Steve waited a bit and then continued to eat. He’d been craving a fresh meal, and his stomach wouldn’t allow him to pass on the banquet. With a full belly and drunken mind, he stumbled back to his room and passed out. Completely ignoring his friend's attempts to speak, he decided whatever it was could wait until morning.

  —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Ryland sat hunched in the corner of the dimly lit room. His translucent body flickered in and out of existence while gazing into the void. Thousands of thoughts crossed his mind, but nothing he could act on. Instead, he stared at his friend. The drunk man sprawled out on some threadbare sheets, his whole gooch hanging out. Loud snores were banging on his ears as Steve slept off the alcohol. Seriously, he was drinking at this time? What happened to the uptight Steve? Ryland’s face shifted to one of frustration, it wasn’t fair! He should be the guy passed out in some dank tavern. Feeling the heavy pouch of gold from a night of gambling, a warm belly, and other pleasures of the flesh. But NO, he was just a ghastly ghost stalking people throughout the night.

  A coolness swept over his hand as he channeled [Chilled Touch]. The anger bubbling up within him, he just wanted to smack the man. They were surrounded by the top [Necromancer]s, and Steve was drunk. After a few moments, he let the skill fizzle out. What was the point? It’d just piss off the only man who could help him. Besides, it wasn’t Steve’s fault. Ryland was just bored. Very bored and tired of living this kind of half-life. He was so close to fixing it. No doubt the coven could come up with something right? Taking a deep breath, he paced around the room. Anything to help calm the raging thoughts within…but nothing seemed to work. Instead, he glanced at the door.

  “Well, might as well explore,” he muttered.

  He didn’t even need to think about phasing anymore. His ghostly form instinctively passed through the warped door with ease. Stepping into the hallway, he took a good look at the bunker. The commune stretched before him. A sprawling labyrinth of dimly lit halls; alongside dozens of rooms and other study nooks. The air carried a faint, musty scent of mildew and mold, with the sound of dripping water echoing in the distance. As Ryland shuffled through the corridors, he wondered why it was so…massive. This place could hold hundreds of people at once, yet he only saw the occasional apprentice walking the halls. They didn’t even have anyone on patrol, and there were no minions or other security. Why did they need such a cavernous space? Hallway after hallway revealed empty dorms with sagging cots or half-decayed labs cluttered with dusted glassware and other instruments. Did the fight really injure that many? IT was a bit of chaos, and Ryland never got to see who responded to his…tantrum. But still, it couldn’t have been HUNDREDS of people. The place was like a full-on magical school! As he ventured deeper into the compound a faint tug of mana pricked at his senses.

  “Hmm” he muttered as the aether drew him towards a more active section.

  As he approached, the whispers and other chatter filled the air. IT must be a lesson or a ritual of some kind. Ryland was curious to see what they did. Especially since STeve wouldn’t stop blabbering about all the crazy, groundbreaking techniques tested here. How wild the creations were, how it was far more then just a regular zombie or skeleton. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to take a sneak peak. His friend was going to be out for a few more hours anyway.

  Peaking into the room, he was hit with a flashback. The interior was nearly identical to Faust’s cave from before. Only much more…sterile. Instead of stone, polished steel tables gleamed under flickering flames. Some had splayed out corpses in various stages of dissection. Their organs hanging out and carefully contained in small bowls next to them. Large vats contained piles of bodies in different stages of decay. Strangely, no flies or other carrion creatures buzzed about. Instead, the air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the reek of decay, and a pungent undertone of preservative.

  Large, oaken shelves were littered with jars and other devices. Floating eyes, skinned faces, severed hands, and more on display. Next to the murky fluid were stacks of scrolls and partially cracked vials. Whatever was being stored appeared rarely used. Stepping in, Ryland approached the central slab and paused at the glowing runework. A metallic mirror hung overhead bathing the corpse in a bright light. The head [Necromancer] hunched over the thing as his apprentices scurried about. Some stood by taking notes as the man spoke, while others reinforced the magical bindings along the slab. They worked quite methodically. After watching Steve, he figured it would be a lot more bloodletting and other barbaric practices.

  Within moments, the air began to stir. Ryland felt the deathly mana swirl around the restrained corpse. It had a strange taste to it, something that went beyond the normal senses. Something that grazed his inner core. Walking forward, he was eager to witness the reanimation up close. Runes flared up in response to his approach, something that caused a stir in the group.

  “Shit” he cursed and stepped back. He didn’t want another reaction like the mice back at the inn.

  Low chants hummed through the group. The various syllables acting as a conduit for the swirling magics, directing them to the proper spots. But what caught Ryland’s attention was just how fucking boring it all was!

  “Come on, this can’t be it?” It wasn’t the chaotic, violent spectacle he’d expected.

