Inside a dungeon, a dabbling necromancer was arguing with his controlled minion.

  "Would you kindly go in to the creepy, multidimensional, purplish hole in the world?" Seventh asked for the umpteenth time.

  Fang-Knife's answer came as a menacing knife wiggling between Seventh and the aforementioned hole.

  They had stopped somewhere in between with the temple and ratkin settlement. Seventh had checked his new Inventory menu more thoroughly.

  It was... way too complicated. He technically had only one item in— Shank-Tooth's body— but by selecting it, Seventh could open a drop-down menu, a new term he hadn't known before, and select individual items on the body. From those items, he could choose even more individual parts, like leather on her knife's handle and pull it out from the voidspace.

  There was also dozens of tabs cataloging every single small component of . Seventh accidentally opened 'Hair' tab and the menu filled his whole vision with a listing of every single hair on Shank-Tooth's body. There were a lot.

  After getting the hang of the menu clicking, Seventh started to wonder the limits of what he could put in. He had absolutely no idea what the hells the skill description meant. Volumetric or compositional ratio? Parsing algorithm? Cumulative storage mass?

  Seventh thought while staring at the description and scratching his chin in annoyance.

  He would figure all that out eventually, but now he wanted to test something important for the next step of operation Getting-the-Hells-out-of-Here: could he store already reanimated corpse?

  It should be possible. Living organisms weren't accepted by the skill, but reanimated corpse wasn't alive— technically. The only problem was... well, the reanimation itself.

  More precisely, Fang's insistence of not going through a hole in the world. He did not want to jump through the purple dimensional crack, and adamantly refused. He had made many good points by twitching his nose, ears and gesturing wildly, mostly with his knife.

  "No that's not how it works! The caster cannot put himself into the voidspace. Something about spatial disruption... but you will be fine. Promise!"

  Fang gave Seventh an incredulous look with massive doubt sprinkled on.

  "You know we need to do this. I pop Shank out, possess her again, pop you and Bob to voidspace, and walk through the ratkin camp to safety. Simple!" Seventh said, and gave Fang a smile that did not completely convince anybody in the conversation.

  Fang raised his eyebrow subtly.

  "Bob is my body— long story. I will tell you later, but now... please?"

  Fang folded his arms and stood at his full height in defiance— he still had to crane his neck to look at Seventh in the eyes. He wasn't going to do it.

  Luckily, Seventh knew the three foundations of a working society are intimidation, bribery, and blackmail— it was time to use one.

  Pulling something out from his inventory, Seventh gave Fang a syrupy smile that immediately put the ratkin on alert.

  “If you go in, I'll give you a knife.” Seventh wiggled Soot-Fur's knife in front of Fang. “It's ”

  The ratkin eyes bulged as he snatched the knife. He grimaced towards the hole, and hissed. Looking at the shiny new knife, he nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  With a flick of a wrist, Shank-Tooth's corpse slid into the dungeon floor. Time for a possession— and another test, now that Seventh thought about it.

  Everything inside his voidspace was protected against decay, so the hopping in Shank's body should be easy— if his theory of possession being easier with fresh corpses was correct.

  As comfortably as he could, Seventh laid on the floor, and stilled his mind from the questions of his skill and multidimensional cracks in realities.

  Seventh sprung up in Shank's body and wildly swatted at the blue windows. “GAH!”

  He hadn't expected such a smooth transition and he was startled by the sudden blue. Fang cocked his head and raised an questioning eyebrow at Seventh.

  “New skill notification, that's all,” he said while getting his bearings. Going in to the body was easy, but the sudden change of senses needed some time to get used to.

  And the height.

  The body felt absolutely fine, and after some basic stretches it felt like his own. The one laying on the ground, lifeless. Seeing your own body on the floor while walking around in ratkin body was...

  Seventh grimly thought as he stored his own body.

  Another hole appeared to a wall. “Alright, your turn Fang.”

  The ratkin looked at the hole, his new knife, and the hole again. Slumping his shoulders he walked, leaving Seventh standing alone in the dungeon.

  Looking at the purplish crackle of his skill, Seventh tried out Sense Magic.

