingering on the numbers:
_____________________
- Health: 400/500
- Mana: 70/100
______________________
Then his eyes fell on his available points: 20 points.
After a moment of contemplation, he nodded to himself, his decision made.
"15 points into Agility, 5 into Intelligence," he said, tapping the interface to allocate the points.
Ethan's body twisted and shifted, not for raw power but for speed. His muscles tightened and streamlined, each fiber now infused with mana. The energy pulsed within him, alive and vibrant, as if it had a life of its own.
Huff Huff Huff
He panted, his breath ragged, but he could feel it—the mana. It surrounded him, a shimmering aura that extended far beyond his body. Each particle of mana moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, like frames in a paused picture.
The world seemed to slow down as Ethan's heightened senses tuned into the flow of mana. He could feel its presence, both near and far, a network of energy connecting everything around him.
"Perfect," Ethan whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he felt the surge of power coursing through him.
Somewhere near the forest and the graves, the minotaur stood amidst a pile of fallen zombies.
BANG
"Another one down," he grumbled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.
The minotaur sighed, wiping his shovel clean of gore. But then he paused, his massive frame tensing.
"I feel something different," the voice from the coffin chimed in, its tone sharp and alert.
The minotaur's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath, his senses scanning the area.
"I can smell something... that little rat," he growled, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the direction of the scent.
The voice in the coffin spoke again, its tone cautious.
"He seems... stronger."
The minotaur nodded, a grim smile spreading across his scarred face.
"Stronger the dead, the better the feast," he rumbled, lifting his shovel and starting to walk.
But before he could take another step—
"Wait, Min—"
CLANK
The minotaur barely managed to block the blade that came slicing toward his throat, the force of the impact sending sparks flying.
"I knew it," Ethan said, his voice calm but laced with determination.
The minotaur turned to face him, his massive frame towering over Ethan. But the undead warrior stood his ground, the ground behind him erupting into a cloud of dust as his sharp steps left the nameless tombstones crumbling in his wake.
"MAAAHHHHHWOOO!"
The minotaur roared, his voice shaking the air like thunder.
Ethan smirked, his grip tightening on the Katana.
"LET'S DANCE."
_____________________
Updated Status:
Name: Ethan Cross
Level: 5
Status: Decrepit Undead
Attributes:
- Strength:14
- Agility: 31 (+15)
- Intelligence: 12 (+5)
-Dexterity: 4
- Perception: 8
- Endurance: 10
Coins: -20,000
Inventory:
- Weapon: Kensei Katana
- Clothing: Officer's Uniform (0 Armor)
- Points: 0
Debuffs:
1. Undead Hunger: Gradually reduces Strength over time. Eating mitigates this effect.
2. Debt Trap: Cannot purchase from the Item Shop until debts are paid. -2 Move Speed.
Skills:
- Dance of the Dead: A devastating flurry of slashes that deals physical damage and reduces enemy armor.
- Cooldown: 37 hours (16 hours remaining)
- The Flying Storm: A high-speed, precision-based skill that allows Ethan to move and strike with incredible speed.
Current Objective:
- Defeat the Minotaur
- Time Limit: 3 hours
- Reward: +2 Levels, 1,000 Coins, New Skill Selection
- Failure Penalty: Additional Debuff
- Hidden Condition: ???
____________________________
The Undead
"Bound by the chains of the afterlife, freed by the death of gods, they are the Eternal Hunger—a curse that outlives even divinity."
Lore:
Since the dawn of creation, the undead have lingered in the shadowed corners of the world, imprisoned by the Old Gods in carefully crafted afterlives. These realms, governed by deities like Hades and his kin, kept the dead separate from the living—a balance as old as time itself.
But when the Olympian God of the Underworld fell, slain by forces of the new Gods, the chains of death shattered. The other gods of the grave soon followed, their dominion crumbling. With no one to guard the veil between worlds, the dead clawed their way back, driven by an insatiable hunger for the warmth of life.
Leading them were the Forgotten Heroes—once-mortal champions whose deeds were erased from history. Betrayed by the New Gods who rose to replace the old pantheon, these vengeful spirits rallied the undead hordes, sparking a war that nearly consumed the mortal realm.
In the end, the New Gods prevailed, but at a terrible cost. They banished the undead to the Corseir Deadlands, cursing the land itself to mirror the torment of its inhabitants. Now, the Deadlands fester as a prison of rot and despair, a grim testament to the price of defying the cycle of life and death.
Yet whispers persist that the Forgotten Heroes still walk those cursed grounds, waiting for the day the veil thins once more.