  The mouse had a full on convulsion as the mana flooded into it. Shrieks of pain as it stumbled about trying to adjust to the rapidly regenerating tissue. However, this body just kind of sat there. Slowly the fingers began to wiggle or the leg shake, but that was it. Just a super slow process as the aether pumped into the flexing muscle. Ryland just waited and waited and waited, hoping something exciting would happen. But it never came.

  Instead, it took nearly five minutes before the zombie was formed. Its eyes opened to that milky iris. Moments later, it struggled against the restraints. Groaning out with a terrible hunger, its jaws snapped at the students trying to get a single bite of living flesh.

  Ryland knew that eternal hunger all too well. A gnawing, insatiable yearning for life that no meal could fully quench. Each bite only dulling the ravenous drive for a few moments. But, the men were prepared. One assistant stepped forward, carrying a tray pilled with severed toes. Leaning over the creature, he dropped them into the awaiting maw like grapes. The wet crunch of bone and sinew filling the air as the creature chewed. Bits of blood spurting passed it’s lips as it devoured the tasty snacks.

  With the hunger satiated, the group pressed on. Assistants wheeled the various slabs into position. Pale, bloated corpses harvested from those above. The head instructor carefully inspecting them with a critical eye. Dismissing a few while nodding at others. Satisfied with the remaining specimens, he rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

  “Damn” Ryland said wide-eyed

  The dude was JACKED. He always saw spellcasters as these piddly, fragile things. But this man destroyed that stereotype. Biceps bulged like boulders, forearms rippled with steel-corded muscle and a physique carved from solid stone. He could snap a man’s neck just by flexing, just an overall beefy guy.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Moments later, the reason became clear. He didn’t invest in certain manipulation skills. Instead favoring a far more direct approach to his work. Gripping the donor leg, he began pushing against it. Grunts of exertion echoed through the lab as he snapped it with his bare hands, the crack of bone sharp and sudden. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto the table as he tore apart the corpse with brutal efficiency. With the limb freed, He pulled out a carving knife and quickly stripped off the remaining flesh. He snapped and an assistant rushed to grab another tool. Planting it down, he pressed the bone against the grinding wheel. With deadly precision, he sharpened the end into a deadly point.

  He held the pole-ARM up to the light to check for flaws. Satisfied, he slammed the point into a nearby corpse with a powerful thrust. The weapon quickly pierced the rotting meat, popping the bloated skin and splattering the room in filth. His assistance backed away as the fetid miasma oozed upwards, but the lab quickly sucked out the diseased gasses through vent holes. The head instructor just stared at the weapon, grinning like a mad-man amongst the lingering stench. Still, making weapons was easy; grafting them was the issue.

  Handing the arm off to his student. He returned to the restrained beast and made a quick circle. This next part would take a bit of focus and he didn’t want the thing to fight back. Satisfied that the runes and straps held, he reached out for the arm.

  Breaking the zombie’s arm took more effort. Undead flesh was soaked in mana and had a bit more resilience to it. It took a few tugs to dislocate the joints, sweat dripping onto the floor as he pulled.

  SNAP

  The limb went limb from his efforts. Wiping off the grime, he started to twisted the appendage in wide circles. The skin stretched and strained before finally tearing. With one final tug, he ripped off the damaged limb tossing it into a nearby pile. The jagged elbow didn’t bleed as much as it oozed. Thick globs of tar-like blood dripped onto the table, the congealed mess stifling any real mess.

  His assistant handed back the bone and the man took a deep breath. With a reverberating cry, he jammed the blunt end into the zombie’s stub. The creature thrashed against the restraints, trying to escape the attack, but the thick leather straps held firm. Instantly, the students swarmed the creature, large strips of gauze wrapping around the bone. Each layer was slathered in a thick glue that dried nearly instantly. It took about twenty minutes, but the make-shift cast fused the bone together. It was a crude technique, but it worked.

  As his assistants worked, the muscle-bound man was prepping the skin. His sharpened scalpel carving out strips of flesh from the donor bodies. Even through the slick gore, he was brutally efficient. Every cut perfect and precious, a clear indicator of his dedication. Laying out the strips onto a tray, he returned to the zombie. Ryland watched as he activated a skill for the first time. His hands glowing with energy as he lifted the first strip. The piece of skin wiggling in the air as the magics took hold. Placing it onto the graft, the flabby meat quickly fused to the existing flesh. Layer by layer he rebuild the damaged elbow, making sure the joints were properly knit together.

  While he worked, his students amplified the lingering magics. Each chanting a simple spell that amplified his techniques. Their deep, guttural voices acted as a catalyst to speed up the zombie’s regeneration. By the time it was finished, the bony spear looked like a natural extension of the zombie’s arm. It was a grotesque but very deadly weapon.

