My eyelids burned, brightness and heat assulted them. The sensation made me gasp—just a little, just enough to hurt.

  Then I felt the cold metal dug into my back, or rather, into my spine, keeping me from any movements, pinned like an animal. My hands and feet bound by shackles rusted in what i can only hope was tons of red-tinted water. I tried to shift but the only thing that moved was my head, and barely at that. Great... some psycho is using me as a grim furniture now?

  The stink hit me next—wet iron, old blood, and something worse. The air hung thick with it, it was just like Roy's father's butcher tent, only ten times worse and no chance of jerky.

  Then I saw him.

  He stood hunched over, his back turned to me, whistling a disconcerting tune. His attire too neat for this hellhole, black linen shirt beneath a black vest, not a wrinkle to be seen—his clothes were in one word, spotless—the rest of him though... seemed to come straight from my nightmares. Pale as snow skin, long black hair, and the air that hung around him reeked of death, but not a nice cozy death. No this was a different kind, a grim one, the kind you pass on this world with a look of utter despair. His gloves squelched as he brushed his hand over metalic tools that clinked over one another.

  "Ah," he muttered, without even looking my way, voice sharp and dry, yet oddly elegant. "Awake, are you?"

  I tried to speak but my throat dry as sandpaper only let out a few raspy sounds. He didn't seem to care either way. His hands clasped around a glass jar. He turned around, still holding the jar, and inside it was something I really didn't wish to identify, he raised his brow in an amused expression.

  "Fascinating..." he said. "You're not a mindless savage, that's new."

  He put the jar on a cabinet and walked over. Now I had a clear view of the table he was hunched over previously. Tools—lots of them, all arenged nicely, like a sawbones dream ensemble.

  "Before we delve into anything else, manners matter." He said in that disconcerting voice of his. "They do to me at least," he smiled a crooked grin. "My name is Murnacht, and that will do for you, but you may adress me as Master Murnacht as decorum dictates."

  Pompous bastard, you can choke on your decorum any day of the week. You spoke for less then a minute and you're already rubbing me off the wrong way...

  "You are what we in the business call a natural undead," he went on, almost casual, not caring for my inner rude thoughts. "That much is obvious. But unlike them, you remain cognitive. Thinking. Still holding yourself in that empty skull of yours. That's not supposed to happen."

  Yeah well you can sho-

  Before I could finish my train of thoughts he walked over and leaned over me. His eyes gleaned golden under the low lantern light, hiding the abyss inside of them.

  "You, little one, are an anomaly," he smiled a toothy grin as he spoke. "One that suits my needs quite nicely."

  I rasped something like "what" and "who" but he seemed to ignore it. His gloved fingers clasping around my heart, that still pulsed weakly—my last remaining organ. He weighed it on his hand. A curious expression on his face.

  "Most natural undead are as dumb as corpses—because ironically, they are just that walking corpses. They possess only their instincts, and the uncommon ones can somehow hold grudges and unfinished business, causing them to mumble and speak incoherently. They don't have any actual rational process—like you seem to have. The cause for their state is unclear, lost across the ages, there are theories of course. Some say it's due to a curse, some say a malevolent god's punishment and some say it's due to the green moon... or as it is commonly known, the Death Moon." Once he spoke that I felt my head buzz, a chill went through my entire being, but fortunately he seemed to not notice it. "Most are easier to catch than rabbits, even if they are quite resilient. But once you leash them, bend them to your will, bind them to Maltrix, they lose their connection to death. Forever bound to their master and his energy. They effectively become tools, not beings, however limited their rationality is."

  He smiled as if that was the funniest joke he'd heard in years. "But you... you're different. You are bound to none, and you're still there. You are perfect. Perfectly suited to my needs that is..." As he spoke a cold scalpel met what remained of my skin.

  "Now do not squirm. I need to know how much of you is left... and what makes you tick."

  He began to cut. I clenched my teeth, the pain a distant feeling. he worked as if I was dead—which, technically, I guess I am.

  "Don't worry," he said, his voice a blade cutting through silk. "I might as well answer a few of your questions little one. Consider it a trade. The knowledge hidden inside your body, and future tasks, and you may indulge in your curiosity. Sounds fair, doesn't it?" He peeled something back, and I gagged on dark blood and rotten bile. "Ask away," he added. "Might as well be well informed so you become more usefull."