  Ghostly whisps of magic appeared in his vision, making a spider's web of mana all around him, focusing on the Void of Entropy. Steady streams pulled in to the void, only to be cut off and replaced by angular, more constructed streams.

  He stared at the tapestry of arcane might in awe. He had no idea if this is what everybody with the same skill saw, or if this was something ratkin related, but Seventh didn't really care.

  It was equally beautiful and terrifying to him.

  High mana usage and the dizzying shapes had predictable effect, and Seventh had to cancel Sense Magic before feeling ill. He had a pleasant little buzz when a blue box appeared.

  “Well that was easy,” Seventh said while taking deep breaths. “Maybe too easy?”

  Sense Magic didn't get anything interesting from the rank up, only the range raised from 'short' to 'close'. Seventh estimated that it should be around thirty or so feet from the innate information from the skill.

  Seventh scratched his chin absently and was pleasantly surprised by the satisfying scratch of a ratkin fur.

  Now that he thought about that... didn't he read the descriptions he learned how to read from Literacy?

  Yes. Yes he did.

  Seventh sighed. “I'll add that to the list of questions. I just hope I actually had paper and ink to make the list.”

  The dungeon didn't say anything. Seventh had already forgotten that Fang was in his inventory. Good thing he wasn't here to hear his mumbling, there would have been teasing.

  Seventh didn't waste any more time, and headed straight at the ratkin barricades. With a wave, and an apology for unscheduled gate opening Seventh crawled back into the clan-land of the ratkin.

  Still dusting the dirt off from his fur, Seventh glanced around, and slowly stopped what he was doing. Ratkin had built a lot of new things while he was around.

  Under half a day, the rickety scaffolding between the pillars had gained sturdy walls, making the grand hall look more like an ancient fortress of wood. The top-half was still unfinished and Seventh could see shapes moving around in the shadowy roof. He had to strain his neck to look that far up.

  Seventh thought with satisfaction. He could smell the wood smoke and warm iron far away, tucked in the corner. A faint clang of metal told him that the smiths were already working. More weapons to the ratkin war machine?

  Although impressive structure, the wooden fortress made Seventh's life a tad more difficult: he couldn't just walk across the hall and walk out the gate. He had to find his way around while avoiding suspicion.

  Seventh scampered alongside the wooden wall, making note of the quality of the construction and pleased, saw the neat rows of nailheads keeping all the pieces together.

  The air was filled with the sounds of waking up shift, there was a neat row of small windows around eight feet up. Probably for archers to shoot everything and anything that barrels through the barricades.

  Like an undead horde.

  Seventh looked up to check the mural of himself. The ratkin had almost painted the whole wall, making it look like there was an army of undead attacking to the archers. A constant reminder why they were there. Securing the clan.

  He chose to walk away from the forges, to the opposite corner and find a way from there. Last thing he needed was Soot-Fur asking if his knife was useful.

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  Turning the corner, Seventh arrived at a shanty town. Small huts made from discarded pieces of wood, and tents made from large tapestries. He blinked at an ostentatious artwork of knights riding to fight a dragon, reduced to a privacy screen of an outhouse.

  Ratkin had used everything they got their hands on in the dungeon. Obviously there was another section Seventh hadn't seen. Only wood he had seen was the inn— reduced to ash now— and he hadn't seen a single tapestry or rug.

  Making a very ratkin shrug, Seventh started to navigate through the narrow walkways between the huts and tents. He wouldn't call any of them streets or even alleys. Most were accidentally formed and made abrupt twists and turns.

  The great wall of wood was an excellent landmark, and using that as a reference point, Seventh slowly inched to the other side of the great hall. Closer to the gate, and possible freedom.

  There was increasing amount of activity as Seventh walked. Cooking fires were lit, and groups of ratkin collected food into heating pots, pans, kettles, or just threw vegetables straight next to the fire.

  Seventh nodded politely with a smile to a duo of young ratkin males. Judging from the hammers and pouches of nails, they were on their way to a worksite.

  He made another peek at the high wall. It was easily over fifty feet. Maybe even seventy. No way he would ever work anywhere near that up. He liked to keep his legs firmly on the ground.