  But there was always one final step to the process. The [Necromancer] used his scalpel and carefully carved out the final set of runes onto the creation’s chest. Pricking his finger, he dripped blood onto the inscription to activate the spell. Dark veins webbed from the carving, pulsing as they overtook the groaning zombie. It was a battle of wills as the creation thrashed against the straps, trying to escape that burning command. But it was futile, within a few seconds the magic disappeared and it’s will shattered.

  The man cut the straps and let the thing slid off the table with a thud. It lay there, a tangled mess of flesh and bone. Slowly, it felt out the new form before lurching upright. It shuffled forward, each limb wobbling under the weight. But as the seconds passed, it grew stronger. It approached it’s creator and stared. Just waiting for its first command.

  “Wow,” Ryland thought. Forget the actual reanimation, seeing a custom zombie was kind of cool. It was both horrifying and fascinating. Maybe he could sneak back here after getting fixed and have some grafts done. It might hurt like hell, but it’d be worth it.

  The thing responded to Ryland’s voice, it’s milky eyes darting towards the ghost with a unnerving focus.

  “Uhh what?” Ryland asked.

  But it just stood there…waiting. Acting as if Ryland was his true creator and not the fleshbag before him. He shooed the creature back, wanting the thing to look away. It took the hint and returned to its original stance.

  The man gave it a variety of tasks, testing the body and seeing how it acted. Students and apprentices scurried around it, scribbling notes and muttering observations, all while the man looked for flaws in the design. It was nearly perfect, but there could still be some slight tweaks on future iterations. Still, he was quite pleased with the results, turning back towards his students.

  “Now, skills can shorten this process drastically. But I still believe a traditional reanimation leads to a better functioning minion. I hope you all took notes on how to raise and modify a basic undead. Next week I’ll be testing each of you in groups of three. Please don’t die on me, we are already at the limit for this year” He grinned.

  With the session over. The group shuffled out of the room, the zombie following slightly behind. It gave one last longing look at Ryland, begging the ghost to save it. But Ryland could only watch helplessly. Damn he was getting a bit soft, usually he’d just decapitate and go. Now he saw them as cute little pets. Well, ravenous blood-hungry things. But still kind of cute in their personalities. Heck maybe Steve was right, they weren’t so bad long as you kept them under control and fed.

  Ryland lingered in the now-empty lab. The hum of magic buzzing in the air, partially reanimating the corpse piles around him. Limbs twitched and few groans escaped, but they were trapped. Still, curiosity gnawed at him. What else were they hiding in this place? He’d seen so much good, but it all came from this dark secret. There had to be more to this place right? [Necromancers]s were bad people. Abominations to the pantheon above…yet why did the goddess protect them?

  Wandering through the halls, his mind was lost in thought. He peeped into other rooms, checking out the various constructs under creation: zombies, Ghouls, Meat sacks, and even little guys who rushed across the floor mopping up the messes. It was a strange society that could turn at any moment. What would happen if they ran out of meat? Hell, if a priest got in here, he could shatter those bindings with ease, all these creations quickly turning on their masters.

  Well, might as well get some spying done then. Closing his eyes, he focused on his bond with his body. That slight tug against his brain that directed him towards its location. No doubt some of the upper members were experimenting on it. He could feel the constant annoyance on their connection. But, they kept it well fed at least.

  He wandered deeper and deeper into the commune. Now he started to see more life, or well unlife. Dozens of undead creations guarded the areas. Imposing things that could kill a well-equiped adventurer. It wasn’t just zombies and skeletons anymore. Dread knights, giant slimes, and even a few frosty mages lined the walls. Their deaden eyes staring at Ryland, the only ones even noticing his presence.

  “Man, maybe I should taken the other skill. Might be cool being that big” he said staring up at the dread knight.

  It was a tall, heavily armored beast. It didn’t have armor in the traditional sense; instead, it was huge plates of thickened bone, each one carrying a different weapon of bone: one a sharpened axe, another a meaty club. If he were human again, one hit would easily liquify organs. Ryland reached out and touched the creature. He felt that drain as his energy flooded into the creation.

  Unlike the mouse, it easily accepted the overwhelming energy. Bone thickened, strings of muscle rippling across the plates and reinforcing the structure. The empty sockets were developing a slight flame similar to Geraldo’s own. By the time he pulled back, the once-imposing skeleton was now a conglomeration of flesh and bone. Glistening chunks of meat hung over the ivory; he wasn’t sure what had happened exactly. But Ryland knew it was much stronger because of it.

  Even as his powers wavered, they quickly refilled from the nearby locus. No wonder so many undead were thriving. It was felt like a limitless source of power, far stronger than the one Faust created before. Still, he was here to uncover some secrets, and his roguish instincts were flaring up. Following the trail deeper, he stumbled across his body.