  I swallowed down whatever bile hadn't already choked, then rasped the first words that clawed its way up my throat.

  "Raven..."

  He tilted his head, that grin freezing just a touch. "Raven?"

  "There was... one," I said, throat dry, words stinging like thorns. "Followed me. Guided me. Where is it?"

  A beat passed. Then two. The scalpel stopped mid-motion.

  "No raven when I found you," he said lightly, too lightly. "I was roaming the swamp when I noticed your handiwork." I looked at him puzzled, not really understanding, after all this prick has a taste for speaking fancy. "The beasts you killed," he clarified. "I followed the trail and found a body lying there. Rotting, which shouldn't be possible, given the freshness of the other near you. Which gave away your undead nature. No raven in sight though... Are you sure you weren't hallucinating?" He tilted his head a bit, narrowed his eyes and smiled. A sweet smile, uncharacteristic of him—from what I've seen so far at least.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  This bastard is lying and pushing the blame on me...

  Is it possible that I was indeed hallucinating? Given my state and everything else—it's absolutely possible. But something stinks, there's a whisper in my mind that says not to trust.

  My jaw clenched, I couldn't say anything. For what I knew, the bastard killed it, and if I kept asking of the raven—I may very well be next in line. I'll find out the truth soon enough. But now is not the time.

  I shifted the question.

  "Who are you?"

  "Master Murnacht," he said, gesturing dramatically as if I somehow had forgotten his pompous title. "A scholar of the dead. A practitioner of the dark arts. A collector of anomalies—anomalies much like yourself, though as I said, you are exceptional. But most of all, your one and only benefactor in this cruel, cruel world." His smile grew larger and more distorted than ever.

  I resisted the urge to spit at him. Not that I could, even if I tried.

  Without further ceremony, nor waiting for my next question. He drove a tool into my left eye. I felt the cold metal gripping it tightly, next I felt a soft and gentle pull. Bit by bit my eye was being gouged out from its cozy socket. I heard the sloshing sound of the nerve behind my eye moving around—soon enough the sloshing sound became a wet ripping one, as my eye was completely disconected from me.

  I screamed in pain. My torment translated into a mad howl that made the shack rumble, the tools on the table trembled. A few of the jars on the wall shattered.

  With my right eye I could see Murnacth smirking, feeling euphoric. He stored my eye with utmost care, as if it was the most precious thing in the world. After that he proceeded to gouge out my right eye as well.

  I tried to struggle, but despite how rusted my shackles were, they did not give in. I tried to scream louder, but my strenght betrayed me, and I could only make a pained sigh. Once he ripped off my right eye as well, my world plunge into darkness. Cold empty darkness. I was alone. I could only hear my tormentor work with diligence around me.

  "Now what is your next question?" The bastard asked me as if he had not just blinded me. "Humm? Don't have one? Or are you still thinking?" His tone as innocent as a child's. "Well if you don't mind I'll continue my work while you are still thinking."

  I couldn't protest. I couldn't do anything. Not even look this bastard in the eye and curse him.

  I felt a blade make cuts in my face, before I felt his gloved fingers beneath the flesh. I felt him pulling my own face off. Then a cold metal touched my ear canal, gripping it tightly and pulling it off. I felt my head ringing. The same happened with my other tympanum. After becoming blind, I became deaf. In the span of less then ten bloody minutes... The torture continued. I felt his scalpel tear through my muscles, I felt pliers pulling the skin of my bone. I felt what seemed like a spoon scrape off my gums. He positioned my head sideways, and siphoned what remained of my mush of a brain. My thoughts became messy. I couldn't keep a thought, they all seemed so... fleeting. All that I could notice was the distant feeling of my flesh being pulled from my bones. Then came a wet sensation, as if I was submerged in something. A warm and tingly feeling came. Amidst the darkness I 'saw' something familiar, though I couldn't remember why it was familiar. Time became an distant concept to me. I felt I was loosing myself.

  "Is that all it takes to brake you?" In the darkness a familiar voice came. "A bit of pain?" It wasn't just a bit of pain okay? At least I don't think it was... It's all so confusing now, I can't think straight. "You are pathetic." Yeah, maybe I am, so what? I dare you to do any better in this situation. "You should be more..." The voice grew angrier. "I SHOULD BE MORE!" What?! "That's what you get when you leave a 'human' in charge of things. Maybe now you'll learn." The voice grew amused and more demonic.