  Looking back down, Seventh found himself on a street. An actual, honest to gods, straight piece of floor without anything else than ratkin moving about in their day. The street ended straight into a dungeon wall, but the other end led to a fortified gateway, but not the one he was looking for.

  This gateway led inside the fortress. Looted, sturdy looking wooden door stood a jar and workers streamed in. Two round towers broke the monotonous straight wall around the door, giving excellent defensive position.

  Seventh nodded at the thought and scratched his chin. For a while, he had an uneasy thought rattling around in his head about the ratkin. He had limited knowledge of the dungeon mobs— enemies encountered inside the dungeons— but these ratkin broke several facts he had.

  Dungeon mobs grew from the overflowing mana in the dungeons, these ratkin were born and raised. Dungeon mobs were fed by the same mana, these ratkin ate food. Dungeon mobs didn't know anything beyond their specified role in the dungeon, these ratkin had a society.

  This clan was from the outside. They weren't created by the dungeon. How the hells they got in here? Why?

  A painful shoulder bump broke the inner dialogue. Seventh hissed a curse just to hear a hurried apology. Surely there was enough room on a street to avoid collisions? The ratkin that had bumped him seemed to be in a hurry, and actually fell on all-fours to skitter quickly around.

  He was hurrying towards a gathering commotion. There was a widening spot in the street, a small plaza. Somebody was standing on a stage— planks on laid to rest on barrels— and was addressing increasing crowd.

  Curious, Seventh joined the rear of the gaggle of ratkin, and heard a tail end of some kind of retort.

  "...show them what the Silent Sea is made of! As the Cheese witnesses us, we all shall prevail! Teeth and claw! Teeth and claw! Teeth and claw!"

  The group joined the chant. Thumping their legs on floor and clattering their arms.

  An old ratkin was standing on the stage. He had clean, and gleaming light-grey fur turning white around his eyes and neck. Unlike most of the ratkin, he was dressed in vivid-red cloak covering him almost entirely. Seventh recognized the old rat. The Chief. Leader of all, ancient warrior from the first Gate-War.

  A painful memory. Her tail cut off. The Chief making a cruel laugh, bellowing to a similar crowd. Seventh snapped out from Shank-Tooth's brief flashback.

  Chief was not alone on the stage. Behind him were a row of huge slabs of muscle, armor, and weapons. His brutes. Twice as tall as normal ratkin and highly effective in a battle.

  Seventh's right hand slowly clenched into a fist.

  The tallest one held a large maul. Methodically, he lifted it an inch above the floor and let it drop down— rhythmically, giving a beat for another 'we are great' chant.

  A murder weapon rescued from the battlefield, and passed on. Continuing the cycle of violence and hatred. A symbol of war.

  Seventh's ears twitched to the thoughts. They felt... Shank-Tooth's, but still fresh and visceral. Something Seventh would think.

  Seventh remembered when that same maul had came down in the battle. The deaths it caused.

  His breathing quickened. His posture lowered. To attack. A low hiss escaped his lips. Ratkin to his left noticed and turned to look, confused.

  Seventh was recognized— or at least his body was— and the ratkin hissed back, confusion shifting into disgust.

  "Peace-lover," ratkin said and spat at Seventh's feet. The action was noticed, and soon most around Seventh were throwing insults and spatting to the ground.

  Chief noticed what was happening, and made a deep laugh. He really seemed to like to laugh a lot. The group silenced and looked in interest at Seventh and Chief.

  "Shank-Tooth, the scout turned coward. The peace-lover," Chief said. His tone was mockingly sing-song.

  "Finally found your way back? What battle you ran from this time? Who is dead now?" Chief continued. The group snickering around him.

  "Nobody," Seventh answered.

  He had no idea what was happening. All he did was lose his control for a second when seeing the maul.

  Chief tsked from his raised platform. "I though you of all would be happy. Clan is going down, not up. Or are you just a coward? Any way is bad? We should continue to cover our heads and survive on the scraps of the dungeon? Scraps of humans?"

  Chief spat and everybody else followed suit.

  "We do what you say. You're the boss," Seventh said. He felt he should get angry, but that was Shank's memories. Seventh easily hold her at bay.

