His dreams were never peaceful. Not that he ever remembered exactly what he saw, but every time Seventh woke, all he carried was fear and violence.

  Now, he saw figures of smoke charging, colliding.

  Fighting.

  Everything moved slowly.

  Killing blows burst into color, flares of light.

  New shadows rose from the ground, and the fighting began again.

  He floated above it all. Watching. Choosing.

  Then dove into someone else.

  A ratkin.

  Skittering low, dodging arrows. He knew the move: duck under shields, stab the legs—

  A spear punched through his chest.

  Twist. Exit.

  Screaming.

  Smoke again. Mixing with another shadow.

  A human.

  Taller than usual, sword and shield in hand.

  Knife slid into his throat. Miscalculation.

  Still swung until the world went dark.

  The battlefield writhed.

  Rotten corpses stirred, rose, charged again.

  An archer.

  Arrow half-drawn when Shadowbolt caved his head in.

  A leaper.

  Airborne. Sword cut him in half.

  A shieldman.

  Step forward— a maul came down from above, crushing bone.

  Smoke again. And then— a body on the temple floor.

  Seventh woke up screaming, blue shining through his mouth with ethereal light.

  Fang-Knife took a sidestep. Getting clear from his flailing master.

  He took in a deep breath, felt his throat clench up. Coughing, wheezing he clawed his tensing trachea, and coughed slimy phlegm out.

  His heartbeat hammered in his ears.

  Blood pulsed.

  Breathing hurt.

  A heartbeat. Jackrabbit in his chest. He could feel it. A heart.

  Seventh ripped his armor off, feeling his chest. Pulse, a living heart.

  "What the fu—"

  Seventh stared at the system message. His new heart decided to test itself out by trying to hammer itself out of Seventh's rib cage.

  He was a ghost? Human?

  Why now? Why this?

  He looked at his hands. Too warm. Calloused skin in his palms. His heart kept hammering, each beat a shove against bone.

  He had been a rotting corpse for… how long? No breath. No pulse. No need.

  Now he was meat again. Bleeding, bruising, breaking — all those old human weaknesses flooding back in.

  Was this punishment? Reward?

  His throat felt tight. Not from breathing. From the thought that this was him now.

  Not undead. Not alive.

  Something in-between.

  He opened his Status Screen. He had to see it.

  Mentally clicking the race, he could see again the race block for Wraith, not for human.

  Okaaaay, what the actual... No, calm down. Calm. Deep breaths, you have working lungs now. Keep breathing. That's the key. Breathe.

  His interface was doing weird stuff again. No need to panic— yet. He hadn't seen an asterisk before. Out of curiosity, Seventh focused on that, and another box opened.

  “This had to be another damn test,” Seventh silently cursed.

  There wasn't any other explanation. That god was toying with him. Maybe he didn't like squatters in his temple? Changed their races for willy-nilly for entertainment and—

  Feeling the stone in his fingertips made Seventh pause his silent cursing. It was cold, coarse, and porous. Nothing like he had felt before.

  The world had felt distant. Like he was wearing thick gloves and full suit of armor.

  Now, he really felt it all.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  He tasted the stagnant air. Smelled his own sweat, and body odor. Felt the coldness. Heard his own blood rushing in his ears. And saw— well, nothing much.

  There was a faint sliver of light illuminating the altar, but everything else was covered by the darkness.

  The dungeon wasn't lit, but he had seen some color when up close to things. Now everything was just... darker.

  Humans don't have Darkvision, Seventh thought while facepalming himself. Even that felt more tingly than he expected. More alive.

  Of course. One step forward, two stumbling steps back in the dark. Wonderful.

  Seventh took a lungful of air in, and yelled. "HUNTING!"

  The temple was quiet. A crypt.

  "What the hell did you do to me? New forced quest wasn't enough?"

  Silence.

  Seventh marched around the temple. Just making sure the god wasn't hiding behind a pillar or something.

  He didn't really have a plan. He just wanted to see the god. To do something. Maybe yell. Yes, yelling would feel good.

  "This is how you get your rocks off?" Seventh yelled at the stone around him. "Got tired at doppelganger charades? Cryptic speeches and occasional violence got dull? ANSWER ME!”

  A single, tiny golden spark flickered in his vision, clicking his LOG.

  Seventh read the messages with a sideways glance. Why was his selection over-ruled by the System? Why Wraith?

  He made a cough with only slightly embarrassed look in his face. "So, uh— sorry about that. New...ish body and all, heh. No hard feelings?" he asked hopefully.

  Since he wasn't smiten on the spot, he assumed he was in the clear.

  Maybe. Probably. Definitely probably.

  Fang-Knife had been staring at Seventh this whole time. Either he had the most incredulous look on his face this realm has ever seen, or Seventh was getting better at recognizing his companions facial expressions.

  "Not a word about this. Please?" Seventh said while trying to regain some composure.

  Fang nodded his answer eagerly. He seemed to stay just a step further than usual from Seventh.

  Seventh started to see little bit better in the dark and noticed the pile of loot— and the body— that had been dragged inside.

  Having something to do he inspected the dense bars of something covered in waxed cloth, and the pelts.

  Carefully peeling open one of the bars, he saw dense bar of light grey material he didn't quite recognize. There wasn't any noticeable smell apart from the cloth and wax either.

  The pelts were soft and cool to the touch. Seventh didn't notice any blood, sinew or cartilage stuck on them. Both looked expertly tanned, and free of any dirt.

  Seeing his own name in a Identify-box was interesting. Could he just walk around and touch corpses to find out who had killed them? That needed further testing, since it was possible the box gave such information only because Seventh already knew where the pelt had come from. Otherwise being an investigator or something would be very easy.