  "KaKaKaKaKaKa."

  I felt the wet sensation leave me, bit by bit.

  Then it came.

  Light.

  Brighter than ever.

  "Wakey, wakey," at my side I heard Murnacht's voice clearer than ever, I could even hear his low controled breathing.

  How's that possible? I'm sure I went blind and deaf... So what is this? How am I hearing and seeing better? I have no eyes, yet I see. I have no ears, yet I hear. I have no brain, yet I think.

  Still suspended by hooks and ropes I looked down. I was in a tank, filled to the brim with a green and shining liquid. My gaze went to Murnacht.

  "What did you do?" Even speaking became easier, though my voice became a tad bit more uncofortable than it was yesterday.

  "What was necessary," he said with a smile still stuck in his face.

  "WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?" My voice grew heavier and more monstrous.

  "I perfected you," he said, not making anything clearer. Seein I didn't move or spoke anything, he sighed and continued. "I cleaned you of your rotten flesh, took unneeded organs away and plunged you into a mixture I made myself. It makes bones stronger and more durable, a bit pretier also. Look you are nice and white," he said gesturing at me. "Though your bones were already quite impressive, you can never reinforce something too much."

  I looked at myself and indeed my skeleton was whiter, stronger and any cracks it had in my life—or in my death—were gone. I felt as if I was made of stuff stronger than steel.

  "Now... do you have any more questions?" He said in an amused tone. "Or are we done?"

  I looked at him fuming with anger. Though I guess that now as a skeleton I can't quite convey that can I?

  "What do you want from me?"

  "A task. A favor, if you will. There is something I require. Hidden away, locked behind stubborn old wards and far too many layers of arrogant magecraft. You, lucky thing, may just be the key that opens it for me."

  "Mages?" I croaked.

  "Yes, that which I desire, lies in Blackfern's School for Mages, near Blackfern's Hollow. You might have heard of it, if you were a local, before your... ehem—passing."

  My mind reeled backwards, to a distant dream. Dreams I thought I buried. That cracked old school, stinking of incense and its smug tutors. I'd once thought I'd belong there. Me. A mage. Learning spells, instead of digging graves. Reality proved ruthless though. I failed the tests. I couldn't hear manda, I couldn't reach it. I still remember my mother's downcast expression. After spending almost all our savings on the test, I failed. And that's also what killed them. Overwork. All because of me. Yet I can't help but still cling onto those foolish dreams.

  "Can..." my voice sounded low, pitiful even. "Can an undead become a mage?" I felt pathetic while uttering each and every word.

  Murnacht laughed. He didn't chuckle—he laughed loudly and madly. Like someone told him the funniest joke.

  "Oh, no," he said when he caught his breath. "No, little one. Undead can't access mana. Not anymore. Their soul cannot connect to it. Its like trying to hold water with a net. Most energies are beyond their grasp."

  Something inside me cracked a little at that. Even death barred me from magic.

  "But," he added, tone shifting, like he was offering me candy, "there exists energies you can indeed hold in that skeletal vessel. The energies of decay, destruction or death. Destruction and Death may be beyond your grasp, but fortunately for you, decay is not."

  His hand raised and between his fingers, a glow. A purplish glow with strands of a sickly yellow mixed in. It rolled on its fingers in a docile manner, though it was still a tad bit erratic.

  "The energy of decay, Maltrix."

  I felt contempt inside of me. Like that energy was beneath me. Like it was filthy.

  Something inside me stirred.

  In the corner of my vision a darkness fell. Utter and complete darkness, like the abyss, and in its depths, a dark green glowed.

  I would smile if I could. He didn't seem to notice it. But there was something inside of me. Ravenous. Hungry.

  The energy in Murnacht's hands recoiled, as if frightned. He payed no mind to it tough.

  "It's a harder path, yes," he said, as if warning me off. "It devours most who try. But with my help, you couid open the first gate. Use Maltrix. Become something more than a shambling corpse.

  "What's the catch?" I rasped.

  His gaze turned razor-sharp.

  "You'll get the means to touch Maltrix—after you fetch what I need. Fair's fair."

  So I had a use. That gave me time. Time to learn. Time to improve. Time to plan. Time to... kill.

  I smirked inwardly.

  "Alright Murnacht," I said, trying to sound as entusiastic as I could, "we have a deal!"