  His words clearly were not what the Chief expected. He stumbled for a moment, but collected himself quickly, eyes twinkling in delight.

  "See? Even Shank-Tooth says I'm right now! I would have stubbed you years ago if I knew that was the way to get you to submit!" his cruel laughter was contagious.

  First the brutes started, and then the others.

  Chief continued admits the sea of laughter. "When we kill the Lich we're unstoppable! He will burn in our sacrificial pyres! He's spirit will submit to the Big Cheese! Tooth and claw of Silent Sea!"

  "You won't kill the Lich. Especially not , personally," Seventh yelled over the chanting. The words just slipped out without any hindrance.

  The group grew silent. Dozens of eyes stared at him.

  "What did you just say?"

  "You're not a proper leader," Seventh said. "You cover with the women and children while the warriors do the dirty work. We who say something different get punished, ridiculed."

  "When was the last time you put your teeth and claw on the line? When did you last draw blood? For Silent Sea?"

  He could hear a low rumbling chuckle from the Chief.

  “I was there when they came first. Hordes upon hordes of undead. Undead tide of flesh and menace. I lost brothers and sisters— I for this clan. And for what?” the Chief yelled to the crowd. “A generation of ungrateful who don't know the meaning of ”

  With theatrical flourish, the Chief flicked his cloak off him, revealing his scarred torso underneath. Jagged scars marred his muscular build, and a human made sword— an actual longsword— hung on his belt.

  “I know the meaning of sacrifice! Teeth and claw!” he bellowed over the crowd. The brutes started to stomp their legs and weapons on the stage, giving a rhythmic beat that was followed by the listeners.

  Admist the rising cheer, Seventh could hear the Chief's whisper from dozens of feet away. “You started so well— — just close your ungrateful mouth and obey. Ye?”

  Shank's and Sevenths feeling were unified, and they both stared deep to the older rat's eyes.

  “No.”

  The two ratkin stared at each other above the masses. Chief flashed a cruel smile before schooling his expression to something more friendly. There was friendship and laughter as he spoke.

  “Shank has the speaking-need again we see! A nice patrol looking for undead should teach you something, ye? Something about to the clan?” There was a glint of something menacing in the chief's eyes. He probably thought he was subtle.

  Seventh nodded. "Yeah, sure. Will go scouting."

  With a far too shallow bow for the Chief, Seventh turned and continued his walk.

  The crowd parted around him, hissing and spitting. The brutes followed him with their gazes. Chief summoned the one with the maul to lead in, and whispered something to his ear. The brute nodded slowly, all the while looking at Shank-Tooth's disappearing back.

  Seventh felt blood rushing in his face. It was part embarrassment, part anger, and all emotion. Probably his, definitely hers.

  His brisk pace and deep thought brought Seventh quickly to the gate. The doors were fixed with scrapwood, and a smaller door was cut into the doors for easier access without the need to open the doors. There was even a wooden drawbar now.

  Slipping out was even easier than slipping in. There was a constant stream of ratkin moving and the guards focused only at watching over the masses arriving from the glimmering cave.

  Seventh stopped for a second to marvel the myriad colors he saw shimmering in the walls. A vibrant starry sky with millions of stars stared right back at him.

  The cave smelled fresh. Somewhere in there was moss and flowing water. And a lot of ratkin.

  Seventh moved against the flow, gaining a lot of curious looks, but nobody stopped him or asked what he was doing.

  He wasn't the only one. Forty paces behind him. Three ratkin were also moving against the grain. Seventh could feel their eyes fixed on the back of his head.

  Four shapes slipped into a sidetunnel. One lone ratkin and three following. Seventh walked deeper until he was sure they were far enough from everybody else.

  He stopped to wait at a crossroad, more like at a tunnel curve that intercepted to another tunnel on an angle. While Seventh wondered the asymmetry of natural caves contrasting the strict symmetry of the castle the trio arrived.

  They had been hiding in shadows, but when they realized Seventh was waiting for them they had decided to step forward. Their leader was a dark-brown furred warrior with light speckling around his snout. His short sword was already drawn.

  "The Chief wanted to make sure ya are safe here. Scouting around," he said.