  Ration Bars were also interesting. Taking a careful bite from the corner revealed the material to be brittle, flaky. First few bites were tasteless, but after chewing, it changed. Raw meat? Something like that.

  Seventh swallowed with a thoughtful grimace. His first meal left something to be desired. After a quick stop at the well to wash the taste away with water, Seventh was back inside.

  "Turns out, I'm a ghost now, so... yeah I'll figure that one out," Seventh said to Fang. "And apparently I can possess bodies now."

  Fang gave him a raised eyebrow and a stare.

  "It's different! Before I was just undead. Now, I'm more squishy," Seventh said, enforcing his claim by poking his living skin. It had a pale shade, but seemed otherwise healthy.

  Seventh saw Fang making a dreading grimace, baring even little teeth.

  There wasn't a way to know what the ratkin was thinking, but Seventh aired his own conclusions. "Yeah, can't get stabbed anymore with just minor health loss. There's bleeding, organs, and all living problems now."

  He stroked his chin hopefully. "Could grow out a beard though. That would be nice."

  Muffled snort told Seventh what Fang thought about that.

  "What? You don't think I could pull it off?"

  The ratkin shrugged nonchalantly.

  "We'll see in time. First we need to think our next steps. Finding food, water, and fighting with the ratkin. Gods know where they pillaged all that armor, but I can't just one-shot kill them— especially when my Shadowbolt got nerfed."

  Seventh started to pace around the temple while talking.

  "They already know about the Wandering Eye— it gets poked out a lot— and they probably have a hunch how far we are if its seen. You're a decent at sneaking around, but can't tell me what you have seen," he said. "No offense."

  Fang flicked his hand in a lazy wave. He wasn't offended.

  Seventh had to do his own scouting, but he couldn't even see properly now. He could use torches, but ratkin would see him from miles away. If the dungeon had a room miles wide anyhow.

  Mumbling to himself, he paced the room, poking and prodding the air when he opened and closed boxes. Making it physically had a certain grandiose feeling, and moved his grey juices around.

  A plan started to formulate, but everything in it was slightly... unhinged and untested. Luckily for him, Seventh had a solid sounding board, only slightly less unhinged, and untested than him.

  “Okay, so. Here's the plan. I test out the posession on that corpse,” he pointed at the dead ratkin. “Then I'm a ratkin, and can go sneaking around. If I get seen, I'm just a normal ratkin. Sounds good so far?”

  Looking between Seventh and the corpse, Fang scratched his head, and let out a questioning whistling sound.

  “That wasn't a no? Great, moving on. So, I can go around, map the areas where the ratkin are, and we can make an attack plan.”

  Now the ratkin made a question by flopping one ear down while raising the other.

  “Because we have a quest, remember? To... kill all the ratkin.”

  Fang's expression stayed blank. He made single, strained nod. The old hate flared for a moment in his eyes.

  Seventh looked down to the floor. “I don't like it either,” he whispered. “But a god gave that quest. What can we do?”

  Fang made a slicing motion with his right thumb accompanied with a hiss.

  “Erh, kill the god?”

  The ratkin quickly shook his head and waved his arms around. Just to be sure, he also looked up in case of divine smites.

  When Fang was sure he was safe, he motioned stabbing, slicing, killing, and finished by making a big X with his arms.

  “Oh! Not killing the ratkin?”

  Fang slowly turned his head, and stared at Seventh like he was an idiot. The ratkin angrily pointed at his own ear, and at the roof.

  Seventh made a strained smile and looked up. “Yeeeah, maybe we should not talk about that in his house. Anyways,” he clapped his hands together.

  “Let's check out this Possession out, eh?”

  There wasn't any guides or manual how the skill worked, but like every skill, Seventh had an instinctive knowledge what to do. For comfort, he placed the ratkin corpse on one of the pelts, and laid down on the second right next to the ratkin.

  “Ready to try something new and possibly stupid?”

  Fang pointed at Seventh, mimicked dying, and tilting his head questioningly, ears low.

  “Does the body die? Probably. It stays here. With you."

  Fang blinked at that a couple of times.

  "Again, no offense, but you look way more rough as I do," Seventh said and gestured at Fang, sliding his hand from up to down. “I might pass as a living ratkin after possession, but you look like an undead.”

  They both knew he was right. Fang's dark fur with light brown spots around his hands, feet, and snout was matted and dirtied by their dungeon-crawling. There were multiple spots where fresh scars shone through, and fur hadn't yet grown back properly.

  Seventh made sure to look Fang in the eye before continuing. "And I need you to protect my body. That door—" he pointed at the dual doors of the temple. "—is not secure if a patrol of ratkin finds this place."

  There was something else in the air with silence. Trust.

  Fang made a simple nod without breaking eye connection with Seventh.

  Seventh also nodded. There wasn't a need to say anything. Not anymore.

  They moved the ratkin body behind the altar. Hopefully, if someone opened the door, they wouldn't check out the creepy temple.

  Taking a nice, almost comfortable position on the umbrefel pelts, Seventh closed his eyes.

  Using knowledge gained from the new race and the skill, Seventh imagined himself as smoke. A spirit without corpse. Shadow trapped in the dust swirling in the sunlight.

  Pressure built in his chest, slightly painful. For a moment he felt like he was boiling inside, and then— all vanished.

  Azure light oozed out of him. It shimmered motionless for a dozen of seconds before suddenly surging inside the ratkin using its mouth as ingress.

  While Seventh's old body relaxed, and lost the living sheen, the ratkin's chest started to rise and fall.

  The red, living eyes opened.