  "Ye, checking ya are safe," the ratkin on his right piped in.

  Leader turned to give him the stink-eye, and turned back to face Seventh. "No hard feelings, ye? For the clan."

  The two others drew their knives. "For the clan."

  Seventh smiled at them. "For the clan."

  He opened the voidspace above them.

  A ball of fury and knives fell on them. The one on the right caught a curved knife through his eyeball and collapsed in an instant. Leader was quicker to dodge, but made an error by turning his back at Seventh.

  He had a knife, but spells were more elegant. Shadowbolt cratered his upper torso. Severing spine.

  The last ratkin dropped his knives and was running on all-fours away from the horror. White walls rose around him, boxing him in with Fang. Faint screams died quickly, and a polite knock on the bone wall told Seventh Fang was done.

  When Fang returned dragging his quick kill, Seventh was pulling Bob out from the voidspace, and checking the new corpses.

  Their Death Mana was almost identical grey smoke inside their chests. Given what Seventh had seen— and his emerging theory of Death Mana having same color and feel of persons normal mana just given new form— there should be some differences.

  Kneeling closer to the ratkin he had shot with Shadowbolt, Seventh activated Sense Magic. He didn't see any noticeable difference before cocking his head for a better view.

  There. A tiny sliver of darker grey, like a shell holding the smoky mana in check. Leaning forward, Seventh saw similar reaction like with his inventory portal and ambient mana. Two different kinds of magic contradicting each other and reacting.

  The ratkin death mana gained watered down colors— almost pastel— of yellow with orange core. Looking around, the grey inside the two other ratkin changed to muted colors of blue and grey. The additional shell was now easily seen as a translucent addition over the mana.

  The rank-up made Seventh smile. He had noticed something in the System's functions and was rewarded. Or had he just seen enough death?

  The colors were interesting to him. He had no idea what he was seeing, but it wasn't natural. Probably, he had seen only two other sources of Death Mana, the umbrefel and his minions, but a weird shell around mana?

  That made sense since his minions had his azure inside them when raised up. How this shell would react with reanimation?

  “Raise Dead.”

  Having Sense Magic on while casting might've been a minor mistake in a hindsight, but without it, Seventh wouldn't have seen the magnificent battle of colors.

  His mana shattered the shell, invading now brilliant colors of the ratkin, and quickly transforming the mana into azure with white sparks. The process reminded a lot of a painter mixing their paints on a palette.

  From his kneeling position, sitting on the ground was more pleasant than collapsing from excessive mana use. The scaling cost of Raise Dead wasn't high yet— he had only Fang raised at the casting— but having another magically hungry skill active was intensive.

  Quietly meditating his magical energy back, Seventh looked at Fang checking out their new surroundings. He had stopped to check the glimmering walls, and smell the air. His nose was constantly twitching, and his ears were perked up.

  Seventh smiled at Fang. "Yeah, we're at the other side now. All according to the plan."

  Fang looked at the new undead, and two corpses nearby.

  "Well, our plans have some variables, but I consider this as a bonus."

  Enough mana collected, he rose the other two as minions, and prepared to the transition back to his own body.

  Moments later, Seventh rose up in human form. The transition was much, much more pleasant confirming his hypothesis of fresh corpses and ease of possession.

  Some basic stretches later, Seventh had his blood pumping and he was ready to go. There was just one final thing to do.

  He stared at the Shank-Tooth's corpse. Immoral mathematics demanded her to be raised up. Used as a weapon.

  He could still remember her thoughts, fears, and dreams. She was like him, someone who wondered if there was a real sky, and was terrified to finally see one.

  Seventh's mana surged around him and he raised his hand. Shank-Tooth's body slipped to Seventh's voidspace through a unstable purple portal.

  Fang stepped closer and patted Seventh on his lower back. He probably didn't reach much higher.

  "Thanks. It didn't feel right to raise her. Not after all we went through."

  That sounded insane even to Seventh. Justifying not using necromancy to a controlled minion.

  He looked down at his only party member. "We good?"

  Instantly, Fang gave him a nod and a double-twitch of both ears.

  "Excellent. Now where are these stairs you know about?"